Page 18 of Love Spells: And Other Non-Refundable Magic

I look down and realize I’m still holding an empty cup and standing in the middle of the space, frozen.

Is this what people refer to as gay panic?

“What?”

Luis gives me a look, then steps closer to the register. “What can we get started for you?” he asks her.

“Iced caramel oat latte, please.”

“And the name?”

“Merryweather,” she says, a small smile on her face. “Or Merry, with two rs. Easier to spell.”

He looks at me for a moment, then turns back to her to finish the transaction.

I make the drink. That should be simple enough, right? Except I am suddenly hyperaware of her moving toward the pickup counter, and by the time I turn around with the latte in my hand, she is standing directly in front of me.

Up close is worse.

“Caramel oat latte?”

“That’s me.” She reaches for it, then glances at my apron. “Flora?”

I look down at my name tag before looking back at her. “Yeah.”

“Really?”

I choke out a clumsy laugh, partly because of her expression and partly because I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to do with the way she’s looking at me. Big blue eyes studying me intently.

“Is Flora that unbelievable?”

“No, it’s just—” She shakes her head, grinning now. “Wow. Between Flora, my cat Aurora, and me being Merryweather, we’re one woodland creature away from a copyright lawsuit.”

“Merryweather?”

“See? Exactly.”

“I don’t…”

Her smile widens, and there is something so open about it that I find myself smiling back before I can admit that I have no idea what the hell she’s talking about.

“Most people call me Merry.”

“That’s cute.”

She laughs, and another customer steps around her to reach for a drink that somehow has materialized on the counter, forcing Merry a little closer to me.

“Sorry.” She moves aside, then looks toward the windows. “I’ve been meaning to come in here. And apparently Seattle has decided to give us one last day of summer, so I’m trying not to waste it.”

I look outside, where the morning sun is hitting the ivy-clad building across the street. She’s right. The unseasonably warm day is making everyone emerge from their homes at once because we all know we’ll be punished for enjoying it soon enough.

“You picked a good day for it.”

“I thought so, too.” She takes a sip of her drink and then immediately coughs, pulling the cup away from her mouth. “Oh my god.”

“Shit, is it bad?”

“Wrong pipe.” She shakes her head, then clears her throat, eyes watering slightly. “Very dignified first impression.”