Which, honestly, she was pretty good about. She’d onlyactually said it once, after I’d spent six weeks trying to figure out what type of suitcase to buy, although I’d definitely caught her thinking it at least a thousand times. Telepathy wasn’t a skill of mine, but I didn’t need it to see what was on Tiff’s mind. I could read the tension in her jaw the way Rosie might the leaves at the bottom of a teacup.
‘Well, only you know your own mind, and your own heart.’ She turned a page in her book. ‘Even if you barely know what gelato flavour you prefer.’
‘Speaking of flavours,’ sang Rosie, who’d just emerged from the house, a plate of boozy pumpkin parfaits in hand, ‘I come bearing snacks. From Lorraine’s, because I don’t trust the oven at the moment. But that’s a problem for the next …’
She trailed off, although I knew what she’d been about to say.The next owner. The very thought of it made my stomach twist. The potential sale of the house. Tiff moving away.
This really could be our last Summerween together.
I couldn’t bear the thought.
But Rosie was looking at us so expectantly. Tiff and I both took a glass and a spoon, Tiff digging in while I dragged my spoon over the rich cream. I knew the dessert was delicious, but I could barely taste it. Everything just felt so off.
Rosie settled in on one of the white rattan armchairs opposite me. She started in on her parfait, raising a cream-covered spoon in approval. ‘The boys should be back soon, and we can pop the pizzas in.’
‘How’s Mom doing?’ asked Tiff, around a mouthful of pumpkin-spiced cream.
Rosie shook her head sadly. ‘Still abed. Those migraines just lay her out, don’t they?’
‘She was up all night working, as usual,’ I said glumly, wishing that Mom would realize that her Pink House vacations were most likely on borrowed time. ‘I hope she’s using the lavender tinctures she made us prepare.’ I hit an alcohol-dense bit of my parfait and raised an eyebrow. ‘Wow, are yousure you got these from Lorraine’s and not from the Hammer and Thistle?’
Rosie chuckled. ‘Quite sure – when I went past the pub, they were racing around fretting about their giant pumpkin, which apparently exploded overnight.’
I grimaced. There went Lara’s giant-pumpkin photoshoot.
‘Anyway, at least Lorraine’s having a better time with her magic than I am,’ said Rosie morosely, spooning up some pumpkin shortbread and cream. ‘Every time I try to charm my cream, it curdles. Let’s hope the pizzas fare better.’
I ducked my gaze, for I had my suspicions about the strange magic we’d all been experiencing since the Summerween Festival. Because this wasn’t all a coincidence, was it? Things were, to use one of Dad’s design phrases,out ofwhack.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said valiantly. ‘Lara’s volunteered to help with those. She doesn’t have magic, so there’s no way it can go awry, right?’
‘I hope not,’ said Tiff. ‘You know how exacting I am about my pizza bases.’
Tiff had eaten her way through Italy during an exchange year, and had returned with strong convictions about pizza-crust density and acceptable toppings.
Just then, my phone buzzed: Lara.
‘Do we have room for one more tonight, Rosie?’ I asked after speaking with Lara for a minute. ‘Lara wants to know if she can bring Jack.’
Rosie’s eyes sparkled, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t from the bottle of booze that had been mixed into the parfait. ‘She’s making the most of this Summerween fling, isn’t she? I knew I could sense some love in the air.’
She held out a hand, the same way Tiff had, as though assessing the air for wayward love spells.
‘Well, lust at least,’ she added with a wink.
Tiff snorted, then tried to redact the snort by pretending she’d been clearing her throat. My darling big sister alwaysput on a show of being holier-than-thou, but Rosie brought out her true colours. The two of them had a romance novel swapping arrangement going on, and some of the titles would have made even Lara blush.
As the two of them, tipsy on the boozy parfaits, traded cheeky jokes, I spun Josephine’s ring on my finger, staring up at the sky. Either way, Tiff was right: a stormwascoming.
Tiff had made it through her paperback and I’d written practically a collected letters’ worth of notes to Josephine by the time Lara and Jack arrived in the late afternoon, drunkenly pulling up on the town’s rental bikes.
Remember,said Josephine.You only get so many chances to say something.
I glanced down at my ring, with its last, dimming moonstone. She was right. Although I didn’t need the ring to tell me that it was time to step up. I could feel it in the tension all around me. If I didn’t act, and soon, there’d be a point where my decision wouldn’t even matter – everyone involved would simplyassumemy choice. It wasn’t fair to drag my feet in matters of the heart.
‘Ding, ding!’ shouted Lara, effusively ringing her bicycle bell as she swung her leg over the pink frame. She reached into the picnic-style basket on the front and pulled out some drinks and sparklers. ‘It felt like a sparkler-y kind of night,’ she said with a shrug.
Mom emerged from the house, rubbing her head. ‘Oh, it’s you making all that noise, Lara.’
