“Has it worked?”
Story shrugs. “I mean, Hendricks and I have been best friends since we were six. I used to buy love potions here to get him to notice me. They never worked . . .”
“Until—”
“Five months ago, when something finally happened. But Agatha can fuck off if she thinks I’m giving her credit.” She laughs loudly. “But that being said, Agatha’s full moon parties are always a good time if you don’t take it seriously.”
“I didn’t realize it was a full moon.”
Story looks around, like she’s checking to make sure no one heard. “Don’t tellherthat. She’ll start talking about energy frequencies.”
I laugh. “Noted.”
Clementine returns with three overly large glasses of wine. “I thought it was better to fill it than go back for more.” I appreciate her ingenuity.
At Agatha’s insistence, we make our way through the velvet curtain into a candlelit room. Thirty cushions are arranged in a circle on the floor, with a piece of parchment paper and a glittery pen placed on the top. We each take a seat, though mine proves harder than expected—after Miles’s training for the past month, my hips are stiff as hell.
“So . . .” Clementine shuffles around and takes a huge glug of wine. “How’s it going living with my brother?”
“Good, I guess.”
“Who says romance is dead?” Story drawls.
“Very husband and wife.”
I laugh despite myself. “We’ve been getting along,” I admit. “Coffee in the mornings. Work all day. Dinner together. Then go to bed?—”
“That sounds very married?—”
“Separately.” I don’t miss the look they exchange.
“And you patched things up after New Year’s?” Clementine asks, though it feels more like she’s pushing.
I reply as diplomatically as I can, “You could say that.”
“You’re certainly both playing the parts well,” Story adds, lowering her voice. “That kiss . . .” She fans herself.
I open my mouth to agree, but truth be told, after the kiss in the hallway, I’m not sure what we are playing anymore, so I close it again, and Clementine cuts in.
“It must be a record. You’re the longest he’s ever spent with anybody.”
This entire evening, it’s like Clementine’s had an edge, like she’s pissed at something, and I kind of think it’s me. Or Miles. I dunno, but it’s something, and I feel the need to defend him.
“He’s not that bad.”
“No,” she says softly. “He’s just never been interested.”
Something in her voice shifts, and a tear slips down her cheek. My eyes flick to Story, in case she has any idea what’s going on, but her face is blank.
“Clem?” I ask gently. “Are you okay?”
She doesn’t answer, just swipes her face dry and stands abruptly, declaring, “I need more wine.” Then she disappears back through the curtain.
I glance at Story. “Was it something I said?”
“No. Clementine’s going through something. Best to let her ride it out.” She pauses, her voice quiet. “Can I ask you something?”
I nod. “Sure.”
