Dad smiled. ‘We fit together somehow. Always have. Plus, she’s a babe.’
‘That’s true,’ I agreed.
‘So, any thoughts on this new job of yours? Your mom mentioned it.’
I groaned. ‘Of course she did. I don’t know. It’s a great opportunity, and I love Lara, but …’
I trailed off. I enjoyed working with Eddie. And I enjoyedmy work. Even when it was writing about oldies bocce tournaments and the fascinating origins of sports mascots.
‘You’ll do what’s right, Mol. You always do.’ Dad put on his glasses. ‘All right, show me this book of yours.’
He’d rung off after insisting I show him the volume I’d bought him at the signing, at length, page by page.
I set down my phone on Josephine’s diary. Then, biting my lip, I flipped open the diary and updated Josephine on the latest goings-on.
Jigsaw puzzles and movie nights?she wrote.Romance truly is dead.
Just then, I heard footsteps coming from the music room – Finn. I set down the diary, although not before noticing that Josephine had written one more line before I closed its pages:
Remember, not making a decision is also making a decision.
‘Lovelorn diarizing, huh?’ teased Finn, reaching for the diary.
A snap of magic sent him rearing back. ‘Wow, better than a padlock. Anyway, you promised me a movie marathon. And I patiently didn’t interrupt that whole phone call. Even though your dad could really benefit from some interrupting.’
My email dinged, and I sighed. It was Eddie, and apparently, I’d been right about my assessment of the Sandy Balls article. A rewrite was in order. Although he’d liked the pictures at least.
‘Can we get out of here?’ I asked.
The house suddenly felt too cramped, too warm, toopink. And the expectations that I’d make decisions about every part of my life were starting to become oppressive.
Holding up his index finger to indicate I should wait a second, Finn went over to the junk drawer under the kitchen counter and rummaged through it.
‘Where are you, where are you … Comeon,’ he muttered.
His magic glimmered as he tapped into it in frustration.Then, finally, he pulled out a copy of the hand-drawn tourist map that was on the counter of every shop or restaurant in town. This one was slightly tea-stained, and there were names of roses written on it in Rosie’s delicate handwriting.
‘So, I have an idea …’ he said mischievously.
I was listening.
Finn’s shenanigans were always the good kind – harmless pranks that ended in giggles or, at the very worst, embarrassment. He’d only ever had the cops called on him three times that I was aware of, and at least one of those he’d been let off not with a warning, but a laugh.
He upturned a shot glass, wiping away the stray drops of tequila that spilled out.
‘Okay, this is our planchette,’ he declared, setting it down on the map.
‘It’s a Ouija map?’
‘Exactly.’ He put a finger on top of the shot glass, then gestured for me to do the same. ‘Now we just need a candle …’
He snapped the fingers of his free hand, and a whole slew of candles by the kitchen window burst aflame.
‘Oh wow. That’s a serious combination of scents,’ I said, laughing.
He grinned. ‘Mood scenting. Okay, eyes closed. We’re going to speak to the spirit of Whisperwind Cove.’
I closed my eyes, then opened them again. ‘Wait, is there a spirit of Whisperwind Cove?’
