Chapter 4 COME, SING A SPELL
COME, SING A SPELL
‘There’s our spot!’ cried Rosie, picking her way between the blankets.
The overhead lights marked the paths across the lawn, reducing the likelihood of knocking over someone’s glass or stomping on their rug.
Pre-dusk, this was less of an issue, but after the sun went down and we’d all over-imbibed on cocktails, things tended to get rowdy.
The staked placards helped with that, too – a lamplit sign that told you whose party you were crashing was always a good idea.
After all, there was nothing more embarrassing than accidentally stealing a watermelon or snacking on someone else’s cheese platter.
‘Hey, babe!’
Lara was there waiting for us, perched on a folded hoodie presumably borrowed from the college kid a few blankets down who kept trying to catch her gaze.
She wore a sexy Morticia-Addams-meets-Midsommar outfit that would have been in serious violation of the skirt-length rules at our high school, and which would have similarly scandalized the AV club, who didn’t take well to anyone taking creative licence with the classics.
A striking flower crown topped her blonde mane, and she sported dramatic floral wedges that would’ve broken toes on a lesser individual.
And all this without any magical intervention – so unfair.
Being Lara, she looked great.
But so, apparently, did I.
‘Molly,’ she admonished, but in an approving way. Leaping up to give me a hug, she whacked me with the floral lei she wore around her neck. ‘You look gorgeous. A vixen. A siren. A witch.’
‘The witch bit is easy,’ I said with a chuckle. ‘When did you get in?’
‘A few hours ago, although I’ve mostly spent it on Zoom calls. Still, Zoom calls in a quaint B&B with a fancy cocktail on the side aren’t so bad. I did the camera-off, microphone-off thing.’
‘Sounds awful,’ I said with a grimace.
I wouldn’t have minded Lara’s salary, but I was definitely lucky to work in an easy-going environment where it was basically just Eddie, me and a few freelancers and interns putting the newspaper together.
Mom was always pressing me about sending my clips to larger publications, but larger didn’t always mean better.
Sometimes it just meant more stressful. Which was probably partly why Lara had booked a B&B this time instead of staying at the Pink House, as she usually did.
She was notable for being the only one outside of our families to attend our getaways, which she’d been doing since eighth grade, when her parents had abruptly divorced and she’d needed a break from all the drama.
Lara was glancing around as though looking for someone – although, to be fair, Lara was always looking for someone, and the Summerween Festival was a pretty solid place to do that.
A hand touched my shoulder, and I looked up, half expecting it to be one of the Tucker boys. But it was Mom, passing me the first of an endless assortment of dishes and floral decor to go on our blanket.
‘Wow,’ said Lara. ‘Positively decadent. I approve.’
‘I’m glad we’re up to your standards,’ said Mom, stooping to give Lara a hug. ‘So good to see you, Lara. I hear work’s going well, too. That Froyo subway activation made it to our desks – nice work with the cave recreation. Very smart.’
Lara flapped her lei at Mom. ‘Big words coming from you. How’s Shauna doing? Are you still kicking her butt?’
‘Always,’ said Mom airily. But there was something to the way she said it that made me wonder if Mom was somehow tired.
But that couldn’t be. My mom was Superwoman.
She had a preternatural ability to power through, close the loop, give a hundred and ten per cent …
and all the other business aphorisms they put on mugs.
‘And how are you doing, Rosie? I haven’t seen you since the funeral.’
It was the first time this trip I’d heard someone directly mention Charlie’s death, but Lara wasn’t one for euphemisms.
‘I’m keeping busy,’ said Rosie, giving Lara a hug. ‘It’s been a hard year. But Charlie’s memory is everywhere. Here, let me just …’
Stooping, she lent the gentle touch of her magic to the roses she’d brought to decorate the edge of our blanket.
Lara smiled. She didn’t have magic, but she’d never had a problem being around those who did.
On the whole, most people were fine with it, just so long as you didn’t do anything too showy or get in the way of whatever it was they were trying to do (I had to agree, magical influencers were the worst).
But still, it was usually better to err on the side of caution just in case, which was why being able to let loose in Whisperwind Cove every Summerween was such a draw.
‘Coolers incoming,’ came Finn’s easy-going voice from behind me. There was a light touch at my waist as he indicated he was coming through, and I swallowed. That was the second waist-touch of the night. Not that I was keeping count.
‘Hey, Finn,’ purred Lara, who was physically incapable of talking to guys in anything other than a purr. And most women as well. Like Finn, Lara didn’t discriminate based on gender: hot was hot, and opportunity was opportunity. ‘You’re looking … piratey.’
Finn, being Finn, had acquired an eyepatch at some point. And were those parrot feathers?
‘And you’re looking underdressed,’ teased Finn, going in for a hug.
‘That’s the goal.’ Lara raised her eyebrow at me, pointing at Finn’s shoulders and mouthing something rude.
‘Fair,’ said Finn. ‘How’s the Camellia?’
‘Acceptable for my purposes. Large bed, full liquor cabinet. How’s sharing a wall with Molly?’
‘Lara …’ I warned.
‘We’re managing,’ said Finn, eyes twinkling. ‘So, have you toured the lawn? What Summerween festivities await us this year?’
Lara pulled open one of the coolers and distributed ciders. She plopped down on the picnic blanket. ‘The usual: face painting, fried desserts, drunk college kids, boomers judging each other’s fruit sculptures.’
‘And the whisperwinds,’ I added, taking a seat next to her – and within reach of the cheese platter. ‘I’m going to get positively drunk on whisperwinds.’
‘Fair,’ said Lara, who loved a good whisperwind. Just because she didn’t have magic of her own didn’t mean that she couldn’t observe it.
Having finished her floral border, Rosie dropped down beside us, waggling her toes in her sandals and waving at various townsfolk she recognized.
‘Oh, but we got a good spot this year, didn’t we? Bribing Teri at the Chamber of Commerce was a good ploy.’
‘I’ll have to get you on my next brand activation,’ said Lara. ‘We can skip past all the red tape.’
‘You’re on.’ Rosie, not one for sitting still, was now deep in the various coolers, pulling out salads and snacks for all. ‘But I only accept payment in rose cuttings. Specifically, varieties that I don’t have in my garden.’
‘You drive a hard bargain,’ said Lara. ‘I’ll see what I can dig up. Literally. From my parents’ garden. Hey, where’s Noah? Isn’t he meant to be coming, too? And sans girlfriend, I hear?’
I wasn’t about to get into that with Finn sitting right there.
‘He’s here somewhere,’ I said, trying to spot Noah in the crowd. Perhaps he was helping out with the string lights again. Or other tall-people things, like fetching a cat from a tree.
Finn helped himself to a wedge of cheese so large it was practically a wheel. ‘I’m sure he’s off raining on a parade somewhere.’
Lara intercepted the cheese. ‘Nuh-uh, we’re not jinxing the Summerween Festival by mentioning rain. My hair and water don’t mix. Although …’ Ever the mischief-maker, she shot me a sly look. ‘I hear someone among us has always dreamed of a passionate kiss in a deluge.’
Trust Lara! I’d shared that information with her assuming that it would be subject to the girl code and kept confidential.
I spluttered, then tried to save face with a swig of my cider. The bubbles set me off on a coughing fit. Oh good. Very smooth, Mol.
‘Our Molly, kissing in the rain?’ Finn grinned, amused. ‘We’ll have to find you an eligible suitor. Assuming you don’t see anything you like right here, that is.’
If only my magic were strong enough to dig a hole in the ground to swallow me up.
‘I said that years ago,’ I muttered, not making eye contact as I dipped into Mom’s excellent assortment of cheeses. ‘After watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s.’
Thankfully, the squealing sounds of an electric guitar kicked up from the main stage: the fun was about to begin. Finn nodded along approvingly – he was slated to play after the sun went down, but was a free agent until then.
The opening act was a teenage sister duo: one on the drums, the other on guitar, both dressed in head-to-toe sequins.
Rosie and Mom clinked their ciders together as the teens launched into Stevie Nicks’s ‘Edge of Seventeen’ to a chorus of whoops.
It wasn’t long before the kids in the crowd had formed a miniature mosh pit in front of the stage.
Lara pulled me to my feet. ‘Let’s check out the vendors before it’s too dark and we’re too drunk.’
‘I’ll warm your section of the blanket for you,’ said Finn, reclining like some sort of Roman emperor. ‘And save you at least half of the pie. I know you can’t function without it.’
He wasn’t wrong: at any time, my body composition was approximately one-half pie.
‘We’ll get you a balloon animal as payment,’ I promised.
‘Make sure you’re back in time for the fireworks,’ said Mom, who was nibbling a cheese-topped cracker, her phone face-down on the blanket. Was she … relaxing?
‘Always,’ said Lara sweetly. She dragged me off across the lawn, navigating around the endless patchwork of picnic blankets and lawn chairs.
Locals and visitors alike were happily sprawled out, munching on snacks and tapping toes along to the two sisters singing their hearts out up on stage.
Paper streamers wafted from the backs of chairs, and garlands of dried citrus slices and sunflowers hung between the trees around the lawn, creating a vibrant wildflower fence.
Soraya from The Scoop was strolling about, trying to keep her cat-ear headband on her head as she bent to hand out raffle tickets.
Keiko, who ran the kids’ summer art camp, was doing the same thing a few feet away, dressed in a vivid yellow gown and wearing a giant papier-maché bee over her dark hair.
‘Molly, it’s been too long! You’re looking gorgeous.
You both are.’ Keiko leaned in to give us each a hug and some air kisses, then flapped the ticket book at us.
‘Proceeds go towards town beautification, the animal shelter and the library. Plus, the faster I sell them, the faster I can get back to the bottle of bubbly that’s waiting for me on my blanket. ’
‘I’ve got it, babe,’ said Lara, handing over her credit card. ‘Why not? I’m feeling lucky,’ she said, as Keiko peeled off a block of tickets for us.
‘Don’t forget to sign up for the pumpkin-carving contest at the Hammer and Thistle,’ added Soraya. ‘It’s a shame you missed last year’s – someone did Audrey II from Little Shop of Horrors, and I’m still living for it. Wait, where’d Ernie go?’
Ernie was Soraya’s extremely rambunctious six-year-old son, who could presently be seen spinning in circles in front of the stage.
He was holding an enormous seal plushie that he was alternatively using as a dance partner and a cushion.
A few other kids had joined him, and they were all shrieking and laughing as they bopped along.
I waved at Ernie, although mostly I was looking for an excuse to see what was going on over at our picnic blanket. What were the boys up to?
Following my gaze, Lara raised an eyebrow.
Busted in the act, I redirected instantly. But not before Finn blew a kiss in my direction.
‘Finn’s flirting with you,’ Lara said knowingly, handing me half the raffle tickets, which I shoved in my cross-body purse.
‘He’ll flirt with anyone with a pulse. That’s his whole thing.’
‘Yes, but he does have a history of flirting with you specifically,’ she pointed out.
All right, so perhaps during a movie marathon one Summerween a few years ago, Finn had overindulged on magically enhanced tequila and blurted out something about being in love with me.
After a deer-in-the-headlights moment where I’d sat staring into his blue eyes as a sex scene played awkwardly on the TV in front of us, I’d laughed it off and slowly extricated myself from him.
The next day, it was as though nothing had happened: Finn was his usual charming self, magicking up some pancakes and texting a solid half of the girls vacationing at the cove.
And maybe nothing had happened. Perhaps I’d imagined the whole thing.
Or misunderstood. It wouldn’t be the first time.
I was excellent at misinterpreting things.
Apparently, I still had the meaning of the Sopranos finale all wrong, even after all these years.
‘Speaking of flirting, you didn’t tell me that Noah has a new girl.’ Lara nudged me, then pointed to where Noah stood talking to a curly-haired woman I recognized from around town. She was a jogger and was always coming up behind me in head-to-toe Lululemon, like an athleisure-clad Predator.
‘I … didn’t know he did.’ But I shouldn’t be surprised.
Noah always had a girl. He might not be outwardly fun and flirty the way Finn was, but he was just as painfully handsome, and had a quiet depth to him that made you want to sit and chat to him all night.
Where Finn was the performer, always working overtime to make you laugh and ensure you were having fun, Noah was an observer.
And he’d turned me into one as well, I realized, as he glanced up to catch me staring. Frowning, he took a step to one side. The jogger, who’d dressed more to the summery side of the Summerween spectrum in a fringed dress made from grass, waved cheerfully. The pineapple on her head waggled.
I waved back, feeling awkward.
‘Wow, Molly,’ said Lara, pulling me over to the apple-bobbing station, where a teenager in a pumpkin mask scrolled his phone. ‘Just pick one already.’
‘An apple?’ I asked, prodding one of the few dozen heirloom apples floating around in the barrel, courtesy of Fitzgerald’s Orchard. All had fortunes written on them in waxy ink.
‘One of the Tucker boys,’ scolded Lara, exasperatedly. ‘They’re both hot. They’re both into you.’
I froze, wanting to argue the point. Were they into me? Up until a few hours ago I would’ve said surely not. But all the flirtatious comments and meaningful looks hadn’t been entirely lost on me. However, if the boys were into me, what did that mean for our friendships, and for our families?
Mindful of her hair, Lara bobbed for an apple, grabbing one on her first attempt. ‘Look, even the apple agrees.’
She waggled it at me, revealing a fortune that read: Pick your poison.