“Friend of yours?”
“He’s from the app. From the magic. He’s not—I don’t want?—”
“You should probably deal with that.”
“Marcus—”
“It’s fine.” His voice was flat. Distant. “I’ll be here.”
But the way he said it didn’t sound like a promise. It sounded like a door closing.
“I was going to kiss you,” I blurted out.
He paused. Something flickered behind his eyes—hope, maybe, or fear, or both.
“Were you?”
“Yes. Before the phone. Before Greg. I was going to?—”
Another knock. “GROOVY LADY? THE COSMIC VIBRATIONS ARE VERY INSISTENT!”
Marcus looked at the door. Looked at me. The flicker died.
“Then I guess we’ll never know,” he said quietly. “If you would have gone through with it.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No. It isn’t.” He turned back to the counter, to Sarah’s box, to the snow globe still catching the light. “Go deal with your disco emergency. I need to close up.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to burst back in and make him see that I hadn’t planned this, that the timing wasn’t my fault. But part of me wondered if he was right to pull away. If I would have found a reason to run eventually anyway.
But the phone was still screaming. And Greg was still knocking. And somewhere in this town, my ex-husband was waiting to complicate everything further.
“This isn’t over,” I said.
“Maybe not.” But he didn’t turn around. “Goodnight, Diane.”
I went.
The moment I stepped outside, the phone exploded back to life. 4,892 matches. 4,893. 4,894. The numbers climbing faster than ever, like the magic was punishing me for almost deciding something.
Greg beamed at me, holding up a cassette tape labeled “Songs 4 My Groovy Lady” in careful handwriting.
“There you are! Side A is for dancing. Side B is for…” He waggled his eyebrows. “Romancing.”
“Greg. I need you to listen to me very carefully.”
“Anything for you, foxy mama.”
“I am not your foxy mama. I am not anyone’s foxy mama. I need you to go back to wherever you came from, because I absolutely cannot deal with disco right now.”
His face fell. “But the universe said?—”
“The universe needs to MIND ITS OWN BUSINESS.”
Behind me, through the shop window, I could see Marcus bent over the counter. Not looking up. Not looking at me.
The radio had gone silent.
