This Spells Love(90)

But there is something.

It’s just the wrong thing.

What the hell have I done?

I run my fingers over the burned linoleum. The scar from our first attempt at the spell.

It’s here. My car is here, but so is my basement. It’s almost as if I’ve melded my two lives together. Or am I in a third timeline? How many timelines are there?

Abandoning Aunt Livi’s, I cross the street, heading north down James, and when I hit the block where Kicks once stood, my heart bursts into a million happy pieces.

It’s still there.

Its shiny window sports all of Dax’s beautiful creations. I press my nose to the glass, and although the inside is dark and empty, the shelves are well stocked with inventory.

This is good. This is really good.

I knock on the door in case Dax is in the back office, but he doesn’t come out. Which makes sense. It’s still early, and it’s Sunday, right? Who the hell knows. All I care about is that I’ve done something right here.

But why the hell did I wake up in my basement apartment? Have I created some sort of weird hybrid world?

I stare around at the near-empty street, wondering what I should do next. If only I had my phone, I could call Dax, Kierst, or even Aunt Livi. They could tell me if I still have Dax. If I still have Wilde Beauty.

Wilde.

I practically run the block and a half.

My heart quickens when the painted white bricks come into view, but as I get close enough to see inside my window, I’m not prepared for what is inside.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

No shelves. No perfectly curated array of clean beauty products. Just empty space and a realtor’s sign stating property available for lease.

Wilde is gone.

It hurts. Even though it was my choice, and that choice was the right one, my soul aches at the sight of the sad, empty space. I stand for a moment and mourn the loss of my beautiful dream until I remember that reality is still wonky and that more important matters need my immediate attention.

Like finding Dax.

My feet keep moving. It’s as if they have a mind of their own this morning. And they carry me halfway into Brewski’s before I realize it. Coffee is always Dax’s morning priority before he does anything meaningful. My eyes skim the sitting area and those in line before determining that he isn’t here. I’m about to leave when I hear a voice call, “Grande oat milk latte, right?”

I turn and meet the eyes of my man-bunned barista.

“Snake,” I call loudly enough that his eyes widen, and he takes a step back.

“Uh, yeah.”

“It’s me, Gemma with a G.” I point at my chest as if it isn’t obvious whom I am speaking about.

“So no oat milk latte?”

“Yes. Absolutely yes. And I need you to answer a question for me.”

His eyebrows rise as he punches in my order without looking.

“Did we ever make out? On New Year’s Eve? In a garage, I think?”

He scratches his chin and stares up at the ceiling. “Not that I can remember, but anything is possible. Maybe we should make out now and see if it makes me remember anything.”

“No!” I shout with way too much force for someone who has yet to have coffee. “But thank you for clearing that up.”

I wait for my coffee. Once it’s in hand, I down half, then nurse what remains as I speed-walk back to my car.

The most important thing now is to figure out what’s going on with Dax and me. However, if I have created some sort of hybrid world, I should probably figure out if he knows who I am ahead of time. There’s no need for another shoehorn incident.

I hop into my car and drive to Kiersten’s house, praying she has my answers as I sprint up to her walkway and knock furiously on her front door.

It opens a few moments later, revealing Kiersten in her fluffy pink bathrobe.

“Oh, thank god.” I throw my non-coffee-holding arm around her neck and squeeze. She looks the same. She smells the same. She even pries my arm from her neck with her usual “For the love of god, what is wrong with you, woman?”

I push my way inside, my hands clutching my half-drunk coffee.

“No latte for me? Tell me why I’m letting you in at this ungodly hour without a caffeinated offering?”

“I love you, Kierst.” The words fall easily from my mouth. “You are amazing and wonderful and I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know and I’m going to make it all right, I swear.”

She holds my head between her hands and sniffs my breath. “Are you still wasted? I cut you off before midnight. You should have sobered up by now.”

“I was with you last night?”

She turns, heads toward her kitchen, grabs a glass from the cupboard, fills it with water, and hands it to me.

“I’m surprised you’re up this early. I thought you’d spend the day in bed.”

I drink the water because hydration feels like a good idea.

“I need you to humor me. Why did I get drunk last night? What exactly happened?”

Kiersten rolls her eyes but takes my empty water glass, refills it, and hands it back to me. “You were all creeped out about your new place. You didn’t like the smell and didn’t want to spend the night alone, and so you came here and downed half a bottle of pinot. When you got into my tequila, I cut you off and sent you home in an Uber, which I paid for—you’re welcome, by the way—because you couldn’t find your phone. Trent found it this morning when your alarm went off, reminding you to go and water Dax’s plants.”