“What are you doing down there?”
“Come see,” he calls, and she puts her tools down lightly to follow his voice. She joins him beneath the table, where he points to nearly illegible writing on the underside of the wood. It reads:
M + A = Best Friends
There are also stick figure drawings of the two of them, surrounded by unnaturally tall flowers. Or maybe they are supposed to be trees? Or… birds with long legs? It’s impossible to tell. The pair erupt in laughter.
“I cannot believe this is still here,” he says when he catches his breath.
“I didn’t even remember this until now!”
“I think I did the writing and you did the drawing,” he says as he traces everything with his finger.
She hides her eyes in her hands and says, “That sounds right. I’ve always been a terrible artist.”
“What are you talking about? Those are the nicest rain clouds I’ve ever seen,” August says through his laughter.
She has tears in her eyes from laughing. “I think they were supposed to be flowers.”
“Oh no,” he says as he starts to crawl out from under the table. “Then, yes, a terrible artist,” he says, extending his hand to her and helping her stand.
She straightens her dress and says, “Thank you for reminding me of that. Do you think there are other poor drawings hidden around here?”
“I’m sure of it. We did everything together when we were young, including vandalism.”
She giggles, turning back to her work to complete his spell. “How did you and I come to be? Your family knew my grandmother, I take it.”
“Well, the whole town knew Althea. But my mother became very close with your mother and grandmother after she came here desperate to have a child. Your grandmother gave her a spell, and then I was born just a few months after you. So in a way, I owe my life to honey magic,” he says, and her heart flutters. She thinks of her grandmother, many years ago, helping the young woman who would eventually mother the boy standing in front of her. Life has such a peculiar way of bringing people together.
Once the mixture forms a grainy wet paste, she needs only one more ingredient to add.
“August, can you make yourself cry?” she asks over her shoulder.
“I can certainly say I have never tried.”
“Well, can you give it a try? I need a tear from the broken heart to complete the spell. Or I could stomp on your foot really hard. Or get one of the bees to sting you,” she says, though she is only partly joking.
“I see. Let me try.”
He widens his eyes and stares at her unblinking for almost a full minute. The pair keep laughing in each other’s faces during this staring contest, and the tears finally come. He shuts his eyes tightly and blinks rapidly to recover from the dry burn, and she brings over a tiny teaspoon to scrape the tears from his cheek. She stirs them into the bowl and begins to pour the mixture into a perfect heart-shaped bottle.
“You’ll take this home and keep it at your bedside. Put a small amount over your heart before falling asleep.”
August eagerly takes the bottle from her and seems to try to stop himself from wrapping her in a hug, but he cannot. He embraces her and spins her around in a complete circle before allowing her feet back on the ground.
“You are my favorite witch in the whole wide world! What do I owe you for this?”
Head spinning, she says, “Happy to be of service. You owe me nothing, but I would appreciate your company more often now that you are back.”
“I can promise that. I’ll return as often as I can, and hopefully in better spirits after this spell works.”
She beams. “I look forward to it, August.”
“Farewell, Marigold,” he says, bowing out of the door. As he leaves, there is a sinking feeling in her stomach, like she didn’t know how badly she wanted him to stay until he was already gone. His tiny boat floats out of view from her vantage point of the window, and she is alone again.
Chapter Thirteen
Along four days pass until August Owens returns to Innisfree, although this time, he is not alone. Sitting in the boat across from him is Lottie Burke, her bright red curls glittering under the sun. August must have dragged her here against her will. As usual, she is pouting and wearing an overly modest black dress.
