Chapter 20 NOTES OF ROMANCE
NOTES OF ROMANCE
I was tipsy by the time I wandered back inside, although I’d put my lowered inhibitions to good use with a meme-texting session with Dad, who’d sent me some zingers involving rain frogs, which did look like furious avocados, now that I thought of it.
My ring crackled, and I set down my phone, picking up Josephine’s diary instead. I pulled out one of the cheap Bic ballpoint pens I loved and tapped it against the diary, thinking.
Then I set pen to paper.
Hi, Josephine. It’s Molly, I wrote. All right, not the most creative start, but if you were doing a séance, you started with the basics. I figured the same applied here.
For a moment, nothing. Then Josephine’s swirling handwriting appeared on the page. Hello, Molly. I’m glad we’re finally getting acquainted.
I dropped my pen. Pandora had been right. All I had to do was write back.
I’m torn between two boys, I scribbled, hoping that Josephine could read my handwriting. They’re brothers.
There was a pause while Josephine considered. Or whatever it was that ghostly people inside diaries did.
A dilemma, she wrote in her familiar curly script.
Yep, I scribbled back.
But you must know your heart, deep down?
I spun the pen in my hand. Did you?
I did. Eventually. But a happily ever after isn’t always willing to wait.
As I pondered this, Fleetwood Mac jangled from the music room, sounding slightly crackly on the old record player Charlie had loved so much.
It was one of a few that lined the walls – he’d also had an ancient 1930s model that played a special type of record I’d never seen anywhere else, as well as an old radio cabinet that hummed when you plugged it in and turned it on.
If the magic was just right, you could hear it playing vintage songs from the era.
Finn claimed that he’d once heard a War of the Worlds broadcast, but he’d pranked me enough times in the past that I was holding out judgement on that one.
Drawn by the music, I set down Josephine’s diary and wandered down the wide hallway that Rosie had been industriously attempting to wallpaper the other day.
Thankfully, after quite a bit of griping and swearing, her magic had behaved itself in the end, and she’d managed to charm away the bubbles and crooked bits.
My bare feet squeaked against the polished hardwoods when my gait got off centre, taking me off the soft shag carpet runner. Oops – the sangria really was stronger than my control over gravity.
‘Who’s that?’ came Finn’s voice. ‘Is it that pesky ghost again? Because no, you can’t do that to my body, not even if you’re incorporeal.’
‘I’m not sure I want to know,’ I said, leaning against the doorframe. ‘Hey, you.’
Finn glanced up, breaking into a grin. He didn’t seem surprised to see me, just appreciative. He gestured for me to come in.
‘Always nice to have you darken my door.’
‘I’m quite good at it, too.’ I took a seat on the long leather couch below the wall of guitars, making sure not to bash my head against Charlie’s prized Gibson. I was in no danger of that, but sangria always made me a poor judge of distances. Better safe than sorry.
Curiously, I noticed that there was bedding piled up on the other couch. Either Finn had been using it to keep cosy while he listened, or he’d been sleeping in here. My heart twisted at the thought of the latter. As cool as he was playing things, he was clearly hurting.
‘Brownie?’ he asked, drawing my attention away from the bedding. ‘Mom dropped off a plate earlier. I’ve done my best, but I think I’m fifty per cent chocolate at this point.’
I never turned down a brownie. Especially one of Rosie’s – you never knew what gentle charm they carried. During college exams, I’d lived for the focus-inducing ones she’d pop in the mail for me.
‘Are you mutilating that guitar?’ I asked around a mouthful of cakey chocolate. Typical me, biting off more than I could chew.
Finn had a sunburst-patterned guitar out on the workbench at the other end of the room, and was fiddling with a clamp and some glue.
‘Hopefully the opposite,’ he said, tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. Magic glimmered at his fingertips. ‘Dad was making this one when he …’
He trailed off, letting the silence fill in the rest of the sentence for him.
‘I have no idea what I’m doing, honestly,’ he went on. ‘But it seems weird to let it just sit half finished for ever.’
He shrugged, and I wondered whether Noah’s words from the other night had got to him.
‘I have his notebooks and YouTube on my side,’ he added. ‘And so much glue as well.’
He picked at his shirt, which he’d apparently been using for excess glue storage.
‘I think it’s a sweet idea,’ I said gently. ‘He’d love the thought of you playing it.’
Finn chuckled. ‘I think it depends what I play on it. Although this one’s going to be perfect for ballads. Love songs.’
‘Your specialty,’ I said with a laugh. ‘Anything to make the girls come running.’
‘I can’t help that,’ he teased. ‘It’s just how I was made.’
He set a clamp in place, then came over to join me on the couch, planting himself at the other end, but facing me. We were angled towards each other, our legs stretched out and overlapping – his legs were so much longer than mine. And strong, too, from being in a constant state of movement.
He glanced up, catching me watching him. I dropped my gaze, my cheeks hot.
Time to change the subject.
‘Ugh, I need to paint my toenails,’ I said, glancing down at the chipped polish. They’d started off bright and sparkly a week or so ago, but the ocean water and beachside strolls had taken their toll.
‘What a wild coincidence. I need to paint mine, too.’ He nudged me with his foot. ‘Go on, go grab your kit – we’ll have a makeover session.’
‘But I’m so tipsy,’ I whined, burrowing in between the brown corduroy cushions and the Pendleton blanket. (This was definitely the boys’ room of the house.) The thought of standing up horrified me. And I’d just made myself comfortable on the couch.
‘Here, let me. It’s in your room, right?’ Frowning, he held out his hand. Magic glimmered at his fingertips, and the air seemed to fold. There was a cracking sound, and a bottle of glittery purple nail polish appeared in his palm.
He examined the lid, then passed the bottle to me. ‘I think it hit the door on the way in. But it’s superficial damage. We don’t need to exchange insurance details or anything.’
There came the warning sound of bare feet stomping across the floorboards, then Tiff popped her head around the door. Her hair was damp, and she was in one of Rosie’s silk dressing gowns. Damien’s face was up on her phone screen, as per usual. ‘What was that cracking noise? Did you hear that?’
‘Just Finn working his magic,’ I said teasingly. Finn made an angelic face.
‘We’re doing pedicures,’ he added, waggling his toes. ‘Want to join in?’
I thrust my own toes at her, waggling them as threateningly as I could manage before dissolving into giggles.
Tiff pushed my feet aside, trying to keep a straight face as she affected a look of disgust. ‘Strange as it might seem, I’ll pass.’
I tried to pinch her dressing gown with my big toe. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to have fancy toes for the book signing on Friday? Leon will be there, after all …’
Tiff’s face froze into a horrified rictus, then she glanced down at her phone before hurrying out of the room and disappearing down the hallway.
‘Oh shit,’ I said as I heard a door slam. ‘I really shouldn’t have had that third cup of sangria. Or the fourth.’
Finn took the nail-polish bottle from me and uncapped it. He brandished the purple brush at me. It would’ve dripped on the couch had I not aimed a quick zap of magic at it.
‘Well, if you’re going to put your foot in it, at least make sure your toenails are looking good.’
He took my foot and delicately applied the nail polish to my big toe.
Well, not especially delicately, given that half of it ended up on the skin.
But I wasn’t going to correct him on his technique.
I grabbed a tissue and charmed it with some magic, wiping the chipped polish off my other toes before he could get to those, too.
‘It helps to do the prep work,’ I explained.
‘Yeah, but it’s more punk rock this way.
’ His fingers were wrapped around my ankle as he worked, and I was growing increasingly heated at the contact.
It wasn’t like we’d never touched before: we’d spent years’ worth of Summerweens curled up on couches or sprawled out next to each other on beach towels.
But things had changed so much in the two years since we’d last been here. We’d both changed.
Josephine’s ring fizzed on my finger.
‘Do you feel that, too?’ I asked. Because the ring was crackling away so powerfully that there was surely no way I was the only one who’d noticed.
Finn paused mid-nail. He glanced up, his eyes bright beneath their dark lashes. ‘Between … us?’
I ducked my gaze away. Just how was I supposed to respond to that?