Page 70 of Love Spells: And Other Non-Refundable Magic

“That’s a lot of pumpkins.”

I look at her.

She points toward them. “I mean, that’s objectively a lot, right?”

“Are you nervous, Merry?”

Her head snaps toward me, and I swear I can see the faint pink of her cheeks from the other day—the one that showed up unexpectedly—creep up to the tips of her ears. “No.”

I smile.

“Why are you doing that thing?”

“What thing?” I reply, lifting one shoulder as casually as I can.

“That thing where you look at me like you know something I don’t.”

I do know something she doesn’t, ostensibly, which is that Merryweather gets even more talkative and jittery when she’s nervous. I wouldn’t have thought that was possible before tonight, but she hasn’t stopped moving since we stepped outside. She rubs one hand over her opposite arm, looks around the yard, adjusts the little crown in her hair, then turns her attention back to the pumpkins as though one of them could potentially turn into a carriage and drive her away any moment.

It’s adorable. And I probably shouldn’t find it adorable. But the drink Maggie gave me is—allegedly—making me braver and not stopping my thoughts. At all.

“I just think you’re very interested in the pumpkins all of a sudden.”

“They’re interesting pumpkins.” She walks to the largest arrangement of them, and I follow because apparently this is what we’re doing now. “Look at this one.”

She points to a squat, pale green pumpkin nestled between two ordinary-looking orange ones.

“Have you ever seen a green pumpkin?”

“Yes,” I say with a laugh, and her responding grin is… electrifying.

“Okay, well, I haven’t.” She turns around again, looks around, gestures wildly. “So coming outside was definitely worthwhile."

Merryweather looks at me when she says that last part, and something about the way her voice changes on the last word makes the joke feel less like a joke.

The smile stays on my face. For a second, we’re just looking at each other.

Then she looks immediately back at the pumpkins.

Right. Nervous.

I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t smile too obviously again.

“This one has warts,” she says.

“Merry.”

I laugh, and she covers her face with both hands.

“Oh my god.”

“No, don’t.” I catch one of her wrists without thinking and gently pull her hand away. “I like the pumpkin tour.”

“Let’s pretend you are laughing with me and not at me, okay, Flora?”

She lowers her other hand, and I’m still holding her wrist, her skin warm beneath my fingers. Merry looks down at my hand and then back at me, and whatever she was about to say disappears immediately.

The air between us changes so quickly that I can feel it in my chest, the swoop in my belly.