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The Little Shop of Gentle Magics

Page 43

by Jessica Rosenberg

“And you never got.”

“Right.”

He took my hand in his and intertwined our fingers before lifting it to his mouth to kiss it gently. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I made my peace with it.”

“Really?”

My answering laugh sounded a little hollow to my ears. “I guess not, or dinner tonight wouldn’t have hit me so hard.”

“Tell me more about why it did,” Art prompted. “I want to make sure I understand.”

“It’s just…” I stopped to gather my thoughts. “I’m not sure my heart could take getting a taste of the thing I dreamed of having only to have it slip through my fingers if this doesn’t work out.”

Art stayed silent for a few moments, either because he was processing what I’d said or because he wanted to make sure I was done. Then, turning onto his side and heaving himself onto his elbow so he could look me in the eye, he gently traced my cheek with his free hand.

“I’m all in, Meg. You can have me and my family for as long as you want us. Ideally forever. But I’ll take what I can get. It might sound crazy because we haven’t known each other long, but I think I’ve always been yours. I just hadn’t found you yet.”

I drank in the raw honesty and passion in his eyes for a long time, letting his words sink in until they settled deep inside me like comforting, grounding anchors. Then I smiled and reached for his face.

“All mine, eh?” I teased softly.

“Body and soul, for as long as you’ll have me,” he replied, meeting me halfway as I lifted my mouth for a kiss that sent electric shocks all the way to my toes.

SIXTEEN

When I lived alone, I never had to worry about a five-year-old boy cannon-balling onto my bed at the crack of dawn while I was still half undressed after a night of cuddling and talking with his dad.

I had a vague memory of Art lightly brushing my forehead with his lips as he tucked my quilt around my shoulders before sneaking off to get a few hours of sleep in his own bed. What he hadn’t done was check to see if my shirt was buttoned first.

Merry hadn’t cared in the least. I hadn’t stopped blushing until breakfast was well underway.

“Kiddo, please eat. We need to leave in five minutes so I can get you to school in time to meet your teacher and get the lay of the land. Then I have a meeting in the city, and I’m worried the bridge traffic will get backed up if I get on the road too late,” Art said before gulping down his coffee.

I winced sympathetically. My cup came from the same pot, and it was still as hot as the surface of the sun.

“Did you ask her?” Viv asked, barely glancing up from her phone.

“‘She’ has a name, and it’s Meg. And no, I haven’t asked her yet. Sorry,” he said, shooting me an apologetic glance. “It slipped my mind. Meg, Viv has a ton of schoolwork to do, and I don’t really want her staying up here alone. I arranged for Merry to go to the afterschool program, and I had found a great option for Viv, but she would rather stay with you if that’s okay.”

“What?”

”Viv, I’m counting on you to not be a pest and not get in the way. And do. Your. Work,” he added, emphasizing each word for effect. “Meg, that is okay, right?”

“Is what okay?” I asked, looking up from my own phone and the emails I was scanning to see what time the deliveries I was expecting might arrive. “Sorry, I was reading an email. I didn’t catch what you were saying.”

“Is it okay if Viv spends the day in the shop with you,” he repeated. “She can set herself up in the snug so she can stay out of your way.”

I blinked at him, unsure how to reply. Three different deliveries were scheduled to arrive, all of which would require a significant amount of work to unload and organize. “I’ll be super busy,” I warned him.

It wasn’t exactly a yes, but he took it as one. He smiled and nodded. “Got it. No worries. She’s going to behave. Right?” he directed the question at Viv, who glared at him in reply. “Peek in at her every so often to make sure she’s still alive.” His eyes widened when he glanced at his phone and saw the time. “Merry! We have to go!” he called up the ladder stairs to his son, who’d slipped away while we were talking. “Where are your shoes?”

“By the door,” I answered, glancing at Viv, who was studiously pretending I didn’t exist and tried to ignore the apprehension making the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention. She was old enough to babysit her little brother. What could go wrong?

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Art shepherded Merry toward the door, holding out his little turtle backpack and his jacket.

“Wait! You forgot Merry’s snack!” I called when they were already halfway down the stairs. Grabbing the granola bar, I hurried to catch up.