Page 13 of Meet Cute Magic

“I’m flattered, really I am,” she says with a smile, as if she’s not about to get herself arrested for breaking and entering. “But I’m not that creative.”

“You broke into my place and then made up some grand story about the ghost of my grandfather cursing your entire family. I think you at least think you’re that creative.”

“It’s not a grand story! I swear! He’s literally in my house right now! He’s haunting me until I complete our deal, and if I want to live my life without your grandfather asking me about my favorite scone flavor, I need that freaking flask!”

I cross my arms on my chest and glare at her.

I shouldn’t do it. Really, I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t encourage this behavior. But I do all the same. “So you’re telling me if I go over to your place right now, I’ll find the ghost of my grandfather standing there—”

“Floating.”

“What?”

“He’s kind of floating. He doesn’t really have legs. It’s a shock how much ghosts are like what the cartoons say they are.” I stare at her, then close my eyes and take in a deep breath to find some semblance of calm.

“If I go to your place, I’ll find my grandfather?” She nods. “And he’s blackmailing you into creating some potion using a family heirloom?”

“I mean, blackmail is kind of a strong word, but overall, yes?”

I close my eyes again, sighing. “Fine.”

“I can have it?” she asks excitedly, about to grab the flask from the ground, but I reach her, grabbing her wrist once again.

“No. You’re going to prove it.” That little crease between her eyebrows forms again, and I fight the sudden, strange urge to reach out and smooth it with my thumb. “Take me to your place and show me my grandfather’s ghost.”

“Jack, I—”

“Or I’m calling the cops.” She sighs and I expect her to argue, but then she shrugs.

“Fine.”

As we walk across the cobblestone road that separates my place from hers, I watch her attentively, expecting her at any moment to confess she made everything up. I’m watching her so intently that I almost trip over the line of pumpkins and red, orange, and yellow leaf garlands sitting along the front of her store. (Unlike me, she didn’t decline the town’s offer of storefront decorations to match the rest of the fall decor.)

When she twists the knob of the door and pushes it open, the black-and-white cat from earlier shoots out the door and rubs along my legs, much to my dismay. Rosemary looks over her shoulder at me, a wide smile on her lips. “Scared of a little pussy?” I choke on air at her words, something that makes a small laugh leave her lips. It’s so like this woman to laugh when I’m literally choking.

“No, I’m just waiting for your accomplice to come out and attack me,” I say once I catch my breath.

She rolls her eyes like I’m being unreasonable in thinking that someone who just broke into my shop would be luring me into some trap. “You really don’t believe me, do you?”

“That the ghost of my grandfather came to you and needed a flask from my shop to break a family curse? No, I can’t say I do. Wild, I know.”

She tips her head, taking me in with a confused smile. “You really don’t believe in magic? Your entire store is about mythical creatures.”

“Emphasis on the word mythical,” I say with exasperation.

She crosses her arms on her chest and lifts a knowing eyebrow. “Are they really, though?”

“Don’t you have some ghost to show me?” I ask instead of answering her question. She smiles, then leads me toward the back of her shop. The layout is just like mine, which makes sense since all of these buildings were built around the same time, and the council that manages our quaint little town won’t let you change much of anything. But I’m a little surprised to realize that the layout of her bookstore is identical to the layout in my shop, the bookshelves and displays placed in exactly the same manner.

“Weird, right?” Rosie asks with a laugh as I take in her shelves. “When I went into your place the first time and realized we set things up the same, I thought it was a hoot.”

“Hmm,” I say noncommittally, but follow her to the back of the store and then up the stairs to her apartment.

“I don’t know if he knows you’re coming, but we’ll see,” she calls to me over her shoulder. “He’s pretty nosy, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he was looking out the window when we came across the street.”

I stare at her for a moment and shake my head. “You really believe this, don’t you?”

“You really don’t believe me, do you?” she parrots back. Her hands move to the doorknob of her apartment, and a small, idiotic part of me is intrigued to see where this chaotic woman lives, to get some new insight into her.