This Spells Love(22)

So our parents are the same as they are back home: chronically absent and the reason my therapist holidays every winter in the Bahamas.

“It’s not you. It’s me.” I cringe at the phrase. “I’m just freaking out at the idea that I might never get home.”

“Let’s not fret quite yet.” Aunt Livi pulls the book from the coffee table to her lap. “Maybe we just need to think. You performed this cleanse and ended up here. What if we repeat the exact same thing, but instead of wishing you never had a relationship with Stuart, you wish that you did?”

I almost object because I do not want to wish that, and it feels too simple. But I have nothing better to suggest. “What do we have to lose?”

I pause and wait for Kierst to voice an objection. My gut tells me she’s still far from convinced that I’ve managed to cause a rift in time.

Surprisingly, she shrugs. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

Aunt Livi jumps to her feet with the same level of enthusiasm she had last night. “Gemma, you take the book and read out the list of ingredients.”

The next five minutes are another eerie déjà vu. And my lack of tequila goggles makes the whole experience far less whimsical.

Still, we locate everything we had the first time we attempted to throw this spell down, including the white birthday candle, the hot-pink knitting wool, and even the leftover jerk chicken.

“So what exactly do we do with all this crap?” Kiersten pries open the Tupperware container of chicken and smells it while I consult the book. The events of last night are still a little muddled in my brain.

“We light the candle,” I explain, “and then we tie my hands, and then we…” Oh no. Oh no. Oh no, no, noooo.

“What?” Aunt Livi and Kiersten say simultaneously.

“We don’t have everything.” My head drops to my hands as I chastise myself for being such a—excuse my language, Aunt Livi—fucking idiot.

“What? What do we need?” Kiersten grabs the book.

I watch as her eyes skim the directions to the very last thing on the list.

    “The final step, do not be remiss,

Is to seal your fate with a kiss.”



“Dax,” I answer before she has a chance to ask.

“But he doesn’t—” I can see, in her eyes, the precise moment she puts it all together. “Oh man…you are so fudged.”

I drop my head to my hands again and moan. “Can’t I find some guy at a bar to kiss? According to Kierst, I am very good at that.”

My aunt flips through the pages. “This is not my particular area of expertise, but I think you’d have to re-create the original conditions as precisely as possible. Spells like these can be finicky.”

I am fudged.

“The good news is,” my aunt pipes in again, “you’ve got a whole month to figure it out.”

I look up, confused, because I haven’t the faintest idea what she’s talking about.

“The moon.” She pushes the book toward me. “It says right here, Send away the one that wronged you under waning gibbous. Waning gibbous. That’s the phase of the moon just after the full. This makes perfect sense, as it’s the optimal moon for any sort of cleansing or closure activity. But I’m afraid yesterday was the final night. The next one isn’t for a month.”

Kiersten’s finger traces the spell until it lands on the spot just above the salsa stain, where it states, very clearly, exactly what my aunt just said.

“So even if we weren’t missing lover boy, we can’t do it today.”

I stare down at the last line and read it twice as the adrenaline from the morning drains into a cool pool of dread in my stomach.

I’m stuck here for a month. And if I can’t find a way to get Dax to kiss me, I could be stuck here indefinitely.

Aunt Livi points to the Tupperware in front of us. “If we’re not using it for the spell, will anyone object if I heat up the chicken?”





Chapter 7





“So, Aunt Livi, what are we watching tonight?” I settle into my aunt’s couch, resting my feet on the coffee table, reaching for her ancient converter.

She checks her watch before easing herself out of her La-Z-Boy. “I think I’m about ready to turn in for the evening. You’re welcome to my couch for as long as you like, but I have a very steamy romance on my nightstand that I’m itching to get to. Darn it…” She looks toward her kitchen. “I hope I’m not out of double-A batteries.”

There is no shame on her face. Not the smallest hint of flush to her cheeks. However, mine flare what I’m sure is a fire engine red. “Well, good luck with that. And I changed my mind. I think I’m gonna go.”

We walk to the apartment door, where I grab my purse, avoiding her eyes. She holds her arms out for a hug. I crouch enough to lay my head on her ample bosom—a comfort move I’ve done since I was a kid, when sleepovers at her house became an almost everyday occurrence.

“Remember that great love and great achievements involve great risk,” she murmurs into my hair before I pull away, puzzled.

“What’s with the cryptic message?”

She cups my cheek with her wrinkled hand. “Just something I read on the tag of my morning tea, poodle. Send me a message when you get home. Let an old doll know you got in safe, okay?”