‘You know I love a good scoop,’ I quipped.
‘Ah, being a journalist and all. I get it.’ He tapped his temple, showing off his smarts.
‘A hard-hitting sports journalist – that’s me.’
‘I mean, I think sports journalism is quite literally hard-hitting, so no lies detected.’
I chuckled. ‘Fair, fair. Although Lara has been talking about poaching me for her company, so we’ll see.’
Finn shot me an impressed look. ‘Of course she’d want you. Besides, there’s crossover. I could definitely see you in one of those tiny outfits handing out fancy sparkling water at the tennis.’
‘I think you’d be better suited to that,’ I said with a laugh. ‘Skimpy attire is definitely your thing.’
‘I work hard for these legs,’ he said, pulling up the hem of his shorts to show them off.
A couple of passing college girls whistled. Finn took the compliment in stride as usual, spinning on the spot so that they could take in the full muscular wonder of his legs.
I clapped a hand over my eyes, groaning in embarrassment.
‘Gotta give the ladies what they want,’ he said with a shrug. Then he gave another spin for good measure.
‘You’re going to get dizzy.’
‘Never,’ he said. ‘Between my love of playground roundabouts and my exceptional parkour skills, I have a stomach of steel.’
‘Oh shush. You’ve never done parkour.’
‘Everything is parkour if you want it to be.’ To demonstrate, he ran straight at a wooden bench to one side of us, leaping atop it, then barrelling over a small fence. He missed landing on a patiently waiting labrador by a mere few inches – and only then because he used a quick flash of magic to put some air between him and the poor dog.
‘Sorry, friend,’ he said, stooping to give the snoozing dog a pat. The labrador yawned languidly, as though he were used to having warlocks drop out of the sky and drizzle magic over his furry head. ‘Okay, so maybe I’m not aproat parkour. But we all start somewhere.’
I chuckled. ‘If you keep that up, you might meet your end before you meet your beginning.’
‘You know, I think this is the first time we’ve properly hung out together since you arrived. Which makes it two full years since I’ve had any proper Molly time,’ said Finn, as he guided me up the path towards The Scoop, a shop that was carefully painted the tri-colour hues of a tub of Neapolitan ice cream. Striped awnings overhung its windows, and white wrought-iron tables and chairs huddled under pink umbrellas.
We were walking so closely together that our wrists bumpedfrom time to time. Was he thinking about holding my hand? Was hetryingto?
I was so anxious thinking about the possibility of it that I found myself focusing on the cadence of my arms swinging. Take it from me,thinkingabout walking is something you don’t ever want to do. The more you think about it, the more impossible it becomes, and you find yourself stumbling.
Thankfully, Finn’s so-called parkour reaction skills kicked in, and he saved me from myself. This time with an outstretched hand rather than magic.
‘Thanks,’ I said, flushing at the sight of my hand in his. And even more so when I caught a glimpse of the two of us reflected in one of The Scoop’s windows. We looked … good together. Although most of it was probably to do with Finn’s charisma. Finn’s magic wasn’t as strong as Noah’s, but he had his own unique brand of charm that was just as powerful as the most potent attraction spell.
Finn squeezed gently, waiting for me to give the signal to let go, the way I might have in the past. When I didn’t, he twined his fingers between mine.
My ring buzzed lightly against my skin, as though it had something to say. Behind us, a purple-tinged magical breeze kicked up. Tiny flecks of golden magic sparkled as they rained down on the cove, augmenting whatever spells were already woven in the air. A girl in a fairy dress sporting a bubble wand whirled around and around, sticking out her tongue as she tried to catch the magic. A college kid doing a terrible job of parallel parking climbed out of the car to take a selfie, marvelling as the car somehow rolled perfectly into place against the kerb.
I wonder if she sees how everything has changed, came a whisperwind, tickling at my hair. At least I thought it was a whisperwind. It might just have been me reflecting on my own thoughts.
‘Shall we?’
Finn tugged at my hand, pulling me inside the shop. We were instantly ensconced in the sweet, joyful aroma of vanilla and sugar. I’d always found the smell of The Scoop utterly transportive: every time I stepped over the threshold, I was eight years old again and trying to figure out how many toppings could fit on a triple-scoop waffle cone without the whole concoction collapsing. Mom and Rosie’s magic had rescued several over the years.
‘Finn! Molly!’ Soraya clapped her hands in excitement as the bell at the door rang out. She raised an eyebrow at our linked hands, but said nothing. ‘It’s always lovely to see my favourite local musician and my favourite sports reporter. Ernie still talks about the article you wrote for him, Molly.’
Little Ernie, with his missing front teeth and astonishingly unruly hair, had designs on being a world-class soccer player. The Summerween before last, as part of the vacation column I always promised Eddie, I’d written up a piece detailing Ernie’s exceptional beach soccer skills. We’d had a clipping laminated for Ernie, but Soraya had gone a step further and had the article framed. Now it enjoyed pride of place on the back wall of The Scoop, among the many awards the shop had won over the years.
‘That’s my Molly,’ said Finn. ‘Always using her powers for good.’
