This Spells Love(8)

Aunt Livi squints at the book, moving so close that her nose almost touches the paper.

“There appears to be some sort of stain on the directions.” She sniffs. “I suspect salsa. But don’t fret.” She sets it on the counter with a bang. “I think I’ve got it.”

Reaching for the small yellow pad she keeps next to an old rotary phone, my aunt tears off a blank sheet, then plucks a blue Bic from a mug of mismatched pens and pencils, handing both the paper and pen to me.

“Write Stuart’s name down.”

It’s a command, and my blood alcohol level has me complying with little argument.

Aunt Livi picks up the sparkly white birthday candle and produces a lighter from her pocket. A tiny yellow flame ignites the wick, and she holds the candle out in front of her. “Now picture the night you met Stuart. Imagine him in that bar. Think about the moment you decided to see him again.”

The dancing yellow flame combined with Aunt Livi’s soothing voice is mesmerizing. I envision Stuart’s face. His expensive gray suit, intense blue eyes, and the way he made me feel like everything in my life was going to work out fine.

“Now,” Aunt Livi continues, “imagine walking away.”

I picture myself leaving that crowded bar and getting into a cab alone. “Have a nice life, Stuart,” I whisper. “I don’t think I was ever meant to be a part of it.”

When I open my eyes, the candle has already begun to melt, dripping tiny balls of waxy teardrops.

“Next,” my aunt instructs. “Hold the paper with his name up to the flame.”

Lifting my offering to the burning candle, I watch as the flames skitter across the surface, only letting go once the heat reaches my fingertips. The paper falls to the counter, and we all watch as the yellow sheet turns to ash and the flames move to burn the linoleum beneath.

“Oh, for the love of god.” Kiersten pours the remaining margarita from her glass onto the now-singed counter, extinguishing the fire and leaving a black smudge in its place. “The fact that I am the only functioning adult in this room right now is scaring me a little.”

Aunt Livi, seemingly unperturbed by her damaged countertop, ignores her and blows out the candle. “Now we need the cord.”

Dax hands her the ball of pink yarn. She pulls scissors from the junk drawer and cuts off a piece that’s roughly the length from her elbow to her fingertips. Pulling my hands into prayer position, she deftly wraps the yarn around both my wrists, tying them together with a tight knot.

“I’d be throwing out the S and M jokes right about now, Aunt Livi,” I say. “If I wasn’t afraid you’d maim me, or worse, tell me a story I’d never be able to unhear.”

She pats the top of my head. “You’re not quite ready for my stories there, poodle.” She turns to Dax. “What’s the next step, Daxon? The writing is too small. I can’t make it out without my glasses.”

Dax pulls the book toward him and squints down at the pages.

    “The final step, do not be remiss,

Is to seal your fate with a kiss.”



He looks over at me, his eyes a darker shade of green than I ever remember seeing. “I think it says we need a kiss.”

Kiersten once again snorts. “A kiss, eh? Over to you, big boy. I knew we invited you tonight for a reason.”

My cheeks immediately flush, which I blame on the booze, not the fact that Dax looks like he wishes he was anywhere but here.

“You don’t have to…” I attempt to wriggle out of the binding my aunt has somehow expertly tied, knowing that, as uncomfortable as this is for me, it’s got to be worse for Dax.

“I’m sure Dax doesn’t mind.” Aunt Livi practically shoves him into my lap. “It’s all for a bit of fun.”

I look into Dax’s green eyes and think I see the reflection of the birthday candle flame, which is silly, since we extinguished it minutes ago.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” he asks.

“Are you sure?” I fire back.

The only answer I get is Kierst holding her margarita glass up to my lips. “Need a little liquid courage there, Gems?”

I drink, despite knowing that more tequila and kissing Dax are both terrible ideas. That this—all of this—is so bizarre that I’m going to kick myself when I wake up in the morning.

“It’s fine,” I tell her, then turn to Dax. “We’ll make it fast.”

I close my eyes, the obvious step one of any kiss—coerced or not. It provides the added benefit of no longer seeing Kiersten in the background making humping motions with her hips. And although all I can see is blackness, I can sense Dax only inches away.

It’s just a silly kiss. The fluttering happening in my belly is only because it’s been a while since my lips have touched anyone’s but Stuart’s.

I lick them and try to remember the last time I brushed my teeth.

But what if Kiersten was right this afternoon? What if this kiss leads to a second? And then I’m waking up in the morning next to him. And then one day, it’s Dax telling me It’s not me, it’s you. There isn’t a margarita in the world that could help me after that.

“No!” My eyes fly open and see Dax’s closed ones only inches away.

Dax opens one eye, then the other.