Chapter 34 THAT’S THE MAGIC OF LOVE
THAT’S THE MAGIC OF LOVE
I felt an odd mix of calm and excitement as I walked back to the Pink House.
With the weight of the decision-making off my shoulders – and knowing that Finn didn’t hate me for how I’d treated him – I sank fully into the moment, letting my toes drag through the sand and the ocean breeze tease my hair.
Overhead, pinprick stars shone like sequins between the cotton-candy clouds, and the moon walked a bright tightrope across the gently lapping waves.
A night fisherman sat quietly out on the pier, a lantern glowing beside him as he contemplated his shadowy line.
I hope she chooses right by her own heart, came a whisperwind, winding its way straight into my ear.
I smiled into the night; that one was for me.
When I got back, Mom, Rosie and Tiff were watching Practical Magic while sipping wine and nibbling on Rosie’s famous coconut rum balls. There was no sign of Jack and Lara – although a buzz from my phone informed me that they’d made themselves scarce out of respect for my love life.
I want all the details, babe, Lara added via text.
‘Here’s our resident heartbreaker,’ said Rosie, raising her glass.
I shot her a sheepish grin, then tried to hide my blushing face behind my splayed fingers.
‘Don’t worry, we all knew how it was going to turn out,’ said Mom.
‘Even Finn,’ said Tiff.
I felt like I was being lectured by a Greek chorus.
‘You all knew? Why didn’t you say something? I’ve been agonizing for weeks. Agonizing.’
‘Oh, we know,’ said Rosie, her eyes mirthful behind her cat’s-eye glasses. ‘But it wasn’t our place to say anything.’
‘I mean, Tiff certainly tried,’ I said.
Tiff opened her mouth, as though to try again, but Rosie gave her a warning look.
‘Love isn’t something that someone else can figure out for you.
It’s not something that responds to checklists or even common sense.
And something that looks so right to someone else from the outside can feel so wrong when it’s your heart on the line. ’
‘Ugh, like Caleb,’ said Mom, cringing. ‘Remember him? With the moustache, and the moccasins?’
‘I do, unfortunately,’ replied Rosie. ‘But you got yourself figured out in the end.’
I raised an eyebrow. This was the first I was hearing about a moustachioed Caleb.
‘We’re just happy that your heart finally showed you what it needs,’ said Mom. ‘And what it needs is currently out in the art studio.’
She pointed with her glass, smiling.
Rosie stood to give me a hug. ‘You have my blessing. Just be good to each other.’
The heat rose in my cheeks. ‘We will. I promise.’
I left them quoting along with Nicole Kidman and hurried outside, picking my way down the softly lit garden path to the art studio.
Something about the garden felt more lush than it had in recent days.
The roses were huge and silky, and the box hedges had expanded outwards.
Even the hydrangeas, which had been giving poor Rosie grief as she’d tried to figure out her soil pH issues, rose up in vibrant purple pompoms.
An orb weaver was hard at work spinning a web between two rhododendrons, her handiwork gleaming as the moon plucked it. I smiled. The Pink House was full of treasures. But then my heart twisted. The house might belong to someone else soon, and all those memories as well.
But no, I couldn’t focus on that now. I had another priority that deserved the full attention of my heart and soul.
The studio was quiet, as though it was pondering the aftermath of the storm and everything that had led to it. Water dripped slowly from the eaves. A tiny bird peeked out from its birdhouse nest.
As always, Noah’s silhouette moved quietly behind the curtains. I stood for a moment, observing him from the outside, wondering if he was looking right back.
Should I just push my way in? Or should I knock?
I almost had to laugh. I’d finally resolved one question, and now a million more decisions awaited me.
Still, everything had changed now, and I wasn’t sure how to navigate it. Where was Lara’s easy commentary when I needed it?
I rapped on the studio door before I could talk myself out of it.
A few moments passed – I could hear shuffling, as though Noah was moving canvases or supplies around. When the door finally opened, Noah looked surprised. But also resigned.
‘Molly,’ he said, ushering me inside. Nervous at finally being inside the studio, I fidgeted with my hands, not quite sure what to do with myself. Not quite sure how to say what I’d been dying to.
‘Are there any leaks?’ I asked awkwardly. ‘The house is in quite a state.’
Noah shook his head. ‘No, thankfully, because oil paint and moisture don’t play well together. And watercolours are even worse.’
I stepped forward, then back as I saw the portrait on his easel. It was of me. A loosely, yet lovingly rendered sketch of me perched against the boardwalk railing, my hair whipping in the wind, my eyes narrowed slightly against the glare of the sun. I’d never looked more beautiful.
‘Wow,’ I whispered. My breath was shallow.
Noah started to shrug, then stopped himself. ‘You looked stunning that day.’
I flushed, wiping damp hair from my face. ‘Thank you. So …’
Noah propped himself against the side of a chair. ‘I figured this was coming. I’m guessing you’ve already spoken to Finn.’
I nodded.
‘You know that he cares for you,’ Noah said, his voice cracking. Candle shadows danced on his face. ‘Of course you’re in love with him. It makes sense. It’s the way things go.’
Josephine’s ring smarted on my finger, and I could tell that she was furious at me from beyond the grave. I hadn’t meant to hurt Noah. Or Finn. I hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. I just hadn’t wanted to risk listening to my own heart, and that was a painful thing to realize.
Because when you try to hurt no one, all you leave in your wake is hurt. How was anyone meant to know where they stood if all you did was hide it from them?
Noah was right to be upset. He’d painted me, over and over. He’d taught me to drive the ridiculous golf cart. He’d embarked on a jigsaw puzzle with me. He’d made himself vulnerable … only for me to pull back when it mattered most.
‘Noah, it’s you.’ My voice hitched. ‘It’s always been you.’
And it had been. I just hadn’t seen it, hadn’t even entertained it as a possibility.
When his dark gaze finally met mine, I couldn’t take it.
I rushed forward, pressing myself against him, reaching my hands up to caress the sharp angles of his cheeks, his jaw.
Our lips joined, and it was like every dream, every flight of fancy I’d ever had, pressed into one single moment.
I felt electric, magical, and not from the guiding force of the ring.
This was something real and internal, something that ached to be expressed.
Noah’s thumb grazed my face, and the gentleness of his touch made me swoon.
I grabbed his hand, dragging my lips over his sun-darkened skin, trying to drink him in.
He groaned lightly, spurring me into action.
Barely thinking, just feeling for once, I pushed him towards the daybed at the back of the studio.
He moved easily and readily, as though he’d been waiting for me to finally see what was right in front of me.
And I’d known it, of course I had. But the thought of actually acting upon it had been too terrifying to even contemplate.
What if I’d humiliated myself? What if it didn’t work out? What if? What if?
Those what ifs had turned into armour. I’d been so worried that I might ruin our Summerween getaways or the dynamics between our families that I’d risked creating a gulf between us instead.
And in that one final push to try to make this all work, I’d cosied up to the person that could hurt him most: his own brother.
Yes, I loved Finn. But not like I loved Noah.
Finn was sweetness and joy – an easy way to enjoy the moment.
A path towards a fun, agreeable life. But with Noah there was something deeper, something lasting.
Something that would withstand the turning of the seasons and the peaking of the Summerween magic.
And that was what my heart had been aching for.
I could feel it sparking between us: a magic that swirled and flowed, buoyant on the combination of our own unique magical signatures.
It shimmered in the gaps between our bodies and effervesced where our skin touched.
I pressed myself against him, hands against his chest, working at the buttons of his shirt as our mouths met over and over, deliciously, hungrily.
As we kissed, Josephine’s ring glowed bright, then snapped clean in half, falling to the ground with a clatter.
Startled, Noah pulled back.
‘Long story,’ I whispered.
‘Molly,’ he murmured, setting a hand to my waist.
Magic crackled from his fingertips up my spine, and I had to brace myself to stop my knees buckling.
‘Thank you for being patient with me,’ I said.
‘I would’ve waited a lifetime. You know that.’ His eyes crinkled at their corners. ‘Although I didn’t anticipate having to send out quite so many whisperwinds.’
I laughed. ‘I am notoriously dense. No, it wasn’t that. It was fear, I think. Fear that we’d lose all of this. Fear that things would change, and what that might mean.’
He nodded, his dark eyes thoughtful. ‘Things are always going to change. We’re always going to change. That’s part of the beauty of it all.’
‘And now we can see where things go.’
He touched his finger to my chin. ‘That’s right.’
Then he kissed me with such hunger, such depth, that I lost all sense of self. Magic glimmered between us, marking the paths our fingers and lips travelled, lighting the way forward.
‘I’ve wanted you for so long,’ he murmured, breaking away to regard me in the soft light of the lamp, the stars, our combined magic. ‘Everything about you makes the world better. I’ve tried painting you, over and over, but I fall short every time.’
I flushed. Here I’d been thinking that any painting of me was far more beautiful than I deserved, and he’d felt the opposite.
My fingers toyed with his shirt, tentatively, then surely. There was no dithering here. I was going to go by feel, by heart – and not find myself cowering under the weight of my own indecision.
‘Please,’ he said gently, and I unbuttoned the shirt until it gaped enough that I could drag it over his head. My hands traced his lean, lithe form as his own fingertips toyed with the light straps of my dress beneath the cardigan I’d thrown on to protect against the late-night ocean breezes.
We gave in to each other, our bodies moving surely, reverently, for this moment we’d waited so long for. Our magic cocooned us, tracing our desirous forms and drawing us ever closer.
‘Your hummingbird,’ he said, as his fingers traced the fresh tattoo on my hip. ‘It’s just like the one I painted at the Summerween Festival.’
I nodded, suddenly shy.
‘I promise we’ll do this properly,’ whispered Noah. ‘The way you deserve. The way our families deserve.’
I knotted my fingers in his unruly hair, which I’d mussed beyond the bounds of respectability. Every part of me felt at peace. And at home.