“Wasn’t alone. Hard to sleep, with the racket you made tossing and turning. I bet you were torturing yourself thinking about me.Oooh, that Alex, so sexy right out of the shower. Oooh, he’s got such nice biceps.”
He isn’t far off the mark.
I rear back. “What’s with the southern belle voice? Is that supposed to be me? You don’t sound anything like me.” I only have a hint of twang going on, as does he—comes with growing up in the boondocks—but I’m not fullGone With the Wind.
He keeps at it. “Oh, Alex King, you’ve got the prettiest eyes on this earth, makes my legs just tremble.” He laughs to himself. “That’s why you’re flustered this morning.”
“Nobody would say that about you except yourself.” I leave him behind, trotting into the store’s sunroom. I try to shut the door behind me, but he squeezes inside too fast. This room quite literally isn’t big enough for the two of us—he bumps into everything. “You did not come close to entering the sanctity of my fantasies last night, and my legs are stiff as a corpse’s, thank you.”
“Liar.”
“If that’s what your massive ego needs to believe.” I sit down primly on my workbench, conscious that I should be changing out of my caftan pajamas, applying deodorant, eating breakfast, that sort of thing. But the idea of Alex watching me eat is oddly disconcerting. I wish he’d pin his attention somewhere else. “Try to keep it in your pants, will you? You’re in town for awedding, for goodness’ sake. Weddings are sacred.” I begin assembling my florist’s wire in neat rows, wire cutters and sharp scissors at the ready. “You don’t have any biceps, either.”
He lifts an arm to inspect himself. “More lies.”
“I want you to know,” I say in my sweetest voice, “that I forgive you.”
“For what, exactly?”
“It was harder to get Trevor to come around, but he forgives you, too.”
“I’d simplyloveto know what I did to Trevor. I hope I do it again, whatever it was.”
“You once shattered his girlfriend’s heart.” I lift a stalk of silk roses out of a container, pairing pink with myrtle and yellow with ivy.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“Couldn’t say.”Snip, snip. I weave together flowers first, then wrap them to wire with tape. “Don’t know you well enough to be sure, but I have a hunch leaning in that direction.”
He laughs as if he’s so unbothered when he obviouslyis, tugging on the bill of his red Ohio State ball cap so that it slides around backward. I think I’ve just discovered one of his tells.
I smile to myself.
“You need a bigger space. It’s way too crowded in here.”
“If you think it looks bad, imagine how it feels. All the magic going haywire.” But even as I say it, I notice the magic has taken up a different attitude today. Today, every plant’s energy has turned toward Alex, inspecting him curiously. It feels like low, breathy chatter, appreciative murmurs, raised eyebrows, and devilish grins. I kick that energy out of my way and refuse to pay attention to it.
Alex fingers the crown I just finished. “Who’s this for?”
“A tourist, most likely.” I don’t glance up, feeling my forehead pinch in concentration. Second crown of the day finished, on to the third. My fingers will give out after twenty, and I’ll take a break for a couple of hours to go mash up some herbs.
“You get a lot of tourists here?”
“Yes, but I’ll have more than usual next Monday. Peopleflock in from all over on May Day.” Saying the wordsMay Day, ironically, brings the appropriate surge of panic.Magickal night market opening May firstflashes across my mind. How hopeful we’d been when we printed those fliers and paid for ad space in the newspaper.
“What’s wrong?”
It takes me a moment to realize my feelings must be showing on my face. I wave my hand dismissively but explain the situation anyway.
When I’m finished telling him everything, his focus moves to the wall, as if he can see the lot next door through it. “Ah.”
“I don’t want to think about that right now, though.”
“Okay.” His attention zips back to me. He leans forward. “Prove you’re magic.”
“What? No.”
“Because you can’t.” He sounds so sure of himself, so exacting. But just asmidgedisappointed, as if he’d prefer to be wrong.
