"Oh, you mean the walking red flag who puked on my vintage throw pillow? Yeah, that's another thing he owes me for." Amelia studies me over her wine glass. "Funny how Caleb justhappenedto notice you were missing right when Brian was looking for you."
"Can we do some bay leaf burning?" I push myself up, nearly knocking over my salt lamp in my rush to change the subject. "I have a new blend of manifestation herbs—"
"Fine." Amelia's tone says she's letting me off the hook, but her eyes say we're not done. "But we're not doing any of that divine masculine energy bullshit. I want concrete manifestations. Like, 'I manifest men who know where the clit is.'"
"That's not how bay leaf burning works."
"It is tonight." She unfolds herself from the chair with feline grace. "Where's your cauldron, witch bitch?"
I head to the kitchen, hips swaying as I move through the familiar space, grateful for a moment alone to pull myself together. Behind me, Amelia mutters something about stubborn Pisces energy and emotional avoidance, but I ignore her.
An hour later, the bay leaves crackle in my cauldron, okay—it's a soup pot, but itfeelsmagical—our manifestations turning to ash as Amelia scrolls through her phone, cackling.
"Have you seen Danny's latest post?" She flips her screen toward me. "Turns out the 'vegetable bandit' terrorizing his garden wasn't a government conspiracy. Just a gang of extremely committed raccoons."
"Remember when he thought the town's Christmas lights were alien signals?" I curl deeper into my cardigan, grinning. "Twenty bucks says his next theory involves Bigfoot running for town council."
"Please, that's amateur hour. Fifty says he connects the raccoons to a cult." Amelia pauses, something softening in her expression. "Daphne would love this. Remember how she used to bring Danny soup whenever he got too worked up about anything wrong in town?"
"Yeah." I fiddle with a stray crystal. "She's doing what she needs to though, in Cresden. Making a difference in pediatrics."
Amelia scrunches her nose. "Right. Because that's totally what I'm getting from her two-word text responses and those weird voicemails at three a.m." She finishes off her wine. "She's miserable and hates it. She's just too stubborn to admit it."
"Daphne will figure it out when she's ready." I trace the rim of my glass. "Sometimes we need to take the wrong path to understand which one's right. Those detours teach us what doesn't work."
"God." Amelia throws a pillow at me. "If only you could take your own advice, oh wise one."
"What do you mean?"
She stares at me for a moment, something knowing in her eyes, before grabbing her phone again. "Let's order pizza. I'm starving, and your spiritual wisdom is making me need carbs."
Twenty-five minutes later, there's a knock at the door. I jump up a little too quickly, smoothing my hair before catching myself. It's just pizza. Just a delivery.Just—
NotCaleb.
My pulse stutters anyway, that same stupid flicker of hope I never admit to anymore. But it's just a teenager, with unfortunate acne, shifting awkwardly on my welcome mat. "Uh, large pepperoni for Ivy?"
"Thanks." I take the box, trying to ignore the slight deflation in my chest. It's fine. Obviously he's not working tonight. It's Valentine's Day.
"That'll be twenty-four fifty."
I hand over cash, definitelynotthinking about how Caleb never lets me pay full price, always showing up with extra garlic knots that somehow never make it onto the bill.
"No offense to Pizza Boy Wonder back there," Amelia says as I return to the living room, "but that was depressing. He didn't even bring us our extra sauces we never need to ask for."
"It's no big deal." I sink back onto the floor, crossing my legs under me.
"Mhmm." She reaches for a slice, studying me over the box. "Remember when Caleb brought us those heart-shaped cookies last Valentine's Day? Said the kitchen messed up a batch and they were gonna throw them out?"
Heat creeps up my neck. "He was being nice."
"He was being something." She wipes her fingers on a napkin. "Speaking of our pizza boy, where is he tonight? He's usually the one enabling our drunk carb loading."
"Probably out with whatever skinny blond caught his eye this week." Not that I care. The universe obviously knows what it's doing, keeping us firmly in the friend zone.
Amelia's eyebrows shoot up. "Interesting tone there, babe."
"What tone? There's no tone." I reach for another slice. "I just think it's gross hearing about my friend's hookups."
