Page 65 of Love Spells: And Other Non-Refundable Magic

Maybe they’re here together.

Of course Flora could be here with someone.

I don’t know why that possibility feels like information I should have been given in advance. I barely know her, and most of what I do know about her I could count on the fingers of one hand.

“Is that the coffee girl?” Dani asks.

I turn so quickly, I nearly slosh my drink over my hand. “I⁠—”

Flora laughs again, and my attention slides back to her before I can help it.

The woman beside her is pretty. Dark hair, red lipstick, some kind of costume involving black lace and little horns. She looks comfortable beside Flora in the way people do when they’ve known each other long enough not to think about how close they’re standing.

Maybe she’s a friend, Merryweather.

I take another drink and immediately remember Veronica’s warning when the alcohol burns all the way down.

Dani follows my gaze. “She’s cute.”

“I know.”

The answer comes out before I have time to make it less revealing.

Dani makes a small sound beside me, but thankfully doesn’t say anything else.

Across the room, Flora turns.

Her brown eyes find mine so quickly that for one ridiculous second I wonder if she’d already been looking for me. Recognition moves through her face, followed almost immediately by the widest smile I’ve seen from her yet.

There it is. That stupid little thing my stomach does around her.

I smile back and lift my hand. And she matches me.

The whole exchange lasts maybe two seconds, but afterwards I’m standing in a stranger’s aggressively gray and bland living room feeling as though something has happened. Maybe the earth shifted under my feet.

But obviously, nothing has happened. Nothing went still, and my friends are still around here talking about who knows what, with people we—decidedly—don’t know.

Except now Flora says something to the woman beside her, and the woman turns to look at me, too.

Oh, god.

I immediately become interested in my drink. And then, in the truest Merryweather Hawthorne fashion, I take too large of a sip and choke on the nastiest, strongest, most disgusting drink known to mankind.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter, and Dani chuckles, eyes filled with amusement.

“They’re both looking over here, babe.”

My throat is still burning, but I manage to choke out a “please stop providing updates,” and it comes out so hoarse maybe I need to run to the emergency room. The last thing I need right now is live commentary on whatever conversation Flora is having about me.

Maybe she’s explaining that I’m a customer from work. Maybe she’s telling the story about how I almost took out a tree at a public garden, or maybe she’s warning her date about the strange blonde who keeps appearing everywhere she goes.

I look over again, and I find Flora still looking at me.

This time, she doesn’t smile immediately. Her gaze catches mine and stays there for a beat longer than it needs to, something quieter passing between us before someone walks through my line of sight.

When they’re gone, Flora has turned back to whoever that woman is next to her.

Dani eventually wanders off to find Veronica, and for a while I let the party carry me with it. More people arrive, the music gets louder, and the house grows warm enough that the door to the patio is left open to let in the cold October air. I talk to people. I refill my drink. I watch Dani get into an increasingly heated debate about candy corn pumpkins with someone dressed as a hot dog. But every few minutes, my attention drifts somewhere else.