Chapter 30 LOVE THUNDERS IN
LOVE THUNDERS IN
It was Tiff who felt it first: Tiff, our resident barometer.
I glanced at the mid-morning sky, which was bright blue with a sugary dusting of clouds, then checked my phone app just in case my eyes deceived me.
It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.
I’d been found hiding under a bus shelter far too many times after not being able to decide whether the grey edge of a cloud signalled the need to bring an umbrella.
‘I think we’re okay,’ I said uncertainly, propping myself up on the outdoor daybed I’d made my home during what I was calling my Day of Sloth, Part Two.
My schedule was wide open until the evening, which would involve home-made pizza and a movie under the stars, courtesy of the projector that Finn had helped Rosie rig up on the exterior wall, laughing that for all her kitchen and floral magic, she had not a whit of affinity for any sort of technology.
I knew it all too well: I’d spent hours of my life helping Rosie reprogram her remotes, to no avail.
I suspected this was also why she insisted on clinging on to her vintage car, which still used physical knobs and dials instead of touch screens and voice assistants. Plus, it was cute.
‘You can’t feel that?’ Tiff frowned, waving her hand through the air. ‘It feels electric. I’m surprised my hair isn’t a massive halo around my head. It’s not, right?’
I shook my head. I knew exactly what magical frizz hair looked like, and Tiff was not suffering from it. Besides, Tiff’s hair knew better than to misbehave. It took after Mom’s.
‘Maybe it’s just a burst of magic from somewhere,’ she said idly, opening up her paperback again. ‘The same magic that set off the crows at the sunflower farm, made the ice cream at Soraya’s melt and made Sandy Balls a whole debacle.’
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ I said sullenly, twisting Josephine’s ring.
All right, so there was a common denominator in all of those. Me.
‘Did you do your lists?’ she asked. There was no accusation in her tone; she was just matter-of-fact. Because that was how Tiff did things.
‘Yes,’ I said with a huff.
‘For the boys and the job?’
I flashed my notepad at her, showing off the scribbles I’d added. ‘See?’ I said, a tad churlishly. ‘Pages and pages of pros and cons. I even spoke to Mom about it last night.’
‘And?’
I shrugged. Knowing what you had to do still didn’t make it easy to act on it. Or no one would wait until the last day to get started on an assignment or to do their taxes. Ugh, that reminded me, had I filed my taxes this year?
Tiff blinked slowly, then took in a slow breath, the way she did when she was trying not to say, For Goddess’ sake, Molly, just figure your shit out!
Which, honestly, she was pretty good about.
She’d only actually said it once, after I’d spent six weeks trying to figure out what type of suitcase to buy, although I’d definitely caught her thinking it at least a thousand times.
Telepathy wasn’t a skill of mine, but I didn’t need it to see what was on Tiff’s mind.
I could read the tension in her jaw the way Rosie might the leaves at the bottom of a teacup.
‘Well, only you know your own mind, and your own heart.’ She turned a page in her book. ‘Even if you barely know what gelato flavour you prefer.’
‘Speaking of flavours,’ sang Rosie, who’d just emerged from the house, a plate of boozy pumpkin parfaits in hand, ‘I come bearing snacks. From Lorraine’s, because I don’t trust the oven at the moment. But that’s a problem for the next …’
She trailed off, although I knew what she’d been about to say. The next owner. The very thought of it made my stomach twist. The potential sale of the house. Tiff moving away.
This really could be our last Summerween together.
I couldn’t bear the thought.
But Rosie was looking at us so expectantly. Tiff and I both took a glass and a spoon, Tiff digging in while I dragged my spoon over the rich cream. I knew the dessert was delicious, but I could barely taste it. Everything just felt so off.
Rosie settled in on one of the white rattan armchairs opposite me. She started in on her parfait, raising a cream-covered spoon in approval. ‘The boys should be back soon, and we can pop the pizzas in.’
‘How’s Mom doing?’ asked Tiff, around a mouthful of pumpkin-spiced cream.
Rosie shook her head sadly. ‘Still abed. Those migraines just lay her out, don’t they?’
‘She was up all night working, as usual,’ I said glumly, wishing that Mom would realize that her Pink House vacations were most likely on borrowed time.
‘I hope she’s using the lavender tinctures she made us prepare.
’ I hit an alcohol-dense bit of my parfait and raised an eyebrow.
‘Wow, are you sure you got these from Lorraine’s and not from the Hammer and Thistle? ’
Rosie chuckled. ‘Quite sure – when I went past the pub, they were racing around fretting about their giant pumpkin, which apparently exploded overnight.’
I grimaced. There went Lara’s giant-pumpkin photoshoot.
‘Anyway, at least Lorraine’s having a better time with her magic than I am,’ said Rosie morosely, spooning up some pumpkin shortbread and cream. ‘Every time I try to charm my cream, it curdles. Let’s hope the pizzas fare better.’
I ducked my gaze, for I had my suspicions about the strange magic we’d all been experiencing since the Summerween Festival. Because this wasn’t all a coincidence, was it? Things were, to use one of Dad’s design phrases, out of whack.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said valiantly. ‘Lara’s volunteered to help with those. She doesn’t have magic, so there’s no way it can go awry, right?’
‘I hope not,’ said Tiff. ‘You know how exacting I am about my pizza bases.’
Tiff had eaten her way through Italy during an exchange year, and had returned with strong convictions about pizza-crust density and acceptable toppings.
Just then, my phone buzzed: Lara.
‘Do we have room for one more tonight, Rosie?’ I asked after speaking with Lara for a minute. ‘Lara wants to know if she can bring Jack.’
Rosie’s eyes sparkled, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t from the bottle of booze that had been mixed into the parfait. ‘She’s making the most of this Summerween fling, isn’t she? I knew I could sense some love in the air.’
She held out a hand, the same way Tiff had, as though assessing the air for wayward love spells.
‘Well, lust at least,’ she added with a wink.
Tiff snorted, then tried to redact the snort by pretending she’d been clearing her throat.
My darling big sister always put on a show of being holier-than-thou, but Rosie brought out her true colours.
The two of them had a romance novel swapping arrangement going on, and some of the titles would have made even Lara blush.
As the two of them, tipsy on the boozy parfaits, traded cheeky jokes, I spun Josephine’s ring on my finger, staring up at the sky. Either way, Tiff was right: a storm was coming.
Tiff had made it through her paperback and I’d written practically a collected letters’ worth of notes to Josephine by the time Lara and Jack arrived in the late afternoon, drunkenly pulling up on the town’s rental bikes.
Remember, said Josephine. You only get so many chances to say something.
I glanced down at my ring, with its last, dimming moonstone.
She was right. Although I didn’t need the ring to tell me that it was time to step up.
I could feel it in the tension all around me.
If I didn’t act, and soon, there’d be a point where my decision wouldn’t even matter – everyone involved would simply assume my choice.
It wasn’t fair to drag my feet in matters of the heart.
‘Ding, ding!’ shouted Lara, effusively ringing her bicycle bell as she swung her leg over the pink frame. She reached into the picnic-style basket on the front and pulled out some drinks and sparklers. ‘It felt like a sparkler-y kind of night,’ she said with a shrug.
Mom emerged from the house, rubbing her head. ‘Oh, it’s you making all that noise, Lara.’
‘Always,’ said Lara, grinning widely. She grabbed a foil-wrapped loaf from Jack, who’d pulled up behind her, and brandished it.
‘We came bearing garlic bread, though. And party poppers. Just in case Molly has made a decision about the whole job thing. Because Scarletta is psyched. She has a desk picked out for you and everything. With amazing views.’
She waggled the party poppers at me, and I smiled awkwardly.
Mom beamed at me. ‘See? You’d be moving up in the world. You’re too good to grow old and dusty at that little sports magazine.’
I swallowed, looking down at the spiced chai that I’d been sipping on, wondering if I could somehow make myself invisible. Alas, this was a very rare magical ability, and not one I possessed.
‘How’s the migraine, Amelia?’ asked Rosie, rescuing me from Mom’s knowing words.
‘It’s back down to a dull ache,’ said Mom. ‘I got caught up working on the slides for a pitch we’re doing next week, and you know how it goes. Suddenly the sun’s coming up and the migraine aura starts trickling in. Never get old, kids. It’s no joke.’
‘I dunno, I’ve had my share of headaches after a night out,’ said Lara, grinning broadly. ‘It’s the tequila shots that always get me.’
‘Ah,’ said Mom knowingly. ‘And here I was thinking that Molly was just taking after me – and Tiff – and pulling regular all-nighters of the productive kind.’
‘Ugh,’ groaned Lara, in fake disgust. ‘As if I’d ever let Molly be productive. Except in her new role as Director of Copy.’
‘I’m gonna put this stuff inside,’ I mumbled, taking Lara’s goodies and carting them to the drinks fridge.
Great, so Lara had been chatting to Scarletta about the job.
Suddenly this was all very real – and all very wrong.
Did I really want a fancy desk and daily stand-up meetings and a company credit card?
(All right, so maybe the credit card didn’t sound too horrible.)
‘If you ask nicely, I can swing you a company Vespa,’ called Lara.