She shrugs. “I’m simply acknowledging every fine thing your man has got going on. You’ve got to admit, he’s a total babe.”
I did think Dax was attractive the first time we met. We were standing beside each other at a local dive bar called The Prince and Pauper. It was crowded as usual and impossible to get a drink. The bartender slid a Guinness down the bar in our direction, and our hands collided as we both reached for the pint. There may have been tingles.
Dax’s gentlemanly instincts kicked in, and he offered the beer to me. The feminist in me insisted it should go to the more Irish of the two of us, thinking my strawberry-blond hair and English surname gave me the upper hand. Until Dax pushed up the sleeve of his henley, revealing a sleeve of tattoos, including the McGuire family crest. I dink I wen dis one, he said in a perfect Irish accent that riled up the butterflies in my stomach. Kierst isn’t the only Wilde that appreciates a forearm.
But then one of Stuart’s friends spilled a drink down Dax’s back. He went home to change, and by the time he returned, Stuart had me smitten. Dax became an acquaintance I’d run into at parties, then a part of a bigger friend group until we both realized we spent most of our time together, talking only to each other, and decided to cut everyone else out and become ride-or-dies. His Hemsworthiness became a moot point.
“Fine,” I admit to my sister. “He’s attractive, but we’re not like that. Our relationship is purely platonic.”
Kierst thinks for a moment. “And your boyfriend was totally fine with you hanging out with a facially gifted lumbersexual?”
Stuart was…neutral. He didn’t understand the appeal of Dax. He was also so confident and assured that I don’t think it ever occurred to him to be threatened by Dax.
“I never gave Stuart a reason to be worried.”
She narrows her eyes. “You mean you’ve never once…” She looks over at Aunt Livi, who is busy looking for something inside her purse, then thrusts her hips suggestively.
“No!” I say loud enough for Aunt Livi to look up.
“Come on.” My sister is not letting this topic die. “I can practically count his abs from here. That’s hot. At least tell me you’ve kissed him.”
My cheeks flush.
“Aha!” Kiersten pokes me hard in the chest with her finger. “I knew it!”
“It’s not like that.”
It was a whim? A mistake? Either way, it sure as hell wasn’t what Kiersten is thinking.
We sit behind the counter for another five minutes. It’s probably four too many, but I’m paranoid. This whole Dax-not-knowing-me thing has thrown me for a loop, and I need some time to figure out a plan before I see him again.
“Kierst—” I nudge her with the toe of my shoe. “Can you check again and make sure he’s gone?”
My sister doesn’t immediately move. I can almost see the wheels turning in her head, as if she’s trying to decide if she will use this opportunity to blackmail more info out of me or surrender to the fact that it’s her sisterly duty to have my back in times of dire need.
Dire need emerges the winner, and she crawls over to the corner, takes another peek, then jumps to her feet. “Coast is clear.”
“Oh, good.” Aunt Livi stands and brushes imaginary dirt from her palazzo pants. “So should we try your house next, poodle?”
My house.
The mystery location written on the front of my Ontario driver’s license.
We walk back to the front of the bookshop, where we pile into Kiersten’s souped-up white Dodge minivan—even though Aunt Livi insists the distance from my store to my house is walkable, and I make the commute daily.
It’s a quick five minutes before we pull up in front of a two-story beige-brick house. Like most in this Hamilton neighborhood, it looks like it was built in the 1940s, sits steps from the sidewalk, and is tightly fitted in between neighbors on either side. It’s not my condo on the water, but it’s cute.
I take the front steps in a single leap, then seek out the final mystery key from my purse.
“Not that door, sweetie,” Aunt Livi calls from the sidewalk. “You use the one around the back.”
I follow Kiersten and my aunt along a narrow sidewalk and through a chain-link gate to a small but neat yard. The two of them straddle a narrow staircase and wait.
I stare at the cracked cement steps leading down. My stomach drops like a stone. “I live in the basement?”
Both of them nod.
Sure enough, my second mystery key slips easily enough into the lock. However, I need to duck my head as I push open the door and step into what looks like a compact kitchen. Then, with an easy quarter turn, I take in the living room, bedroom, and even bathroom with one brief sweep of the eyes.
It’s quaint. And it’s terrible. My heart and head are at war, taking in a space that is obviously lovingly decorated in my specific Scandinavian-inspired taste with the low ceilings, lack of walls, and dim lighting.
Tears prick my eyes once again. Unlike at my store, they are not tears of awe and joy.
“I willingly moved here? It smells like chicken soup.”
Kiersten gives my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “We think it’s from your neighbor upstairs. At least, we hope it is. And yes, you did. Signed the lease the same month you opened the store.”
I guess a storefront, even in Hamilton, isn’t exactly cheap.
Decisions were made. Priorities were set.
At some point, after not choosing Stuart, Other Me must have made a choice to live in this damp, dark basement to launch her store.
“I found it!” Aunt Livi calls from the opposite side of the room, interrupting my little pity party.
She stands next to a small white IKEA desk with several unrecognizable books on top, save for the big brown leather book that gathered us here today.
It takes her three whole steps to join Kiersten and me in the kitchen. The three of us crowd around my very tiny counter, the book open between us so we can all see the pages.
“Dang it,” Aunt Livi curses. “I didn’t bring my reading glasses.”
“Well, I didn’t bring a flashlight.” Kiersten nudges me with her elbow. “This place is a tomb, Gems. You really should invest in some floor lamps.”
I’d argue with her if I didn’t agree.
We decide it’s best to take the book back to my aunt’s apartment, where there’s natural lighting and an ample supply of coffee.
The ride back feels twice as long as the ride there as the anticipation builds in my stomach. It doesn’t ease until we’re finally back above the bookshop, sharing the three-seater sofa with the book cracked open to the page with the spell that brought me here.
“A love cleanse,” Kiersten muses out loud. “Kind of fitting considering you and your love for everything crunchy granola, eh?”
I ignore her comment, too preoccupied with finding my answer.
My aunt flips through several pages, scanning the words with the speed of someone who spends most of her day reading. “I can’t seem to find anything here about how to reverse it.”
My stomach sinks. “So I’m fucked?”