Page 89 of Love Spells: And Other Non-Refundable Magic

I know this part of the neighborhood well enough that I barely paid attention to the drive over. The Spindle is only a few minutes away, and my own house isn’t much farther in the opposite direction. I’ve driven these streets early in the morning when most of the houses were still dark and again after closing shifts, when every restaurant along the busier blocks seemed to be spilling people onto the sidewalk at once.

This part of it is quieter, and I don’t know if it matches Merry’s personality. Mostly small houses pressed close together beneath old trees, porches with wet railings and narrow strips of yard that reflect the barely-there streetlights.

I’ve probably driven through the intersection of Merry’s street dozens of times without knowing she was here.

I look at the back of her head while she fights briefly with the lock.

That feels strange now. Not strange in a cosmic way, because I’m not about to assign meaning to Seattle geography because a woman I like happens to live near the place where I work.

It’s just that Merry has existed this close to me for years, and the thought sends a slow awareness through me that has very little to do with the cold.

Merry finally gets the lock. “There.”

“Do you fight with your front door every night?”

“Only when someone is watching,” she replies as she turns toward me, and for the first time since we got out of our cars, neither of us immediately looks away.

The porch light is directly above her, the warm glow catching the damp strands of blonde hair around her face and the pink still lingering in her cheeks from the cold—or from what we were doing out in public before we came here.

Maybe both.

For a moment, the neighborhood seems especially quiet.

Merry’s hand is still wrapped around the doorknob.

I know why I’m here. Or, rather, I know why I agreed to be here. I wanted more time with her and to keep kissing her somewhere that wasn’t a sidewalk.

Beyond that, we didn’t negotiate anything. Merry didn’t attach an explanation when she asked me to come home with her, and I didn’t ask for one before I said yes.

I like that more than I expected to, I think.

“Okay,” she says as she opens the door. It bangs softly against the wall behind it, and she makes a gesture for me to go in first. “I should warn you about something.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Are you a serial killer?”

Merry giggles, and my stomach swoops.

“No, but she might look like she wants to kill you.”

It’s obvious she’s talking about the cat, but I don’t have time to ask.

Aurora sits several feet inside the entryway, perfectly still with her tail curled neatly around her paws, looking at me as though she’s been expecting someone and is disappointed to discover it’s me.

I smile. “Oh.”

Merry follows my gaze. “Yeah.”

The cat doesn’t move.

“She looks exactly like I thought she would.”

Merry turns to me. “What does that mean?”

“Absolutely gorgeous, but judgmental as fuck.”

“Yes.” Merry nods and takes off her shoes and coat, hanging it neatly on a free-standing coat rack by the door. “That’s fair.”

I take a step farther into the house, and Merry closes the door behind me.