Page 62 of My Faire Lady

The words drop like a stone in my stomach, and while it was a conversation we’ve been dancing around for the last month, the weight of it crushes me. Whatever this is between us, or whatever it could be, is failed from the start.

She swallows and shifts her weight. “So, whatever thoughts we’ve had about each other, are probably best kept to ourselves. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Lottie.”

An ache spears the back of my throat. There’s nothing I’d love more than to stand from my chair and close the space between us—beg for her to find some sort of loophole. Just so we have a chance.

But she’s right. We don’t get to be selfish, and I can’t bear to hurt her, either. That’s all we’d be left with at the end of this summer, anyway—a gaping hole where the other once was.

That’s worse than the what ifs.

I nod. “It’s settled then.”

“I’ll keep my dreams about you to myself, if you do the same.”

My breath hitches, and we share a weak smile. It’s short-lived, but I ink the image of the firelight dancing off her face into my memory—press it like a dried flower into my mind.

“So, why do you need me?” I say.

She stands from her chair and paces the room. “For whatever reason, when you’re here, the magic stabilizes. It returns to the land and some of the creatures who fell ill get a little better. But when you leave, the magic seeps out faster than we could have anticipated.” She pauses and stares out the window. “I’m asking you to stay here long enough for me to figure out how to stop the magic from leaving.”

I stand, unable to sit still any longer, and let the blanket pool around my feet. “And how long would that take?”

“I’m going to give you a choice, because I was never given one.” She braces a hand against the windowsill. “You know what we are—that magic is real and exists on this land. You are the only human in the world who knows.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I step close enough to make out the lines in her reflection.

She blows out a breath. “You can stay temporarily—long enough for me to find the cure to our magic. As long as you can. Or you can choose to erase every memory you have of here. You’d remember working here, but nothing and no one else. It’ll feel like a dream—one you can’t remember the details of.”

My chest pinches. “I wouldn’t remember you?”

Silence stretches out, heavy and weighted, then she turns her head. “You wouldn’t remember me at all.”

I lean against the couch, pressing my fingers into the cushions as I swallow down the ache. “What happens if I agree to help? Will you still erase my memories when I leave?”

She doesn’t face me. “We haven’t had that sort of situation before, so we’ll have to see.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m worried about everything, Lottie. But a little less so, when you’re around.”

I pick at a thread sticking out of the upholstery. “Must be that magic easing your concerns.”

“No. It’s you.”

Any response I had dies on my tongue, and I watch as she pushes away from the window and crosses the room. Her arms are bare beneath her tank top, shadows from the fire defining the muscles spanning her triceps.

I’ve always felt like it was my responsibility to ease everyone’s concerns—grandma’s, Kelsey’s. It was my job to make them happy, at ease. But with Scarlet, I’ve never had to try.

And I have to admit, the voices I’ve come so accustomed to tuning out go quiet when I’m around her. There’s a certain peaceful silence she brings my mind.

She stops in the middle of the rug and turns on her heel, catching my gaze. “So, what’s it going to be?”

I round the couch, pad toward the window, and settle on the sill, pressing my back against the icy glass. The storm brought in a cold front, and I welcome the sting against my skin—a reminder that this is, in fact, not a fever dream.

A scratch comes from Scarlet’s bedroom door, and my stomach clenches. “What is that?”

Scarlet curses under her breath and reaches the door in three long strides, wrapping her hand around the knob. “Poor thing is probably starving.”

I hold my breath as she pulls open the door. A bird chirps, but rather than wings flapping through the crack in the door, a cat appears, slinking around the corner and weaving through Scarlet’s legs. She crouches to the creature’s level and scratches under its chin.