Page 20 of Homegrown Magic

At least, that’s what she hopes will happen. Margot is an excellent plant witch; she knows this. But every time she brings out Granny Fern’s cauldron and remedy book, her nerves fray and her palms begin to sweat. There’s so much at stake—her reputation, her major source of income, other people’s broken hearts, and, in a way, Bloomfield itself—and she quite literally can’t afford to mess up this batch.

She lets out a long breath, loosening her white-knuckled grip on the wooden spoon.

Yael tosses a berry into the air, catching it in their mouth in one smooth motion. “So, what exactly is my purpose? Am I here for aesthetics? This is the most complimentary of my identical tunics, but I can, I don’t know, stir things?”

Margot swats at their arm. “You could not eat all the berries, for one.”

“Relax, Greenwillow. There are nearly a thousand strawberries here. Not even my parents purchase this many for their spring feasts, though hardly anyone consumes those; mostly they’re tabletop decor. Still, they ought to have ordered from you.”

Margot exhales slowly, surveying the harvest and the empty jars waiting on another table. “We should have enough for at least three dozen jars. Barely. If you stop eating them.”

Yael pops another berry into their mouth. “Make me.”

Their grin is all wickedness, infectious as root rot. Despite her intention not to flirt with Yael, she’s unable to resist the smile that curves the edges of her lips.

“You wouldn’t want me to make you,” she says, slipping her body between Yael and the piles of berries on the table.

“Don’t be so sure of that.” Yael reaches around Margot, their arm skimming past her waist. In one quick motion, they grab another handful of berries and dance away. Margot lets out a shout and chases after them, running down the aisles between the strawberry troughs, following Yael as she did when they were kids racing through her family’s manor.

“Got you,” Margot says, grabbing Yael’s arm and spinning them around. Yael’s back is pressed against the greenhouse glass, their chest heaving a bit from the chase. Unable to stop herself, Margot plants her hands on the window frame behind Yael. Caging them with her arms.

Yael’s eyes sparkle with mischief as they gaze up at her. “So you did. Now, what are you going to do with me?”

Desire snakes through Margot, hungry, edged with loneliness, battling against her good sense. As in so many moments during these last eight weeks, Margot finds herself delighted to be near Yael without meaning to. How does Yael do that? How do they turn every tedious task into something fun? Make the work in the greenhouse less of a burden, even as their inexperience adds the occasional complication to Margot’s day?

It’s not like they’re great with pruning or spellwork, but the plants respond to Yael’s presence with giddy enthusiasm, just as Margot does. She swears that earlier this week, when she walked into the cherry orchard, the trees were showing off for Yael, waving their branches in a nonexistent breeze, like women dancing to a song only they could hear.

“I’m going to get my berries,” she says primly, though she’s biting back laughter.

“Oh? These? You want these berries?” Not breaking her gaze, Yael lifts a berry, raising it up to Margot’s mouth, as if they’re going to feed it to her. Then at the last minute, Yael pops the berry into their own mouth.

Roaring in false outrage, Margot plucks another berry from Yael’s hand at the same moment they lift it toward their mouth. Margot’s fingertips brush their lips instead.

She goes very still, shocked by the softness of Yael’s berry-stained lips. Wondering if they’d taste like berries if she pushed her own lips against them.

From the look on Yael’s uptilted face, Margot suspects they might be thinking something similar.

She pulls herself together, dropping her arms and turning to the supply table. “Yes, those berries, you awful goblin of a greenhouse assistant. Now, come on. This is yours.” She puts a wooden spoon in Yael’s hand. “I’ll add ingredients, you stir.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Yael says, popping one more berry in their mouth, which Margot pretends not to see.

Three hours later, the jars are filled with ruby-red jam and have cooled. Each is sealed and capped with pink cloth, a green ribbon tied around its belly, and they’re all packed into the straw- and linen-scrap-filled crates they’ll take with them to Olde Post. In addition to the jam, Margot is also bringing her best houseplants, some seedlings, and heaps of cut flowers. All of these will be packed into a wagon early tomorrow before they set out for the Spring Fair.

“That was exhausting,” Yael says, stretching out their back. Strawberry juice stains their shirt, and their stomach growls audibly as they walk toward the shop door.

“Be glad we only make this much jam once a year.” Margot slips a jar into her basket and locks up the greenhouse. “It’ll be smaller batches after the Spring Fair.”

“I cannot believe you do this by yourself every spring.”

Margot shrugs. “It just takes longer. Thank you for your help.”

“You can thank me by joining me for an ale at Clementine’s.”

“I can do that, but first I have to make a stop.” She wants nothing more than to head straight to the tavern and spend the evening laughing with Yael and Clementine and the gathered townsfolk. But as she does every year on the first jam-making day, she’s got to drop off one of the jars at the Bloomfield Care Cottage. It never helps her parents, whose ailment unsurprisingly can’t be cured by heartbreak magic, but she has to try. Together, they step outside the greenhouse, and Margot inhales. The rain has stopped; twilight paints the sky in soft pinks and grays like cherry blossoms. The air smells of petrichor and the magic that clings to their clothes after jam making.

“Well, I’m in no rush. I’ll come with you.” Yael slips an arm through Margot’s.

“You don’t have to do that.” She really shouldn’t let them. What is Yael going to think when they see the once dazzling Iris Greenwillow and her husband, Welton Sameshoe, reduced to husks dozing in their beds? What if Yael tells their parents about hers? Maybe that would be a good thing, so they might know exactly what they’ve done to Margot’s family…