Page 154 of Love Spells: And Other Non-Refundable Magic

Merry’s forehead creases.

I look back at the bracelet because looking at Merry suddenly feels impossible.

I remember the order, of course I do.

Primavera had already spent enough money with me that adding a bracelet to the whole ridiculous ordeal had seemed almost funny at the time. I had made it specifically for her. Choosing each piece with more care than the order required because, somewhere along the way, her request had felt almost personal, intimate.

“It’s just a silly—” she starts, then immediately closes her mouth. Her cheeks are pink, and I don’t know if she’s understanding the magnitude of this or if she’s embarrassed about ordering an online spell.

She’s watching me, studying me, her brows furrowed in confusion because, honestly, I would be confused, too.

Either that, or I’m cursed romantically.

The familiarity I’d felt then returns so strongly that I wonder how I managed to dismiss it. Her voice, those words from the other night, soft in the dark beside me.

Other things follow: her conviction that the universe had sent her the wrong person, the sudden attention from someone at work, the way Primavera described the woman she met.

The bracelet is warm from my hand.

“Flora?”

I look at her. “You bought this from The Third Fairy.”

It isn’t a question, and Merry’s expression changes slowly.

“Yes.” Neither of us moves. I don’t know what she sees in my face, but something makes the confusion in hers deepen. “How do you know that?”

I should answer.

Instead, I stand there looking at the woman whose bed I’ve slept in, holding a piece of jewelry I made for a woman I’ve never met.

Except I have met her. I’ve known her for weeks.

Just not like this.

Merry takes a small step toward me. “Flora.”

There is no way to explain how I know without giving her the answer. I think she understands that before I say anything.

Her eyes move from my face to the bracelet and back again. “No.”

I swallow, and she goes very still.

And suddenly, I know that she knows, too.

“Primavera?”

Her lips part, and all the color drains from her face. She’s seen a ghost, for sure. Or rather, a witch, I guess. “The Third Fairy?”

For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. There should be some difference in her now that I know. I look for that without meaning to. Primavera has existed in my head without a face for so long that I expect the knowledge to transform Merry somehow, to reveal some part of her that has been hidden from me.

It doesn’t. She’s still Merry.

Blonde hair falling forward because she hasn’t bothered to push it back. One hand resting against the edge of the island. The small crease between her eyebrows that appears when she’s trying to understand something faster than it can be understood.

And now I can hear Primavera in her, too.

I don’t know how I missed it.