I bought one once.
I was seventeen and desperate. But I followed the instructions and brewed it up at midnight on the next full moon. I had to write a list of everything I wished for—Hendricks—and burn it, then drop the ashes into the brew I was making and drink it under the power of a moonbeam.
It didn’t work.
In fact, it had the opposite effect because that weekend I saw Hendricks snogging Olivia Cussions in The Cupid’s Arrow.
I didn’t buy another one, and when I told Agatha it hadn’t worked, she said I hadn’t wanted it enough. And that’s when I knew she was a fraud. I’d never wanted anything more than Hendricks.
But I’m not going to get into it now. I need to buy bread and flapjacks, then get the hell home. “I guess.”
“Don’t worry, it won’t be much longer.”
“What won’t?”
Before I can stop her, she places a hand over my heart, millimeters away from touching me. I’d say it was weird, but that’s Agatha. All she’ll be able to detect is my heart still hammering away from sprinting down the lane.
“The heaviness will lift soon, Story. Hang in there.”
I don’t have the energy to tell her it won’t. The heaviness is a part of me. It has been for a long time.
It’s there twenty-four seven, and if I happento forget, it will always remind me.
Like the day Noah proposed.
“Cool. Thanks, Agatha.”
“Have faith,” she calls behind her as she turns and walks back into the store with a “come and see me for a reading.”
In hindsight, I can totally blame her for what happened next. If it hadn’t been for her, I wouldn’t have been distracted enough that I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.
I wouldn’t have walked straight into the thick, broad—very solid—chest of the guy I’ve been unsuccessfully trying to avoid as though my life depended on it.
At this point, I’m living on borrowed time.
“God, I’m so sor?—”
“Story.”
My mouth opens, then closes. So much for sprinting past the cottage.
It seems Hendricks is struck down by the same dumb affliction I am, and we stand there like goldfish until the silence is broken by a screeched “Daddy” followed by “Miss MacIntosh.”
I peer down at Max, who’s run at full speed out of the bakery, waving a paper bag in the air, and into Hendricks, who grunts upon impact.
I want to believe it hurt a lot more than he’s letting on. I crouch down until I’m face to face with his mini-me.
“Hi, Max, how’s it going?”
“Good, Claudia gave me aflapjack.”
“Wow, lucky you. I love flapjacks.”
“Me too. So does my daddy. It’s our favorite.”
I know Hendricks is staring at me, seeing how I’ll react, and it takes all my strength to keep a neutral expression and reply, “Is that right?”
“Yes, we come down every Saturday to get here early.”
