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“Yes, a bit,” Charles said. “Well, all right.” He snapped his fingers, changing out of the Santa costume and into a sweater and pants. With another snap, he had his coat, gloves, and scarf on.
“Make sure you use magic to keep warm,” Lucy said, fussing with the wool scarf around his neck.
Grayson added, “And drive slow.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Charles said, waving his hands. He kissed Lucy’s cheek and squeezed Grayson’s arm. “Good night, kiddos.”
And Charles was off with his cane, leaving Grayson and Lucy alone. There was quite a bit of cleaning to do, and even with the help of Lucy’s magic, it was a big undertaking. Lucy spelled back Grayson’s clothes, and he changed out of the Grinch outfit. They took down most of the decorations as the snow fell in a steady stream outside, covering the streets with white fluff.
When most of it was done, they sat on the lounge chairs by the fireplace and had the last of the hot chocolate. Lucy sucked on a candy cane as she drank, staring out at the snow with wide eyes, hardly blinking she was so enraptured.
“You look like you’ve never seen snow before,” Grayson said, admiring the wonder in her eyes.
“It’s just so … magical!” she said, hugging her knees. She had changed out of the little elf outfit, unfortunately, but she still looked adorable in an oversized sweater, leggings, and her favorite slippers—sorry, moccasins.
He laughed at her word choice. “You’re a witch,” he said. “You have real magic! What you do with the books … it’s wonderful to watch.”
She went a little pink at that. “It’s wonderful to do,” she said, leaning a cheek against her knee. “Books have always made me feel less lonely, and to spread that gift to others is a joy.”
“Can you tell me more about how it works?” he asked, voice cautious. “The book-magic, I think you called it.”
She played with the cuffs of her sweater sleeves, covering her hands. “Well … it’s not that complicated or special,” she said. “I can read people’s energies and see when they’re a bit sad and maybe need a lighthearted book, or lonely and could use a found-family story, or just upset and a fantasy would get their mind off their troubles.
“Or the hopeless romantic looking for her next perfect romance, the poet in need of inspiration, the aggrieved trying to navigate loss, the homebody looking for adventure … whatever it is, my magic can sense it, feel the connection that needs to be made between reader and book. So I help them find their perfect read in the moment: those new worlds, new experiences, new friends, new families.”
“That sounds both complicated and special,” he replied, astounded. “Truly.”
He loved to hear Lucy talk about her process; it was evident just how much she loved her book-magic. And not just to him, but to those customers who were regulars at the store. Lucy knew many of them by name and face, remembered their previous purchases and their tastes.
“It’s nothing,” she said, looking away.
“You have a gift, Luce,” he said. “I never understood the fuss about being a witch; it always seemed a bit silly and frivolous to me. But the way you use your magic—it’s extraordinary.”
She brought her eyes up to his, her expression soft. “I love reading so much it hurts sometimes,” she said. “I want to help people experience that love. To not feel lonely.”
He had been lonely most of his life, but sitting here with her, that agony and ache felt a lifetime away. He didn’t want to stop talking to her. It was like reaching the end of a good book and wishing there were more.
“You’re doing amazing,” he said. “You are amazing.”
Her cheeks flushed pink, and she looked away, shy. A moment later, she stood from the lounge chair, her feet catching on a stray decoration.
She tripped, falling forward.
His heart lurched, and he shot up to catch her. She landed safely in his arms, as if that were where she was always meant to be.
Everything quieted except for the sound of his blood pounding through his veins. His hands were on her waist. She fit so perfectly. He heard the sound of her breath catching as she looked up at him, her eyes as wide as when she had watched the snow fall.
His pulse quickened. He rubbed his thumbs up and down, grip tight. She bit her lower lip, and desire shot through him like a firecracker.
As if she could see, her breath hitched higher. He loved the little sounds she made and wanted to hear more and more.
He wanted to kiss her. She inched closer. Her lids lowered as her gaze traveled down to his mouth. She swallowed, and he watched her throat move, bringing his eyes up to her lips as they parted.
Hope flared within him. He thought she might let him if he dared.
Her shaking breath fanned over his mouth, their lips just about to touch, and—
The phone rang.
