Page 120 of Love Spells: And Other Non-Refundable Magic

“Eight?”

I nod, and she stands there, smiling at me. Merryweather doesn’t move, and neither do I. I feel Luis very deliberately pretending to do something with a stack of to-go cups behind me.

Merry lowers her voice. “I want to kiss you.”

My eyes flick to the handful of customers scattered around the café.

“Then kiss me.”

The grin starts before she can stop it. She leans over the counter and kisses me quickly, warm mouth and cold nose, one hand resting beside the coffee machine.

It’s barely a kiss. It still changes the temperature of my entire body.

When she pulls back, her cheeks are pink. “Okay. Bye.”

“Your bus.”

“Oh, fuck.”

She grabs her coffee and runs.

I watch her through the windows as she hurries down the sidewalk, weaving around a man with a dog and nearly colliding with someone coming the other direction.

But she makes the bus.

The doors close behind her, and a few seconds later, it pulls away from the curb.

When I turn around, Luis is looking at me.

“You know, funny thing,” he says as he passes behind me. “It sure looks like you two are dating.”

I pick up a towel and throw it at him. He catches it against his chest.

The statement is cheeky enough that it takes me a second to realize I’ve never actually said it. Merry and I haven’t said it either.

We’ve talked about when we’re seeing each other next. We’ve kissed goodbye and good morning. We’ve had dinner and drinks and sex and coffee. I’ve learned that she steals the blankets but complains if the room is too warm, and that she sets three alarms because she does not trust the first two versions of herself to make good decisions.

Dating seems like the obvious word for all of that.

“Yeah,” I say.

Luis nods, like I’ve confirmed something he figured out weeks ago. “She’s hilarious.”

“She is.”

Then someone walks up to the register, and that’s the end of it.

Which I like.

I especially like that I can say I’m dating Merryweather and the world doesn’t tilt.

I just go back to work.

The rest of the shift passes the way shifts usually do.

There is a rush around nine, another around lunch, and a woman who sends back an oat milk cappuccino because she says she can sense dairy through ceramic, even when there isn’t any in the drink.

Mamá texts to ask if I can pick up tomatoes on the way home.