Page 69 of Love Spells: And Other Non-Refundable Magic

Neither of us moves away.

“So anyway,” she finally says, sighing with some sort of defeat, “the princess in Sleeping Beauty.”

“Oh.” Something clicks into place. “Now I understand your woodland creature joke.”

Merry’s cheeks turn pink. “You remember that?”

I do. I remember more about that first conversation than I probably should considering how brief it was, but I keep that part to myself and look back at her costume instead.

“I’ve always been more partial to the fairies. Never cared for the prince, to be frank.”

She turns to me so quickly that her shoulder bumps mine. “Really?”

“Really.”

This seems to delight her far more than the statement deserves, and I’m beginning to suspect I would say increasingly stupid things tonight if she kept looking at me like that afterward.

“Well, obviously the fairies are the best part,” she says. “They do all the work.”

“Exactly.”

I laugh, and Merry’s face brightens as though making me laugh was something she’d been trying to accomplish. It’s ridiculous how much I like her.

The realization comes so easily that I don’t have time to defend myself against it.

I like the way her thoughts seem to arrive faster than she can organize them. I like that she swears when she’s embarrassed and somehow only embarrasses herself more. I like the little crease between her eyebrows when she’s confused, and the way she keeps getting distracted halfway through whatever she’s saying. I even like that I apparently know enough about her life to remember her cat’s name when she doesn’t remember telling me.

And right now, I especially like that she’s standing close enough for our arms to touch and hasn’t made any attempt to put space between us.

“You have strong feelings about children’s movies?” I ask, and she smiles so big that her eyes crinkle at the corners.

“I have strong feelings about a bunch of stuff.”

Her eyes meet mine, and there is something so openly pleased in them that a stupid, fizzy warmth spreads through my chest again. I’m not sure when I last felt like this around anyone. Not attracted. Attraction, I understand. This is something lighter and considerably more dangerous—the urge to keep saying things just to see what expression she’ll make next.

Merry looks at the open patio door and then back at me.

“Do you want to go outside?”

I should probably say no.

Instead, I smile.

“Yeah.”

And the way Merry smiles back makes me absurdly glad I did.

CHAPTER 20

FLORA

It isn’t really cold outside, not by Seattle-in-late-October standards, but after an hour inside a house packed with too many people, the night air feels cool against my face and the bare skin of my arms. I breathe it in as the patio door slides shut behind us, taking most of the music with it.

For the longest moment, neither of us says anything. Which is strange, considering who I’m standing next to.

The patio has been decorated for Halloween with significantly more effort than anyone put into the inside of the house. Straw bales are stacked along one side, covered in an assortment of pumpkins in different sizes and colors, with pots of yellow and dark red mums tucked between them. Tiny orange lights run along the fence on the edge of the patio, and someone has wedged fake cobwebs into the shrubs bordering the right side of the property.

Merry takes all of this in as if she’s been brought outside specifically to conduct an inspection.