Trevor bought this store, along with three others, with the money he was supposed to spend on college tuition, in an ill-advised act of showing his father (a successful property developer and the CEO of his company, Twin Trestle Group) that he could be a property developer, too. At the time, Trevor was barely twenty years old. He’d asked his father for a job, expecting a senior partnership, then was insulted when Mr. Yoon told him he’d have to start from the bottom and work his way up. So, Trevor gathered up all of the local businesses that were for sale, anything with a good price, and went all in. He figured, why go to college to learn about business when he could jump-start hismogul days as early as possible? Mr. Yoon, who researches all of his potential investments exhaustively before making any leaps, was shocked and angry. The two have had a strained relationship since then. While Trevor’s three other businesses went bust in spectacular fashion, The Magick Happens miraculously only got better and better. It’s why he’s grown to be so attached to our shop, loving it just as much as we Tempests do. In his own words, it’s the one thing he’s done right.
Trevor is impulsive, easily distracted, constantly devising terrible get-rich-quick schemes only to quit them at the first sign of a challenge. But to his extraordinary credit, he hasn’t quit the shop. He knew nothing about candles when he started, or owning a business, or managing employees. Luna, Zelda, and I were horrified that our mother sold our store outside of the family—Luna especially, as she’s been dreaming of taking over it since she was five. I wasn’t around much during the changeover, as I was going through relationship problems, and Zelda’s been bouncing around from city to city. It fell to Luna, who was manager at the time of the sale, to train Trevor for his job, all the while bitterly resenting him for usurping her birthright.
They got on like cats and dogs until eventually my relationship imploded and I wound up here. Trevor took to me immediately, probably a little bit because he felt sorry for me and wanted to try to cheer me up, but also because I was an excellent buffer who distracted my mother-hen sister, keeping her fussing over me rather than snapping at him. Since Trevor doesn’t have witchy inclinations, the way he contributes to the shop is through social media genius—over the past six years, he’s grown our online presence a hundredfold. I’ll forever be grateful that he didn’t kick Luna and Aisling out of the apartment above the shop, andthat he allowed me to reclaim the carriage house out back. In an ideal world, my sisters and I would be the legal owners, but I’m at peace with how it all worked out. Plus, Trevor’s a ball.
“What are you doing later?” I ask him. Trevor and I spend a lot of time together because most of our other friends have migrated to bigger towns. My childhood best friend, Yasmin, left for Cincinnati two years ago, and we promised the distance wouldn’t change our friendship. She still hasn’t responded to the last text I sent her in November. “Wanna hang out?”
“Sure. But you’re not gonna sit on my couch and play your Disney Dreamlight Valley game for twelve hours. Tonight, we’re hitting up a bar.”
“I don’t do bars.”
“Too bad. It’s my turn to pick what we do, and I’m tired of watching you run around with the dude fromFrozen, pretending he’s your husband. You can be my wingman.”
I sigh, wistful. “I’m never gonna meet a guy like Kristoff in a bar.”
I turn my mind away from the prospect of cruising for disappointing dates at Moonshine, focusing instead on this meeting, trying to remember that I’m an idealist.Mr. Yoon might say yes. He’ll probably say yes. Except, he will probably find us irresponsible for waiving the inspection, and say no. Then we’ll be left with all these problems, and no night market, and no room for expansion, and stop spiraling! Spiraling is not helpful!
I reach into my pocket for my charm bag. It’s a small drawstring pouch containing malachite, a peach pit, one teaspoon of dried mistletoe, seeds, moss agate, a long-spined star shell, and the tiny plastic ballerina from a jewelry box Grandma Dottie gave me when I was a little girl. Handling the contents of my charm bag always helps to calm and center me.
Our meeting place, Half Moon Mill, used to be a gristmill before it was converted into a restaurant and inn. The lady who runs it, Ms. Vaughn, cooks round waffles that break down the middle to become half-moons. She likes to give half to one customer and half to another (always to people eating alone, whom she presumes are single), and the deal is that if the couple decides to sit together to eat their waffles, they get them for free. Moonville is rife with meddlers and matchmakers, which I suppose is charming if you’re partnered. When you’re lonely and yearning for someone to do life with, all this talk of true love loses its shine.
Grandma Dottie had prophetic dreams. When I was a teenager, she told my sisters and I that she dreamed someday we would all fall for our one true loves within the same year. We’ll know it’s our year when we see a silver luna moth. At that time, she said, one of us will be waiting for love, one will be running from it, and the other will already be in over her head. Zelda thinks it’s a fanciful lie (she loved our grandmother dearly but does not believe she was psychic); Luna has absorbed it into her identity and refuses to seriously date anyone until she’s seen the moth; and as for me, I waffle between wanting the prophecy to come true as soon as possible and being scared to death of ever falling in love again.
“Showtime,” Trevor announces, dissolving my thoughts.
I hop out of the car onto crunchy gravel. “Sheesh, it’s busy.”
“Stupid busy,” he agrees. “It’s eleven o’clock on a Monday. What are the... Oh, no.”
“Trevor,” a young woman with a long black braid greets him sardonically, exiting the car beside his. She’s wearing a blue-and-white-striped romper and hemp wedge sandals. “I heard about you and Haley.”
Trevor glowers. “How?”
“I am omniscient, my dear cousin,” she replies with rosy smugness. “See, this is exactly what I warned Teyonna about. You plow through girlfriends like a worm through dirt and can never hold on to them for long.”
His eye twitches. “You’re annoying. What are you doing here?”
“Don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”
This must be Cousin Allison, eternal thorn in Trevor’s side and half of the reason why he was dumped years ago by her best friend, Teyonna, who remains close with his entire family. I sling an arm around his shoulders. “I don’t think he has any problem holding on to girlfriends, actually.”
Allison’s gaze flits to me, widening. “Who’re you?”
Trevor smushes his cheek against mine. “My other half.”
“You werejustwith Haley!” she cries. “Good grief. That’s exactly like you, Trevor. Date somebody for five minutes and you start calling them your other half.”
“Special circumstances,” he replies airily, lacing our hands together. “She and I”—he nods in my direction—“have been friends for ages, but we secretly had feelings for each other and shit. We only admitted it after my last breakup. We’ve been wanting to boink this whole time, though.”
I elbow him.
“And now we boink every day,” he continues proudly. “Twice a day! On my leopard print protective car mats.” He squeezes me close to stop me from digging my elbow in deeper. “She has me on a Quaker Oats regimen, for stamina.”
She closes her mouth, with effort. I tug Trevor away, into the restaurant, which is uncharacteristically crowded. “Overkill, Trevor.”
“What do you know? Your judgment’s clouded from all the stamina.” He abruptly comes to a standstill in the entryway, pointing at a woman. “That’s my aunt.” Then points at a little boy running around with spoons in his fists. “That’s my cousin.”
I study his confused expression. “Do they come here often?”
