‘I mean, there’s distance involved with either.’
‘Doomed from the start,’ I said merrily. ‘Although maybe don’t tell Tiff I said that.’
Lara jabbed me with the handle of her wooden fork. ‘There’s safety in distance. It’s ideal for a holiday fling with no furtherobligations. Or the risk of him showing up at the office. Ugh, like that guy I met at the pop-up in Boston. Who brings a stuffed toy to someone’s place of work?’
‘Counter: whodoesn’tbring a stuffed toy to someone’s place of work?’
Lara had turned her attention to the half of the doughnut I’d managed to leave. ‘You and I are very different people,’ she said around a mouthful of filling.
‘Thank goodness, or we’d be keeping local law enforcement very busy.’
‘Just so long as he doesn’t have a podcast,’ said Lara thoughtfully. ‘I have very few rules for holiday flings, but no podcasts is one of them. They have a tendency to slip into podcaster voice during sex. Ruins the whole vibe.’
‘Especially when they start shilling protein powder. Use codePodcast Dickheadfor thirty per cent off.’
‘You jest, but that’s happened at least twice.’ Done with her dessert, Lara stabbed her fork into the sand. ‘All right, nothappened. But they were definitely thinking about it. I could see it behind the eyes. Right here, the window to the soul bit. It saiddiscount code.’
I laughed around my bite of apple tart, which, to be fair, was just as good as the doughnut. How did Lorraine do it? With great baking skills and a dash of magic, yes, but still. I had my own magic, but it hadn’t turned me into a world-class pastry chef.
In solidarity with Lara, and to mark the completion of a seriously ambitious plate of pastries, I stabbed my fork into the sand as well. Unlike Lara’s, it didn’t stand up neatly in the sand – not even with a touch of magic to it. It must have hit a root or something.
But as I pulled the fork back out to try another stab, something gleamed. A bottle cap, perhaps. Or a lucky penny. I was always finding those.
I used the fork to scoop the sand to one side, revealing a ring. An antique diamond-shaped one decorated with dramatic filigree and tiny moonstones. One of the moonstones had darkened, from the elements, probably, but otherwise it was beautiful.
Awestruck, I held it up, shaking the last few grains of sand from it with a gentle burst of magic. It felt warm in my hand, and I thought for a moment that I felt a small zap of electricity.
Magic … and not my own.
I frowned, rolling it around on my palm.
‘Is this how fishermen feel when they make a catch?’ said Lara, marvelling at the ring, which shimmered beneath the morning sun.
‘Well, I’m not throwing it back,’ I said with a laugh.
‘Put it on,’ urged Lara. ‘Look at it – it’s gorgeous.’
The ring crackled in my palm, and I drew in a sharp breath. Who knew what spells or memories it was imbued with.
But Lara wasn’t taking no for an answer.
‘Here.’
Grabbing the ring, she jammed it on my finger, marvelling as the morning light fractured into prisms of colour. A million tiny spangles sprayed across the sand. Laraoohed, grasping my hand and holding it to the sky.
‘Settle down, Gollum,’ I said. ‘It’s just a ring.’
Granted, a weird, magical ring that had found its way to me. I was no fortune teller, but I knew that magical artefacts didn’t just appear out of nowhere. They found the person they were meant to find, and they stuck around until they had no more reason to do so.
Chapter 8
IF THE RING FITS
It was late morning by the time I arrived back at the Pink House, and though I’d tried my best, the pastries hadn’t made it. Although, judging from the buttery, chocolatey aroma spilling from an open window, Rosie had been on a baking spree of her own.
‘Morning, Molly!’ said Rosie, who was now in the garden shaking out some striped cushions. ‘I’m thinking of reupholstering these. What do you think?’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Although they look like they’re in pretty good shape.’
