“This is nothing like La Côte d’Azur,” Leo said eventually.
“God, I hope not. I still have nightmares about that wine.”
“It was a very expensive wine.”
“It tasted like regret and pretension.” She bumped his shoulder. “This is better. Admit it.”
“This is infinitely better.” His arm came around her, pulling her closer. “Though to be fair, the diner was also infinitely better. The restaurant set a very low bar.”
“The restaurant was your idea.”
“The restaurant was my attempt to impress you with the only tools I understood.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “I’ve since learned you’re not impressed by expensive things.”
“I’m impressed by real things.” She tilted her head to look at him. “By people who take off their designer shoes and wade into magical pools because a chaos witch asked them to. By men who let me see them vulnerable.” Her voice softened. “By you.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
JUNIE
They raided the picnic basket after the pools—Dahlia’s pastries and thermoses of coffee from Gilly’s, the café on Main Street that brewed the best espresso in three counties. The pastries were still fresh despite the hour, charmed to stay that way, and Junie groaned at the first bite of a chocolate croissant.
“Dahlia’s going to kill me when she finds out I shared these with you,” she said around a mouthful. “She made them specifically for girls’ night, and I stole half the batch.”
“I’ll take the blame.”
“You’ll have to. She won’t believe me.” Junie licked chocolate from her fingers, only realizing belatedly that Leo was watching her with an intensity that had nothing to do with pastries. “What?”
“Nothing.” His voice was rougher than it had been. “Watching you.”
“Watching me eat? That’s weird.”
“You’re not eating. You’re…” He gestured vaguely. “Enjoying. With your whole body. Like the croissant is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
“I mean, it’s a phenomenal croissant.” But her skin was heating under his gaze, her body responding to the want she could see in his expression.
“You’re doing it again,” she said.
“Doing what?” He sounded genuinely unconcerned.
“Looking at me like that. Like you’re memorizing something.”
His gaze didn’t move. “I am.”
“That’s—” She stopped. There was no good end to that sentence.
The air between them had shifted, the easy camaraderie of the tide pools transforming into tension of a different kind. Junie was suddenly, acutely aware of everything: the moonlight on his face, the breadth of his shoulders, the way his rolled-up sleeves revealed forearms that did things to her rational brain.
“Make a wish,” she said abruptly.
He blinked. “What?”
“The pools. You’re supposed to make a wish at midnight under a full moon. It’s tradition.” She pointed at the largest pool, the one they hadn’t visited yet. “The Wishing Pool. Most powerful one here.”
“I don’t wish.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “I plan.”
“God, you’re exhausting.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the pool. “One wish. It won’t kill you.”
He let her drag him to the water’s edge. The Wishing Pool was deep, its surface still as glass, reflecting the moon like a perfect mirror. Magic hummed around it, ancient and patient.
