Chapter 5 #3
I’m still sprinting by the time I reach the fountain and only slow down when I run into the crowds already shopping on Valentine High Street, and maneuver so I’m swallowed into the throng. It’s the first time I take a full breath.
There’s a freedom to being hidden by strangers, and it’s both overwhelming and exhilarating. I’m a spy on the run, even if it’s only from my own overactive imagination. But I learned a long time ago that my mind is always overactive when it comes to Hendricks.
My thoughts are swirling enough that I don’t notice the group in front of me veer into a store. I only take a couple of steps alone when I hear someone calling my name and spin around.
Agatha Chase wears a pinched look of frustration, standing on the pavement outside Agatha Chase’s Love Emporium, dressed in her customary deep purple and black.
Swathes of fabric billow around her, and she either doesn’t notice the people pushing past her to get inside or she doesn’t care enough to move.
“Oh, hey, Agatha.” I hug her before I realize what I’m doing.
Her bracelets jangle against my ear as she grips my shoulders and pulls me back. “Finally, Story. I was expecting to see you months ago. Oh well, better late than never.”
I’d forgotten how little sense she makes.
I concluded long ago that it’s in her delivery.
Sometimes she’s wistful, giving the impression she’s working on a different plane of existence than the rest of us, and sometimes—like right now—she’s forceful to the point where all you can do is nod politely in agreement.
And people lap it up. Outside of the Burlingtons, she’s probably one of the wealthiest members of the village because of the many love potions and spells she makes. She’s living proof that love is a money-spinner.
Especially with her three-for-the-price-of-two deals.
I bought one once.
I was seventeen and desperate. But I followed the instructions and brewed it up at midnight on the next full moon. I had to write a list of everything I wished for—Hendricks—and burn it, then drop the ashes into the brew I was making and drink it under the power of a moonbeam.
It didn’t work.
In fact, it had the opposite effect because that weekend I saw Hendricks snogging Olivia Cussions in The Cupid’s Arrow.
I didn’t buy another one, and when I told Agatha it hadn’t worked, she said I hadn’t wanted it enough. And that’s when I knew she was a fraud. I’d never wanted anything more than Hendricks.
But I’m not going to get into it now. I need to buy bread and flapjacks, then get the hell home. “I guess.”
“Don’t worry, it won’t be much longer.”
“What won’t?”
Before I can stop her, she places a hand over my heart, millimeters away from touching me. I’d say it was weird, but that’s Agatha. All she’ll be able to detect is my heart still hammering away from sprinting down the lane.
“The heaviness will lift soon, Story. Hang in there.”
I don’t have the energy to tell her it won’t. The heaviness is a part of me. It has been for a long time.
It’s there twenty-four seven, and if I happen to forget, it will always remind me.
Like the day Noah proposed.
“Cool. Thanks, Agatha.”
“Have faith,” she calls behind her as she turns and walks back into the store with a “come and see me for a reading.”
In hindsight, I can totally blame her for what happened next. If it hadn’t been for her, I wouldn’t have been distracted enough that I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.
I wouldn’t have walked straight into the thick, broad—very solid—chest of the guy I’ve been unsuccessfully trying to avoid as though my life depended on it.
At this point, I’m living on borrowed time.
“God, I’m so sor—”
“Story.”
My mouth opens, then closes. So much for sprinting past the cottage.
It seems Hendricks is struck down by the same dumb affliction I am, and we stand there like goldfish until the silence is broken by a screeched “Daddy” followed by “Miss MacIntosh.”
I peer down at Max, who’s run at full speed out of the bakery, waving a paper bag in the air, and into Hendricks, who grunts upon impact.
I want to believe it hurt a lot more than he’s letting on. I crouch down until I’m face to face with his mini-me.
“Hi, Max, how’s it going?”
“Good, Claudia gave me a flapjack.”
“Wow, lucky you. I love flapjacks.”
“Me too. So does my daddy. It’s our favorite.”
I know Hendricks is staring at me, seeing how I’ll react, and it takes all my strength to keep a neutral expression and reply, “Is that right?”
“Yes, we come down every Saturday to get here early.”
“Well, looks like you were in luck. I hope you saved me some.”
“It’s okay. Claudia put another batch in the oven.” His whole face lights up as he tells me, his head wobbling enough that a big curl flops onto his forehead. It’s almost painful to look at him.
“What else do you have planned once you’ve eaten all the flapjacks?”
“We’re going to Foxleigh Park. I have a lesson with Uncle Miles. He plays polo, you know.”
“I did know that, yes.”
In the corner of my eye, I see Hendricks pushing his hands into his pockets. I try to spot a wedding ring, but all I catch is the flash of gold from his large signet ring. The one that all the Burlingtons wear, stamped with the Valentine Nook coat of arms.
There’s only so much I can take under the weight of Hendricks’s gaze, and I stand back up so that once again we’re staring and waiting for the other to speak first—goldfish state.
And I want to say something, but I just have no idea where to begin.
I have the feeling it’s the same for him.
Two things happen then.
Max realizes he’s forgotten something in The Beanery and runs back inside. And my eyes spy a woman emerging from a store on the other side of the street. She may as well have a spotlight on her for how much she’s illuminated through a sea of January beige drabness.
Seriously, who looks that glamorous on a Saturday morning?
“How’ve you—” Hendricks begins as I say, “Well . . . hope the three of you have a wonderful weekend. Must dash.”
His brows drop. “Three?”
“You, Max, your . . . wife?” I take a step back. I do not want to be here when she arrives.
Deep lines form across Hendricks’s brow. “I don’t have a wife.”
“Girlfriend then. The blonde,” I snap before I can stop myself.
Regret kicks in before the sentence has even left my mouth, but my pride is too thick to allow me to take it back. It feels like six years ago when Hendricks told me he’d not only been seeing someone for a few months, but that she’d also fallen pregnant.
He turns around to where my gaze keeps bouncing, and when his eyes return to mine, he’s confused.
No, not confused. Angry.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Might as well keep digging this hole. Maybe I’ll dig all the way back to Australia.
“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” I actually don’t.
“Quit while you’re ahead, Stor.”
My teeth grit. “My name is Sophie.”
“Not to me.”
“Then do me a favor and don’t talk to me again.” God, I’m such a child.
His blue eyes bore into me, even through angry slits. “Fine. It would be my pleasure.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
The blonde is about five feet away when I turn on my heel and sprint off, dodging through the crowds until I’m around the corner and safely out of sight.
And later, when my mum asks what happened to the bread, I lie and tell her I’m trying to avoid gluten.