Page 48 of Love Spells: And Other Non-Refundable Magic

For a moment, she just looks at me.

“You remember?”

There’s enough surprise in her voice that I glance down at the cup in my hand, suddenly conscious of the fact that she has only ordered from me once. Remembering a customer’s drink isn’t unusual by any means, but remembering hers apparently feels different when she looks this pleased about it.

“You ordered it last time.”

“Once,” she says, and the smile that follows is slower than the one she’s been throwing around since she walked in. “I’ve ordered it once.”

I know, but I don’t say that. Because for some reason it feels more revealing than remembering the oat milk.

Instead, I turn toward the espresso machine and set the cup beside it. “Maybe you have a memorable order.”

“A caramel latte?”

“When you say it like that, no.”

“So maybe it wasn’t the order, then.”

I look back at her.

Merry is leaning lightly against the counter now, watching me with a kind of tentative confidence that seems completely at odds with the woman who nearly knocked over a tree just a handful of nights ago. There’s a question underneath what she said, although I don’t think either of us needs to make it explicit.

Rose has gone suspiciously quiet.

Luis, unfortunately, has too.

I could give Merry an easy answer and let both of us move on. Instead, I reach for the espresso and say, “Maybe not.”

The silence that follows is brief, but I feel it anyway.

When I glance back, Merry is still looking at me, and the color that was already in her cheeks has deepened enough that I have to look away before she catches me noticing.

“So,” Rose says eventually, drawing the word out as she picks up the tea Luis has set in front of her. “This place is cute.”

Merry turns to her sister again and closes her eyes in slow motion. “Please don’t.” She exhales loudly, then busies herself with her phone. “You’ve never described a coffee shop as cute in your entire life, Rosalyn.”

“I contain multitudes,” she says with a wink.

I laugh while I pour the espresso over ice, and when Merry looks at me again, there’s something almost accusatory in her expression.

“You’re encouraging her.”

“I just met her.”

“That has never once stopped Rose.”

Rose has already wandered a few feet away to inspect the pastry case, but there’s a faint smile on her face that tells me she’s still listening to every word. I don’t know what Merry has told her about me, if anything, and I tell myself I don’t particularly care, although the question arrives quickly enough to undermine the argument.

Has she mentioned the garden? Has she told Rose that we walked together? Has my name come up before Rose read it off my apron?

The thought is still sitting there when Merry’s phone vibrates against the counter.

Her attention drops immediately.

The change is so quick that it almost feels like watching a door close. She picks up the phone, unlocks it and scans the screen, her eyebrows drawing together before she lets out a quiet breath.

“Not them?” Rose asks from the other end of the counter.