“Bree, I’m telling you, I’m not a witch. I have no talent to hone. I’m unhonable.” Charlotte felt a little hysterical at the very thought of being Charlotte Murphy, the coffee-shop-owning witch.
“Now you have to go to the Jules festival on the winter solstice with us this year.”
“Not.” Bree had been trying to convince her to attend the witch ceremony for about five years and every year she flatly refused to go. Her sister gave her dire warnings about denying a piece of herself, but she usually dropped the subject after a week or two. But Charlotte had the feeling she was in trouble this year. Bree was going to hound her mercilessly now that she knew Charlotte had supposed magical powers.
Which she didn’t. She was almost sure of that. Just to test it, she focused on her teacup sitting on the table and tried to move it. She even did an up, up, up chant while mentally focusing. Nothing. Whew. Major relief. No broom shopping in her future.
“Try something else,” Bree suggested. “Try to move Abby’s necklace.”
You know, that was really annoying, how her sister could guess what she was thinking. “How did you know I was trying to move something?”
“I can sense your feelings, remember?”
“Or you just guessed because I got quiet.”
“Is that how I know you chanted ‘up’ to the teacup?” Bree’s look was smug, her black painted fingernails sliding through her equally dark hair.
A shiver rolled up Charlotte’s spine. “I was just staring at it, that’s how you knew.”
“Try to move the necklace. Please.”
“Fine, if it will prove I can’t.” Charlotte concentrated on the star dangling from Abby’s neck on a black leather strap. She pictured it swinging outward toward her in a graceful arch, suspending in the air.
And almost peed her khaki pants when the necklace did just that.
“What…”
Her entire face went hot and her heart raced as she watched that star glint in the light from the overhead chandelier, a full ten inches out from Abby’s neck. As Charlotte turned her head to the side to get a better look, terrified and fascinated simultaneously, the star turned onto its side, mimicking her motion.
“Dude,” Abby whispered, her eyes crossing as she looked down, trying to see the necklace in front of her chest.
“Charlotte,” Bree said, her voice low and awed.
Charlotte couldn’t speak, her throat tight, her mind struggling to accept what she was seeing. “How can I be doing that?” It was utterly illogical. Yet she was clearly responsible for the movement. Even she couldn’t deny that.
She didn’t like it, but she couldn’t deny it.
“I told you. It’s your magical talent. And it’s strong considering you’ve never used it before.”
Charlotte pushed back her chair quickly and stood up. The necklace plopped against Abby’s chest. “I don’t want any magic,” she said, knowing she sounded a little petulant, but feeling panicked. “I just want to be a normal family, a normal businesswoman who runs a Caribou Coffee. I want a freaking Bing Crosby Christmas just once, where everyone wears holiday sweaters and sings Christmas carols and eats sugar-and-butter-laden snowmen cookies. Is that too much to ask?”
Instead Murphy Christmas get-togethers involved tarot readings, offerings to the goddesses, and lectures from her mother on how the origins of Christian holiday traditions sprang from earlier Pagan and Druid worshipping. It was all very interesting, and she appreciated the open-mindedness of her parents, and how they wove spirituality and a respect for both nature and other humans into their daily lives. But having wassail wasn’t nearly as exciting as pie and sugar cookies, and a Yule log was never going to replace a Christmas tree. That was why she tended to go overboard with the decorations now that she had her own house. Well, now that she was living in Bree’s house, who allowed her to indulge in her love of snowmen, reindeer, nativities, and Disney character yard inflatables.
Christmas was about family, and she loved hers tremendously. But Christmas also showed very clearly how fundamentally different she was from them, and how isolated she felt sometimes as odd blonde out.
“That is a lot to ask actually. But I’m willing to have a traditional American Christmas with you—I’ll even put on a reindeer sweatshirt,” Bree said, though her face reflected her feelings on wearing emerald green cotton.
Charlotte thought Bree looked sincere, but she couldn’t believe what she was actually hearing.
“I’m not wearing any reindeer sweatshirt,” Abby said. “But I can sing Christmas songs and bake cookies.”
“Are you guys serious?” Charlotte looked at her sisters and smiled, truly touched. “You’d do that for me?” That was so sweet.
“Of course we would. We love you. If this is that important to you, we’re willing to put up with a little commercialism. I’m sure Dad will be cool with it, too, though I can’t vouch for Mom.”
“Christmas doesn’t have to be about commercialism or giving tons of overpriced gifts. I just want to be together, and for once, I want you all to understand and appreciate what I like.” Everything was always about everyone else’s interests, never hers, and she was touched beyond belief that Bree and Abby were willing to suck it up and give her a traditional Christmas celebration. “You guys are awesome to do this. It means a lot to me.”
“I just have one small request in return,” Bree said, her green eyes lifting from her teacup.
Here it came. Charlotte braced herself. “What? You want me to go the Jules festival? Fine, I can do that.”
“No. I want you to admit you’re a witch. By casting a lust spell on Will.”
Three
“WHAT? A LUST SPELL?” THAT WAS SO APPALLING, ON SO many levels, she didn’t even know where to begin.
“Oh, now that’s an awesome idea,” Abby said, sitting up straighter and tossing her hair over her shoulder.
Who was this child? Charlotte glared at her baby sister. “No, it’s not. I’m not a witch, and even if I was, why would I want to force Will into feeling lust for me? That’s just…yucky.” Humiliating. Desperate. Pathetic.
“Will wants you, Charlotte. Trust me. He just needs a push.”
Did they have to keep making this harder for her? Every day she questioned, wondered, wished that Will could feel more for her than friendship, but he didn’t, and at the end of every day she counseled herself to be content with what she had. She really didn’t need them encouraging her futile dreams.
“He loves you. I can feel it.”
“Stop it!” Charlotte was tempted to cover her ears. Bree’s words seared into her heart, inciting the dull ache there to a painful throb.
“How long have you felt this way about him?” Bree asked, her voice gentle, hand sliding across the table to touch hers.
Even though she didn’t want to do this, even though she wanted to keep all her feelings neat and tidy locked away, even though she was embarrassed to realize how long she’d suffered in unrequited love, she also wanted the comfort her sister was offering. She wanted someone else to know how hard it had been, how unsure it had made her feel about herself, her future, wondering when she would ever give it up and move on.
“Remember when my dog died?”
“Trixie?” Abby’s eyes went wide. “That was a long time ago.”
“Yeah. Six years ago. And Will came over, and he said all the right things, and he took Trixie and buried her in the yard for me.” Charlotte swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “And I knew right then, that Will Thornton was a good guy, through and through, and that I loved him.”
Crap, she was going to cry. She wanted him so bad she could just about taste him. It was pitiful.
“Then all the more reason to do the lust spell. Don’t you want to know, once and for all, if there’s a chance for you as a couple?”