Page 87 of Meet Cute Magic

Because the truth of the matter is, I’ve never felt more scared than I do in this moment, knowing that not long from now, the curse that has been a burden on me my entire life is going to be lifted. To know that I’ll finally have the opportunity to fall in love, hard and real, with nothing getting in my way.

The next man I date will be the one for me.

I try and think about what I want in a man, manifesting him falling into my lap. Maybe I’ll bump into him at Vi’s, or maybe he’ll walk into my shop. I’ll give him a book and he’ll read it that night, then come in the next day, desperate for another recommendation and a date.

Unfortunately, as seems to be the trend, my mind turns to Jack when I think of a man reading a recommendation I give him.

Try as I might, he’s all I’ve been able to think about for a week now.

He broke my trust by lying to me and not even trying to tell me his feelings were getting deeper or more serious. Instead, he took matters into his own hands and tried to sabotage the potion, which would not just impact me but also his grandfather and my entire family. And after telling him how hard it was for me to both ask for and accept help, I finally opened up to someone and gave him my trust. He used that trust against me. But there were so many other ways to go about it.

And yet, in some strange way, I understand why he did it. I understand the desperation that he probably felt, mixed with the kiss bond, that drove him to do something so reckless and selfish. He wanted our agreement to become less fake and more permanent, but he didn’t communicate that to me. He simply decided to take things into his own hands and didn’t even bother to attempt a conversation with me about it.

You wouldn’t have listened, a small voice that sounds suspiciously like Violet’s whispers, and I swat at it like the annoying gnat it is. And, really, I know it to be the truth, as well: Jack was under the kiss bond, something that heightened his feelings toward me, so no matter what he told me, his actions would always be tainted in my mind. He didn’t understand the gravity of what he was saying, or how it was most likely a fabricated response, a reaction to the intense feelings of the bond.

Something that’s proven true now that those golden strands have faded, and I still haven’t heard from him. See? It was just exaggerated feelings. Now that he’s of a sane mind, he’s maintaining that space between us. The reality of that hits my heart like a dagger, not for the first time today. But I swipe that away too.

It doesn’t matter.

Soon, none of this will matter. Soon, this pain will be gone, and Jack will be just a faint memory at best.

But you did have fun together, that same voice whispers. You enjoyed spending time with him. He wasn’t just another man who broke your heart: he was a friend. And I can’t ignore that point, either. In fact, it might be what hurts the most. It’s not that there was a connection between us that felt a little too real, but the fact that, for the first time in my life, I had found someone I thought I could trust. Someone I thought I related to, someone I thought I connected with. A friend to whom I told secrets I’d never shared with anyone.

And despite everything, that will be missed.

So maybe, one day, after I’ve settled down with my one true love, I’ll go across the street. I’ll get some card game or a video game, and we’ll get to chatting and become friends again.

Maybe.

Or maybe even with the memories and the pain gone, I’ll still have some gut feeling about him and ignore him for the rest of my life.

Yeah, that’s probably the safest option.

I’m wiping down the flask Jack delivered to me the day after our fight and trying not to think about the many memories I now associate with it. After filling it, I hear it. The door to the bookstore opening, and the cheery bell jingling overhead to indicate a customer has walked in.

But it’s ten at night, and I know for a fact I locked my door, a new habit of mine, it seems.

My pulse starts to pound as I set the flask down, moving toward the front door of my home, trying to think about who it could be. An intruder? An extra insistent trick-or-treater?

“Rosie?” an all too familiar voice calls. My heart somehow both picks up speed and eases, no longer panicked about some masked slasher here to off me. A different kind of panic replaces it.

Instead, it’s my… ex? Calling my name and in my place despite a locked door and his lack of magic.

“Jack?” I ask, opening the door to look down the stairs that lead to my store, and seeing him at the bottom. His glasses are skewed, and I want to fix them. His hair is a chaotic mess, as if he’s been running his fingers through it nonstop. His chest is heaving, and there’s a book in his hands that I squint at to read the spine of, but I don’t recognize it.

There are also dark circles under his eyes, and his long-sleeve shirt and jeans look worn, like he’s been wearing them longer than just today, like he slept in them, maybe, though it doesn’t look like he’s getting a lot of that, either.

Vi texted me yesterday to say Jack came into her place for some pastries and that he looked like shit, which I told her I didn’t need to know. She said she thought I’d like to know the man who broke my heart looked just as miserable. I stopped replying, not bothering to tell her that I didn’t want Jack to be miserable in the least, despite the fact that he did betray me.

“Jack, what are you doing here?” I ask as he starts making his way up the stairs.

“Don’t finish the potion just yet. I need to talk to you,” he says, taking a few steps closer but not close enough to touch me. I let out a sigh that feels like it comes from the depths of my soul and step back away from the door. I’m not having this conversation in the stairwell, that’s for sure.

“I need to finish the potion, Jack,” I say as I close the door behind him, crossing my arms on my chest. “Phillip and I have a deal. And I won’t leave my sisters with this curse. Even if…” My stomach churns, and I can’t find it in me to finish the sentence. Even if… what? We stayed together? We were really in love? Wanted to make things work? He hadn’t deceived me? It doesn’t matter. None of it does.

“I know. I know,” he says. “I’m not stopping you. We’re going to finish this the way we started it: together.” He takes a step closer, reaching for my hand, and I take a step back, not wanting to get pulled into this again.

I don’t think I could handle it.