Page 36 of My Faire Lady

Derry raises a brow, but seems to decide otherwise and cups his palm over my shoulder. “You must be pretty special.”

I shift in my seat as heat billows under my skin.

Lottie sucks in a cheek, and he spares her a final smile before disappearing through the doorway. I don’t press her, not as she unwraps the wax paper from the sandwich and takes a bite. Her shoulders loosen a fraction, and she lets out a long breath through her nose as she chews. We eat in silence, the only interruption the clatter of ice against her glass as she takes a sip of water. She crosses her legs, loose jeans cinched at her waist, shirt tucked into the band.

For a brief moment, I silence my mind and pretend I’m not a witch. Right now, we’re just two women, and instead of this being her table at her regular lunch spot, it’s ours.

It drills a nail between my ribs. If there was one tiny shift in the fates—a wrinkle in the fabric of time—a future with her would be possible. But in this reality, I could never ask her to stay here, bound to the land I can’t leave. A life I didn’t choose.

She blots her mouth with a napkin, dragging it over her bottom lip before setting it on her empty plate. “Is the faire cursed?”

The question snaps me from my daze. I swallow a bite without chewing and chase it with a gulp of water. “Excuse me?”

“There are rumors about the land the faire is on. That it’s cursed or haunted or something.” She watches me closely, twisting a puzzle piece between her fingers. “And I’ve seen some things I can’t explain. A shimmer in the trees, or the way the siren performers stayed underwater for so long.” Abandoning the puzzle piece, she rests an elbow on the table and leans in, her eyes sparkling. “And the first time we met, I tripped over a root and fell into you. But when I looked for the root, it was gone.”

My heart slams against the back of my ribcage, but I muster a mask over my face. She’s not meant to remember so much detail about the faire or the creatures. Either the magic is waning more, or there’s something about her that preserves her memories.

I shake my head. “With how old the land is, there’s bound to be inexplicable things, right? But I’ve lived there my whole life. It’s not cursed. Or haunted.”

Well, depending who you ask.

She narrows her eyes. “There’s no like, witches or werewolves running around? Vampires?”

I scoff, unable to meet her eyes. “Of course not.”

The lie is bitter on my tongue, but if she knew the truth and threatened to expose us, I’d have to wipe her memories of everything, including me.

“Why? Do you believe in that?” I lift a brow. “Magic?”

Her lip quirks, but behind the amused smile, she crumples. It pains me, watching her paint on a brave face—stowing her emotions away where they can’t be unpacked or held.

“Of course not,” she says. “If magic were real, my life would be a lot different. Maybe it could have saved my grandma, or kept her around a little longer.” She waves a hand, brushing it off. “It’s probably just some small-town myth that has been carried down through generations.”

She stands and clears the table, dropping our plates into a wash bin in the corner. I press a final piece into the puzzle as she pokes her head around the swinging door and waves to whoever might be in the back kitchen.

I study her profile, and the brief, genuine smile as she turns back to the dining area. It’s different than the ones she gives everyone else. Different than the one she gives me. Those are a front, but what I have the privilege of seeing now is the real Lottie.

The one whose thoughts are too loud.

She swings her arms. “Well, I’d better get back before Jack comes looking for me.”

I stand and follow her out of the deli shop, the asphalt hot beneath our feet, the sky a robin egg’s blue.

“I’m sorry Derry put you on the spot like that,” she says, leaning against the driver’s door of my car. “He’s known me for a long time, and when I lost my grandma, he and Lance helped me with all of the logistics of a funeral. They did a fundraiser for the expenses. Fed everyone who showed up. They’re kind of like dads, in a way. And only slightly meddling.”

If only she knew.

Something catches her attention over my shoulder, and she straightens and steps away from the car. “Gotta get back. See you Saturday morning?”

I nod, and she turns on her heel, striding toward the glass doors. The tread of my shoes rubs against the asphalt, and she reaches for the handle.

“Wait,” I say.

Her hand pauses, and she twists. “Yeah?”

I press my tongue into my cheek. “I—thanks for lunch. I’m glad you took me there.”

Even from here, the slight curl to her lips is more like the one in the deli shop and less like the one I’ve come to know. Warmth blooms in my chest.