“Is everything still on course for you to decorate the town’s Valentine’s Day Dance?” Mrs. Greely spears me with narrowed eyes. “I keep knocking on your door, but you never answer it. Are you avoiding me, young lady?”
“Not at all,” I hurry to say. “I’ve still staying with a… with a friend.” I trip over the word, wanting to call Luke so much more yet not even sure if he considers us friends.
Her eyes flick past me to land on him, and she snorts. “You kids these days, so casual.Toocasual.” She shakes her cane at him. “You should make an honest woman out of our Skye.”
“Skye’s already an honest woman.” His brow creases with confusion, and he adopts his stuffiest tone. I know him well enough to know Luke hates being told he’s wrong about something. It’s understandable—I know I always hate it. But instead of getting flustered like I do, he gets irritated and superior. “I don’t think anything I do will add to her inherent integrity.”
I shove a knuckle into my mouth to muffle my laugh. He’s taken her words literally.
“Don’t act as if you don’t understand me.” She jabs her cane toward me. “Propose to her, you fool!”
Hot mortification burns through me. Fudging fudgsicles, this is embarrassing!
He growls and steps forward.
Before this can get any worse—though heaven knows how it could be any more embarrassing—I plaster a palm to his chest and say to Mrs. Greely, “Of course I’m decorating the Valentine’s Day Dance this year. I mailed you my confirmation. Did you get it?” Who knows how long snail mail takes these days.
“I did.” She doesn’t seem mollified though, continuing to give me a hard stare.
So I start to babble. “It’s one of my favorite events, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I promise I’ll decorate it just like I always do.”
“Good.” Her gaze snaps back to Luke, and she shoots him I’m-watching-you fingers. With a sharp nod, she shuffles back into her cottage, Max following.
“By the goddess,” he mutters. “Shereally is a terror.”
“I told you.”
“Well, I found all of that much more boring than I expected.” Princess Buttercup saunters back toward us. “Why do all the TV shows claim dogs are fierce?”
“Max is a sweet doggo,” I say. “And he’s old. His cat chasing days are behind him.” The last thing I can picture him doing is hopping the fence.
The sound of a familiar engine comes from the driveway.
“My aunts are here!” I hurry for the backdoor, fingers fumbling for the key I haven’t needed for several days.
“Hurry! Hurry!” Princess Buttercup circles my legs, eager to be spoiled by two of her favorite people in the world.
“Skye.”
I push open the door for my cat and glance back over my shoulder.
“I’ll see you this evening.” The strong lines of his face fall into resting grumpy face one, his neutral look. There it is again: proof he’s not interested. He’s not even embarrassed that Mrs. Greely demanded he propose.
“Of course,” I say, forcing brightness into my tone. “I’ll find you in the pub after my Witch Bitch Spicy Book Club meeting.”
He grunts his yes grunt and leaps into the air, his wings snapping wide.
I hurry inside, kicking up the thermostat on my way to the front door.
“Darling!” Aunt Irene leans over to envelope me in a hug, smelling of gardenias. Aunt Betty tackles me from the other side, soft and rose scented. Their perfumes combine into a fragrance that speaks of love and home and belonging,and I linger in their twin embrace.
When we finally pull apart, Aunt Betty cups my cheek. “Oh, my dear. Who’s put those shadows in your eyes?”
“It’s nothing.” I lie.
Aunt Irene purses her lips, ready to protest, and Princess Buttercup fortunately chooses that moment to lose the last of her patience.
“You haven’t said hi to me yet!” She twines around all of our legs, rubbing and purring. “I’m adorable.”
