“The golf course situation was different. Nobody could have anticipated that many gophers. Anyway, your financial history is not my only hesitation here.Moonville’s famous love magic,” he recites, four pages later. “Pardon me if I don’t quite believe in that.”
“Sir?” I prompt nervously.
“It’s cute,” Mr. Yoon concedes. “I understand why local businesses keep that story alive; there’s money in it. But there is no such thing as a one true love.”
Luna pales. “I disagree.”
I bump the toe of her shoe with mine.
Mr. Yoon stacks his hands on the paper, creasing the page. It took us weeks to fine-tune this, and our dream is currently sopping up water pooling around the base of his drink, a grayish ring right overThe Magick Happens is a favorite stop with tourists hoping for... “Do you see this woman?” He reaches for Kristin’s hand. She lays her palm up for him. “She lost her husband many years ago. She loved him. I lost my wife, too, and I loved her. But Kristin and I love each other also. There is no such thing as a one true love, because one can have many loves.”
I lower my head. “You’re absolutely right. I think what we mean to say, is that Moonville has a special way of revealing the person you’re meant to be with here in this moment, in your present stage of life.”
“Exactly,” Trevor inserts smoothly. “It’s a whole thing. And the candles and flowers do that, too. They create a road of clarity, which leads you to the person you’re meant to be with.” He is speaking verbatim from the proposal.
“Is that what you two are to each other?” Mr. Yoon inquires seriously, his black eyes switching back and forth between Trevor and me. “You are meant to be?”
I can’t help glancing at Kristin. It’s a mistake.
It’s that damned windbreaker tripping my nostalgia land mines: This is the woman who paid for my homecoming dress junior year, who helped me apply for scholarships, who baked a three-tier birthday cake when I turned eighteen, who gave me a ride to the doctor when I missed three days of school with a fever that peaked at a hundred and four. Afterward, she took me to her house instead of mine, tucked me into her queen bed with the soft white comforter, and lay beside me while we watched TV Land. Maybe it’s wrong to say, but I loved her more than my own mother. I cannot lie to her face.
I look down at my shoes, reflecting sunlight peeking through the forest beyond the windows, allowing Trevor to answer. “Yes.”
What other choice does he have, but to say that? We sell romance. It stands to reason that Luna and I both ought to have been happily paired off with our meant-to-be’s long ago. And perhaps Luna would be, if Grandma had never uttered a word about silver luna moths, which she’s been holding out for. As for myself, I just haven’t met anyone who wanted to hold on to me, or who I wanted to hold on to. Zelda at least has the comfort of not believing in soulmates. She doesn’t believe in prophecies, either. Or magic.
Mr. Yoon stares into my eyes. Kristin’s gaze is fixed on a spot right behind me. “I’ll think on it,” he says crisply.
He stands up, grimacing. Grabs a newspaper. “Excuse me.” He nods at us as he leaves, left leg limping. The packet we gave him is left on the table.
Luna, Trevor, and I exchange worried frowns. We’re all trying to hog the blame for this—Trevor’s the one who cut the check and waived the inspection; I’m the one who suggested we buy the lot because I needed room; and Luna is usually the voice of reason who talks us out of risky ideas, but she encouraged us to go for it because she feels guilty that her candles take up most of the store.
I’m the first to break the silence. “That didn’t go so great.” It’s probably time to face the music: We are not going to be able to fix the sewer line and asphalt in time to put up the night market, and if we want to be able to pay ourselves, we might have to resell the lot, probably at a loss. Which means no expansion, and I’ll need to cull my plants to make the magical climate bearable again.
“He didn’t sayno, though.” Trevor begins to loosen up. “That’s a good sign, trust me. We’ve got a shot.”
Alex leans in, lips close to my ear. “Meant to be? And you don’t know his middle name?”
“Mind your business,” I hiss.
“I think I see your angle here.” His eyes dance. “I underestimated you.”
I glare. He breezes a short distance away, whistling.
“Your business plan looks very nice,” Kristin tells us diplomatically, sparing an extra twinkly smile for Trevor. “You did a good job!”
I think I speak for Trevor and Luna when I say that this compliment makes us feel about six years old.
“Thank you, Kristin. Excuse me.” Luna pulls out her phone, checking the barrage of missed messages from Zelda. Zel keeps complaining that she’s out of the loop. Secretly, Luna and I are hoping she’ll grow so exasperated with her out-of-the-loop-nessthat she’ll decide to remedy it by visiting. She rarely ever comes to Moonville—the last time she was in Ohio was for Grandma’s Celebration of Life.
Zelda is like a water sprite: elusive, mercurial, and deeply private; most comfortable in solitary darkness but easily lured by something sparkly. We do this dance where Zelda invites us to wherever she’s living, and Luna and I invite her to Moonville instead, and we end up putting off vacation for another year.
Alex drops several boxes onto a table, which I recognize straightaway as my favorite board games.
Wait a minute.
Those aremygames! The Monopoly lid is taped together, and I’d recognize that Hungry Hungry Hippos anywhere. It’s covered in a child’s marker scribble.
“Hey!” I shout. “You took those from my house!”
