Page 68 of Love Spells: And Other Non-Refundable Magic

“A little.”

“I was just wondering if you came together.”

“We did.”

Her expression changes so subtly I might have missed it if I wasn’t already watching her a little too closely.

“Oh.”

I could leave it there.

A month ago, I probably would have.

“Maggie’s my friend.”

Merry’s eyes return to mine.

“Just my friend. She’s straight.”

Understanding arrives a second later, followed by enough relief that she has no hope of hiding it. I shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as I am, but maybe the one lone drink I had was stronger than I thought and it’s making me brave. Uninhibited. Whatever.

“I didn’t ask,” she says.

A laugh slips out of me, and Merry smiles.

“Hmmm, okay, Merry.”

The noise of the party seems louder when we stop talking. Someone cheers from the kitchen just as a new song starts. Cold air rolls through the door behind me, lifting a strand of hair across my cheek.

Merry reaches toward me.

Then stops.

Her hand hovers between us for half a second before she pulls it back.

“You had—” She gestures vaguely to my face. “Hair.” She groans, then laughs and looks down. “I mean— Never mind.”

I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the fact that we’ve spent half the night watching each other from opposite sides of this townhome, but suddenly I don’t want to let her retreat.

“What are you dressed as?”

She looks down at herself. “You can’t tell?”

“I have guesses, but I’m not super versed in the particular cinematic universe, so I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

“I’m Aurora.”

“Your cat?” I say, and I think I’m trying to be funny and witty, but I’m not sure if it’s exactly coming across as that.

“How do you know my cat’s name?” Merryweather asks, and that crease between her eyebrows comes back again.

“You told me.”

“Oh, shit,” she replies, and then her cheeks get even pinker and more lovely, and she starts giggling nervously, biting her lower lip, and I— “I forgot about that. Fuck, I’m a mess.”

Merryweather is talking, and I’m trying to listen, but part of my attention remains fixed on the fact that she’s moved closer without either of us acknowledging it. Close enough that I can smell something sweet on her when she talks. Close enough that I don’t have to raise my voice over the music anymore.

We drift toward the patio naturally, mostly because two people squeeze past us on the way into the house, and Merry steps closer to make room. The backs of her fingers brush mine.