“Oh! Sorry. I wish I could’ve come, but it’s a busy day for us.” I scoop up Snapdragon, who isn’t allowed in the Garden and who was supposed to stay upstairs today. Nosy cat. Some of these plants are toxic.
He scoots aside to allow a customer to squeeze by. “I see that.” He opens his arms for me to deposit the cat into. “You need help?”
“Nah, we’ve got it.” I avert my gaze, sweeping loose leaves. “Thank you, though.”
“I can...” He casts around. “Water something?”
“Where’s your son?”
“Miles is with a cousin of mine, and her son, who’s his age.” He follows me through the store. “What’s going on out there?” Nods through the open door, where two people stand next to the green-and-white-striped maypole erected in our yard, joining their wrists with a long red ribbon. Luna’s conducting their steps.
“Handfasting. Not a real one, just for fun.”
His brow crinkles.
“It’s a tradition rooted in the god and goddess of spring. They were kept apart for a winter, then were able to come back together in spring.”
“Separated for a period, then reunited, hm?” His tone is light.
“So the story goes.”
His eyes travel to the top of my head, clocking the flowers. I watch his cogs spin. A frown develops. “Romina?”
“Sorry, I just... It’s not a great time right now.” I try to paste on a smile. “There’s a lot of work to do.”
“Of course. Yeah. I’ll come back later, then? Is that okay?”
I don’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, that’s okay.”
I feel him watching me for several moments before he turns and disappears.
That evening, I’m facing a small bonfire glowing in our night market, which I still cannot believe we put together in time, watching fireflies arc and dip while I pop a third fairy cake in my mouth. Behind me, voices clatter and bodies move from booth to booth: Gilda Halifax is reading palms in her spookiest voice, a gauzy blue scarf wrapped around her head; a local jewelry artist is selling druzy gemstone earrings; a fantasy author and friend of Zelda’s is signing copies of her book that hit shelves last Tuesday. Here, at our magical night market, one can discover things they might not find in our shop by day: mystical candles that can only be lit on the full moon, scrying bowls, popcorn-filled cauldrons. Your very own Book of Shadows starter kit.
As proud and happy as I should feel, I’m stiff and antsy instead; nothing tastes right. This is only partially due to the phase of the moon—the moon is void-of-course tonight, meaning it’s stuck in a transitional phase until it enters Libra tomorrow. When the moon is void-of-course, it can provoke feelings of doubt, restlessness, and low energy, so it’s unwise to make any major decisions. But I’m going to, anyway. I can sense my muddled thoughts creeping toward resolution. I am going to bruise a heart tonight in order to prevent a broken one down the road.
Smoke and cinders funnel into midnight-blue dusk. A figure skirts the flames. Even with his features bathed in shadow, I’d know him anywhere.
Sometimes, I wonder. If I could rewind to the moment I called off our engagement, and tapundo, what would have happened? Would we be married now?
He stops before me, expression guarded. “Hi there.”
I run a hand through my hair. “Hi.” It’s all I can manage tosay. Face-to-face, all of myit would be for the best if... convictions evacuate.
Alex nods, as though I’ve confirmed a suspicion with only one word. “Come on.” He leads me away from the crowd, across Foxglove Creek, not stopping until we’re enclosed in a thicket and there’s nothing else to see or hear except each other. “I knew it. I started getting a bad feeling yesterday. You’re trying to slither away, even though I’m still holding all your jewelry as collateral. Quick, give me your shoes.”
I flick him a half smile. “They’re not your size.”
He lightly grips my waist, persuading me to stand with my back against a mossy tree trunk. Above, black foliage towers. “Talk to me,” he says softly.
I don’t know where to start. So I blurt: “I can’t do... whatever this is, with you.”
The color drains from his face. He’s inhumanly still, moonlight tracing cheekbones, and I sense a diversion in the flow of his focus—usually so riveted on me, now turning inward. It shrinks back inside of him to a dark, vulnerable place I can’t see.
“Why.”
I know it would be cleaner to keep it vague.I’m not looking for a relationship right now, I’ve got too much going on, or even something likeI think we’d be better as friends. But I can’t lie to him. He doesn’t deserve it.
“It’s...” I wipe my eyes. Concern flashes through him, but he doesn’t make any motion to step toward me, to comfort me. “God, it’s even worse on May Day. Celebrating love and fertility! The best time to conceive a child. Always gets me extra emotional.” I try to force a laugh, but I don’t find this situation funny at all.
