Page 15 of Love Potion No. 69
Still grinning, he says, “Okay, so…love potion? Tell me more.”
“For generations, my family was known for this particular potion. It was said to quite literally be a love potion: the person would wear it around their crush or whatever, and boom, love.” And as the words come out, I realize that’s what this is. Swallowing, I continue. “But my great-grandmother died without teaching it to my grandmother or mother, and it was never written down. Everyone figured it was lost to history, but I’m a freaking botanist. I wanted to recreate it. I knew it was tied to the Elysian Blossom, because it only grows here, and family lore also said that it couldn’t be made that often. So the first thing I had to do was figure out how to get it to bloom on demand. That took a year. Then it was a matter of sorting out the ingredients. My mom could remember what it smelled like, but literally nothing else.”
Quinton chuckles. “Sounds familiar.”
I peer at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean the reason I’ve been blowing you up for the same damn flower: my family is counting on me to recreate the perfume that made us famous. And my dad—who is so talented that his nose is literally insured for millions—is blind to the Elysian Blossom scent. But I’m not.”
I pick at a loose thread on the sheet and blow out a breath. “So we’re both trying to use the flower to create a legendary scent for our families.” I glance up and meet his steady gaze. “And I didn’t get mine to work until you were beside me, literally helping pour the Elysian Blossom essence into the rest of the potion. Once that happened, we…” I shrug and look back down, pulling on the thread again.
When I can’t handle the silence anymore, I look up to find him studying me. “Do you honestly think that’s what this is? Whatweare?” he asks, gesturing between us. “The product of some kind of magical love potion?”
“It’s the only explanation.”And the visions?A fluke. That’s all they are.
“No.”
His voice is so deep, so insistent, that it startles me. “It’s true, Quinton.”
“No, Clementine.” He shifts, sitting up to face me and pulling my hands into his. “I will freely admit that this is a little…different. Hell, we were talking aboutkidsjust a few minutes ago, at least one of whom we’ve both seen underneath a damn willow tree. So yeah, fine. This isn’t one hundred percent logical. But itisone hundred percent real. I have to believe that.”
“Why?”
He blinks.
I push. “Whydo you have to believe it? Why can’t you believe that all of this is precisely because of chemistry? Science has already proven that initial attraction has to do with our bodies’ responses to other’s pheromones. So why can’t adding a potion—a scent designed to heighten that very response—be what this is?”
He’s silent, and I can practically see the thoughts whirring in his head. Finally, he speaks. “Because I have never felt this way in my life. Because you drove me crazy when you were ignoring my calls and being a snarky little bellend by email, but I couldn’t wait to see what you’d do or say next. Because you’re clearly beloved by your family, even though the one sister I’ve met kind of scares me. Because you’re driven. Because…” he looks away, as though to steel himself, and turns back. “Because my grandparents fell in love at first sight, and I did, too.”
The world seems to blur and darken everywhere except the bubble that Quinton and I are in, and I catch my breath. Did he just say…
“Yes, I did.”
“Oh my god.” I scramble backwards and off the bed, panic searing through me. This is the absolute worst thing that could happen. “No. No. No. No, you can’t be in love with me, Quinton—we barely know each other!”
“I do.” His voice is calm, certain. “I love you.”
I find my panties and step into them, whirling around to find he’s been looking at my ass. “Stop looking at me!” I nearly screech. “This—you—no!” I repeat.
“Come on, Clementine,” he says. “For one thing, your ass is fantastic. And if you take a moment to breathe, I bet we can talk this through.”
I shove my arms through my bra straps and glare at him. “Did you just tell me to calm down?”
“Hell no.” He holds his hands up. “We are well into the twenty-first century. I know better than that.”
“That’s one point in your favor,” I mutter, glancing around for my pants.
“What’s another one?”
I snatch my pants up and start putting them on, certain I misheard him. “What?”
“What’s another point in my favor?” he says. “Something else you like about me.”
The tiniest of smirks hits my face, and I turn away before he can see it.
“See? You like me.”
Dammit. He saw it. “It doesn’t matter,” I say, putting my shirt on and grabbing for my socks.