“I suppose someone needs to keep it safe.”
“I suppose so, since I don’t need it anymore.”
“I don’t need it at all.”
“You never know. You might find a cure for those herpes walls.”
Her eyes brighten. “You know what, you got a point. Come back next week and check on me. If I’ve found a potion, we’ll do it together.”
“Uh ... how about we start slow and read all the fine print?”
She nods. “Good point.”
“I’d like that, and I will come back next week.”
“You’d better, or else I’ll hex you. I know how.”
I laugh. “You sure do.”
“Hand me those scissors and I’ll finish up the throw.”
As she works, Dot says, “So what will you do now? You know, with your magic?”
A bubble of excitement fills my stomach as I reply, “I’m going to make flowers.”
Chapter 51
Coco
“You ready for this?” Mom asks as I unlock the front gate.
“I’m ready.”
Dad grabs one side of gate and swings it open. “It looks great, honey.”
A knot of worry pushes up into my throat. “Let’s see if they come.”
My gaze brushes over the field of tulips I created. It took weeks of planning, weeks of course correction to make sure I could grow the flower I really wanted—and I wanted one that withers in the heat but, with magic, could bloom.
So I picked tulips.
“All the social media’s done,” Brittany says, coming up beside me. “Lots of folks selected they’re interested in coming. So maybe they will.”
“Hopefully so.” I grin at my family. “Let’s get ready for them. Even if they don’t come. It’s okay. We tried.”
I turn back to the field—rows and rows of brightly colored tulips stand in straight lines. They look like a rainbow, one I’m so proud of because growing the right flower proved harder than I thought it would be.
And luckily, it doesn’t take long for cars to start rolling up. People park and exit their vehicles. As soon as they spot the flowers, their eyes flare, their mouths part into bright smiles.
“Morning,” I say, welcoming them. “Pick whatever you’d like. Everything’s free.”
“Free?” a woman asks.
“Free,” I confirm. “Completely free.”
My family and I spend the day helping people pick and load up baskets of blooms. It’s the least I could do for Mystic Meadows—give back to the town that has embraced me with open arms.
By the end of the day, I’m sweaty. My pits are stained and there’s a line of dirt beads clinging to my neck. It turns out that giving away free flowers is a lot of hard work.
