Page 22 of Witchful Thinking
“How do you know?” Lucy squawked, mock offended. “I could totally take a bubble bath every night. I like bubbles.”
“I can’t see you taking a bubble bath.”
A beat passed. She stared at him, that spark reignited in her eyes. “What do you see me doing instead?”
Alex raised a brow. He had a vision of her covered in rain, caught in a summer storm, her skin glistening. She had water in her soul. He held his breath as the image played out before his eyes. Her head was thrown back as she sang into the storm.
“I bet you sing.”
“I do,” Lucy said, looking away. “I don’t sing well, but I sing.”
“I remember you have a pretty voice.”
Lucy thought for a moment, as if she wanted to respond to his compliment, but shook her head. “Your turn, Alex.”
“One of my videos went viral. I have been trapped inside an elevator. I own a home.”
“Come on. You’re not playing fair. The last one’s the lie.”
“I wish,” he said with light bitterness. Lucy watched him with a cautious glance. “Guess what I got for my birthday?”
“Your parents got you a house,” Lucy said, in a joking tone. “All I got were unicorn slippers. Where is it?”
Alex fished the keys out of his pocket. He read off the address on the tag. Lucy laughed without humor. He bristled, feeling left out of a joke the universe seemed to be playing on him. Realization dawned on her, and a cascade of emotions flickered in her eyes.
“You own the Fortunato Cottage,” she said in a disbelieving tone.
“You know where it is?” Alex’s stomach bottomed out.
“It’s across the street from me.”
Neither of them said anything. Mutual shock had stolen their voices. He watched as a question lingered in her eyes. Will you stay? They’d been friends, but there was an invisible line they’d never crossed. Her heart had been the undiscovered country he’d yearned to explore but was terrified of spoiling and ruining with his actions. He’d left his sticky fingerprints all over the Grove, and he didn’t want to do the same with her.
For the time being, he would be right across the street. Close enough to touch. Close enough to hurt. The Ferris wheel shifted, then groaned to life. It creaked, the lights blinked, and their gondola lurched forward. They were descending back to the ground, but everything was up in the air.
Chapter Eight
Fields of Enchantment, in Downtown Freya Grove, provided every witch and caster within the tri-county area with all their magic-making needs. Cone incense burned in a red stone container and filled the space with the scent of earthy sage and sweet blessings. Copious amounts of glitter had been trodden into the wood floor over the last thirty years. Half a dozen wind chimes dangled above and sang every time the door opened or a random spirit came through the shop. An altar situated in the corner of the shop with unlit and half-melted green and white candles nestled between necklaces, saints’ medals, and seagull feathers gave the store an unspoken reverence.
It sold everything from oil-dipped candles, to blessed herbs, to various items for enchantments. There was also a lending library, which was used by those who wanted to share their mystical knowledge with anyone who needed help with pesky spells or hexes. On Wednesday afternoon, Lucy ran her fingers over the spines of the well-worn and loved books borrowed by many casters looking for answers. According to family folklore, the trouble with the day Wednesday was that you could never spread rumors or speak ill of other people. If you did, the words would come back and haunt you. Lucy did her best to keep her mouth shut, especially when the rumor of the day was that Alexander Dwyer had bought the infamous Fortunato Cottage. At least three of her neighbors had texted her, asking about whether she’d talked to the new owner. Yeah, she thought, we’ve talked. She’d spoken to Alex once since the Ferris wheel incident, but she didn’t want to get too involved.
Yesterday as she headed to school, she saw him outside on the sidewalk in front of the cottage. He didn’t go in, but he seemed transfixed by the house. Alex stood, his hands on his hips, his head tilted to the side.
It was clear that this gift was a temporary problem for him.
“It has to be the wish.” Callie shook her head, amazed. “Your high school crush buys your dream house right across the street. This is fate.”
“No, it’s real estate market,” Lucy quipped, running her fingers down book spines. “It’s not my dream house.”
“Please. Don’t try to fool me. Every time we play the lotto, you start talking about how you’d buy the whole thing, including the honeysuckle bushes. You said you’d even hire the gnomes to landscape the place,” Callie said.
“Okay, so I like the Fortunato Cottage. It’s no big deal Alex owns it,” Lucy admitted, a thread of jealousy bleeding into her words.
Lucy scanned the bookshelf until she came to a book spine that read Cottage Style. The gods were just rubbing Alex’s good fortune all in her face.
She didn’t just like the cottage; she yearned for it. She followed Instagram pages like Old House Lust and Old Homes, New Life and marathon-watched house and garden shows on weekends. Whenever she came home after a long day of teaching, she’d stop and stare at the For Sale sign on Fortunato Cottage and wish. She’d wanted the money to buy it, the time to decorate it, and the will to leave the Caraway house behind to make a space of her own. The problem with inheriting a home filled with so much life was that there was little room for hers. Lucy carved out enough space in her large bedroom, but she yearned for a true home. A place where she’d make her tea blends, have stacks of books and design magazines, and fall in love. A place where she could plant her herbs instead of leaving them on the porch. Once Alex told her he’d been gifted the property, she’d been stunned into complete silence. From the disappointed look on his face, it was a gift he didn’t want. She wanted to be angry, but instead, she was gripped with sadness and envy that she’d lost out on another dream.
Callie, face buried in her smartphone, spoke up first. “What’s got you all upset?”