Title: Between the Lines

Author: LD Crichton

Heat level: Sticky Sweet

A hatred for Valentine's Day and a magic book. What could go wrong?

I'm a pretty quiet girl-silent when they made fun of her long flowing skirt paired with combat boots. I kept my mouth shut when they cracked jokes about her dreadlocked-hair looking like the obnoxious bright pink crayon that matches the Pepto Bismol bottle. I didn't say a single word when they photo shopped her face on an internet meme that proclaimed: A face her mother can't even love.

But my quiescence didn't last long. My muteness, my vow of silence exploded like a grenade.

Valentine's Day. It's a big thing around Serenity Falls. C'mon, with a name like Serenity Falls, it's automatically pinned with expectations of romanticism. Then consider that the entire town's population is less than 7000 people, all holidays, even the Hallmark ones that serve no real purpose-are a big deal.

It's been decorated for weeks with Valentine themed shrapnel. Craft paper hearts and lips taped to store fronts, mannequins dressed in sequined red-dresses and skanky lingerie, the flower shop taking orders from lonely hearts terrified to get it wrong.

It's revolting.

But not as revolting as the moment Thomas Parker, Amelia Allen and Rosemary Glenn pranked the dreadlocked wearing, free-thinking, new girl, Phoebe into believing that Dylan Masterson was into her. Into her enough to invite her to tomorrow's dance. Dylan is quintessentially the American dream. Academic. Athletic. Good looking. Blonde hair, blue eyes, obnoxiously perfect teeth, star quarterback and arguably the most lusted after teenage boy in this place.

I'd spotted Phoebe with Amelia at lunch a few days prior and thought it was an odd pairing. Suburban Barbie meets Edwina Scissorhands. Seriously. But now, I understand everything.

Phoebe stands in the cafeteria of our small school with a Valentine in her hand. She's just been dissed in front of the entire student body by Dylan Masterson himself. He did not ask her to the dance. After all, why would he?

I'll give the guy credit where credit is due, he was gentle about it, he tried to be kind. But he still rejected her in front of a few hundred kids. Every single person in this room felt that sting.

There's a horrible silence that stretches out. A pause. A break in the space-time continuum so remarkably tense that it presses into the weight of my bones. Before it grinds my entire body into the ground, I rise as if my legs are on springs.

"Amelia Allen had a boob job and a nose job last summer. She posted it to snapchat for a millisecond before she realized what she did, but not before I documented it." I hold up my phone, and issue a silent prayer that she doesn't call my bluff. I'm full of crap. She did have a boob and a nose job, courtesy of her plastic surgeon uncle from the big city, but I didn't collect evidence. I just hope now that I've pointed it out, people will be talking. Looking. Forgetting about poor Phoebe. "Oh, and Principal Donovan, you might want to double check Rosemary's address. She moved six months ago. I think she should be tormenting people at Falworth High on the other side of town. Demographically speaking of course."

The unbearable silence is broken with murmurs. I've created a distraction, so I continue. "And Thomas, everyone knows you and Rachel hooked up at JJ's party last year, a week after you found out your mom and Rachel's dad were getting married. That's pretty high on the eww scale, sleeping with your stepsister."

There is an audible gasp.

I've pierced their sense of superiority, of security. It's like catching fish from a barrel.

"Theodora Redmond, that's about enough from you," Principal Donovan barks.

I hold my hands up, palms forward and sit back down. "I'm done, Sir."

When I glance to where Phoebe was standing, she is gone.

She accosts me as I walk to the bus stop. "Hey, it's Theodora, right?" She has to walk double as fast to keep up with my stride.

"Yeah," I say, "I go by Theo."

She nods. "I just wanted to say thank you for what you did today."

I hitch my bag further up my shoulder. "Don't mention it. They're jerks."

"I don't know, I mean," she shakes her head. "I feel a bit stupid. Not like therapy level damaged, but stupid. That guy, really?"

"I wouldn't lose sleep over it. Dylan Masterson only likes himself and anyone who is mindless enough to see past his ego."

"Yeah," she says. "I figured."

I stop walking. "You need to stand up for yourself. Don't let them treat you like that."

She shrugs. "To be honest, it doesn't really bother me."

This makes me pause. "How does that crap not bother you?"

"Because," she says, "I know who I am." By the looks of her, she sure does. She continues. "And who I am loves to have my head in the clouds."

I want to tell her to get her head out of the clouds. Daydreaming is a pointless endeavor when reality is always lingering-just waiting to issue a cold hard dose of real life. But I don't say that. I once again remain silent because honestly, if she likes her head up high and her feet on the ground, who am I to tell her she's wrong?

"I was dreaming about true love," she continues, before laughing at her own words. "I mean, not with anyone like the walking STD there, but it was nice for a minute to think he might be after something different."

"Hate to burst your bubble," I tell her, "But true love is a myth. You're more likely to get struck by lightning twice in the same day. The human race learns to tolerate people. You never actually like them very much. Most people spend their whole lives searching for someone to tolerate them and someone who they can tolerate. It's not love. There's no such thing."

Phoebe glowers and brings her hand to the back of her neck. "That's a grim view to have. What are you,16?"

"17," I say. "It's not a view. That implies that it's my opinion. It's a fact. Misery loves company."

"Whoa." Shock no longer paints her features, now, they're shadowed over in pity. She reaches into her backpack and pulls out a book. It is leather bound, black and midnight embossed letters on the front read, Between The Lines. She hands it to me. "I don't know if you read, but if you do, this book will change your life."

I laugh and dismiss the ludicrous claim. "And make me a believer of true love?"

Phoebe smirks. "Yeah. Something like that. It changed me."

"Must be some book."

Something flashes in her eyes, a smug sense of knowledge. "Trust me. It is."

I wait for a moment before inquiring, "If the book is so important to you, and life changing, what makes you so willing to hand it over?"

"I owe you one. And I'm done with it. I think you can use it more than me."

"If you say so. Thanks." I take her offering and shove it in my bag. "Listen, I don't mean to be rude but I can't be late. I have to catch the bus."

"No worries," she says. "I'll see you around."

I've lived in a lot of foster homes. This one is a palace compared to most. Mel and Henry Walters. Married 26 years, unable to have children of their own. They're in their 50's, and have three of us foster kids to keep them busy. I've been here the longest. Four years, two months, six days.

All that is expected of us is reasonable behavior and a few chores in exchange for the closest thing I've ever had to a family.

If Mel hears about me being a loudmouth at school, I'll probably be in trouble. Not high on my priority list, so when the bus stops, I power-walk home, hang my coat on the hook and place my backpack in my designated cubby space in the foyer.

"Mel?"

"We're in here," Mel hollers.

She's in the kitchen with Molly. Molly's ten and so shy, so meek, I'm sure she's been the brunt of some serious abuse. Mel is chopping carrots and Molly is opening canned tomatoes.

"Hi Molly," I say. I try to say hi to her every single day. Mostly because I know what it's like to feel invisible.

She stops twisting the handle of the can opener and looks up at me. "Hi Theo."

Mel points to the peeled potatoes and fresh celery, washed and sitting on a wooden slab, waiting for me to chop them. "Henry and Isaac have gone out for dinner together," she announces. "So it's just us. We're having stew. Get to it."

I wait a moment to see if Mel is going to say anything. For all I know, the school called, but maybe they didn't. When she says nothing, I pick up and knife and get to work.

By the time we're finished dinner and cleaning up, I help Molly with her homework before heading to my room to finish mine. I place my papers back inside my bag and spot the spine of the book given to me by Phoebe.

The book that will change my life.

I take it out, and dance my fingers along the lettering. The edges of the pages are individually hedged in gold and there's a gold ribbon to serve as a place marker.

I flip the cover. The pages' crinkle, showing their age in both sound and color, yet somehow they're still crisp.

The first page says.

I slam the cover closed.

Gross.

I can't even read past that. Not a word.

I set the book on my desk, change into my pajamas, take my sleeping pill and crawl into bed. My eyelids flutter, fighting me despite being deprived of sleep. I'd been out of sleeping pills for a week because Mel was concerned. Consequently, she's forcing me to seek alternative measures and I'm now relying on some kind of root extract to help me sleep.

Phoebe's not exactly helping my mind slow down either. She's way too happy for a normal person let alone someone on the regular brunt of torment. I think about her for a while. What would it be like to absorb some of her Zen? Some of her unfounded belief in true love. My body starts to hum as the featherweight touch of sleep takes hold, but seconds before it does, the wings of a bird, flapping erratically, imprisoned by walls pierces the silence. My eyes shoot open in surprise.

The book I'd set on the desk is spread open and the pages, still affixed to the spine fly as though a ghost's fingers are fanning them, moving them at warp speed.

I'm on my feet and bolting forward to the desk when a purple light, bright as a thousand suns erupts from its pages.

Sometimes, you're in the right place at the right time and there's no arguing it. Like right now. In this second. One minute, I'm walking through Henderson Park, staring at my shoes, thinking about how much Valentine's Day sucks when you're single, I look up and boom. A goddess stands before me.

She's got hair the color of caramels and eyes the color of chocolate and a mouth in the shape of a heart. She's standing by a fountain.

I happen to love both chocolate and caramels, especially together. I love mouths in shapes of hearts and I love fountains.

I reckon it's fate.

By the looks of her, she's lost. I move to help but as I approach, her gaze darts to where my hands should be, then back to my face as she narrows her eyes warily. I freeze and remove my hands from my pockets holding them up.

See goddess, I'm not a psycho. I'm just a guy who likes chocolate and caramels, heart shaped mouths and fountains. And maybe just talking to people, because if you give them a chance, they can be fascinating.

A fascinating goddess on Valentine's Day. Maybe I believe in cupid. "You look a bit lost," I tell her. "I'm Oliver. Thought maybe you can use some help."

She turns away, covers her mouth and turns back around. "You can't help me."

I point to myself. "Way smarter than I look. Let me try."

She tilts her head slightly, scrutinizing me. A moment that replaces my nerve endings with tiny, electric currents. "Where am I?"

"Henderson park."

"No, in real life."

Strange question but I'll bite. "In real life you are in Henderson Park."

Her eyebrow arches up. "Henderson Park would be where?"

"How specific do you want me to be? I took an extra credit course on geotagging last year, it's latitude is-"

She waves her hand to stop me.

Damn. I was going to show off. "Serenity Falls," I say. "Home to the one of the modern world's finest ice cream parlors as well as the Serenity Falls Seniors Bowling League, which is some like to say is the best in the state." I cross my arms over my chest. "Debatable."

"What year is it?"

As she gets closer and I can analyze her face better, I'm guessing she's genuinely concerned. What year is it? Fascinating goddess may be a bit crazy. Not from around here.

"2017," I say.

Her hand covers her heart and she heaves a sigh. "Oh, thank God."

"You alright? You seem pretty spooked."

"Yeah," she says, "I think so. She moves to leave and I decide that I can't let any chance I have with a fascinating goddess pass me by because truth be told, I like heart shaped mouths too much.

"Wait." I say. "What are you doing right now?"

"Going home," she says.

"You ask me what year it is and expect me not to want to know more?"

She narrows her eyes again. "You look like you come from the 80's. You're wearing a non-fitted white dress shirt with suit pants and a polka-dotted tie."

"Observant. I thought maybe the fedora was too much but I was trying to impress the ladies and I said to myself, Ollie, stop overthinking it."

She smirks. "How is that working out for you?"

"You tell me. Are you impressed?"

"That you offered me help and then proceeded to tell me our location and what year it was? Should I be impressed? Grateful yes. Impressed. I'm not sure I could call it that."

"That's fair. I mean it wouldn't be weird at all to not know where you were or what year it is, would it?" I open my eyes wide and look at her. She is silent with the realization that what she'd just asked me is absurd. "If I can impress you, will you stay?"

"Will I stay?"

"Yeah. Spend a couple of hours with me, on this the shittiest of nights to be single."

"I hate Valentine's Day."

"Then we'll have an un-valentine's day."

"What do you do on an un-valentine's day?"

"That's for me to figure out. Deal?"

She nods. "Deal."

I rub my hands together to pump myself up. I move to turn and pause, "I need a minute and first, tell me your name."

"Theo," she says.

I dig in my pocket and turn to face her. "Well Theo, prepare to be amazed." I retrieve a pack of smokes. "I don't smoke," I tell her. "Just for the record."

"Then why do you have them?"

I light the smoke (I don't inhale) but I puff it enough to see that it's going. As the ash begins to flicker down the death stick, I move to hold it front of my palm. "Now you see it, Theo." And wave my left hand over my right and swipe it back to the side to reveal.... nothing. "Now you don't."

Classic.

She's grinning like crazy, her hands clasped together. "Molly would love that!" She says. "She loves magic."

I don't know who Molly is and in this moment, I don't care. "The real question is, does Theo love it? Was it amazing?"

"There's potential for it to be outstanding," she says, "but it's amazing enough that I'd say you earned one un-valentine's day."

I told Mel the root pills sounded like some hippy drug taken to induce hallucinations. What the hell happened? Unheard of berries and some tree bark root, that's what. Supposed to clear the mind and help with sleep and anxiety. Instead, I went to bed, vaguely hallucinating about that weird book and I woke up here. In the park. On Valentine's Day.

If a few things I am certain. I'm in a park with a boy named Oliver, I don't know how I got here but I do know I will never be taking the bark-root-berry pills ever again.

He stands patiently.

Doesn't matter I suppose. It's 2017, I'm in Serenity Falls. I'll obsess over the strange details later. He won his non-valentine's fair and square. "You go to Falworth?"

He nods. "Yep."

"I haven't seen you around here."

"New import. Straight from Baltimore to Serenity Falls. Talk about an upgrade."

I start walking down the paved path towards the exit to the park. "An upgrade. Ha. Hardly. You don't get out much."

"On the contrary," he replies, "I get out too much."

"So what's on the agenda for our non-valentine's day?"

"You'll see. Come with me."

"You're not going to kidnap me and hold me hostage are you?"

"Do I look like a guy who would hold you hostage?" He motions to his body. He's tall and lean, but no powerhouse. "I walk around with silk handkerchiefs in my pocket and my mom says I'm overly sensitive."

Well overly-sensitive Oliver seems like I cool guy and besides, the last thing I want to do is go home and loathe Valentine's day. I pause, and wait to see if I'm going to get that gut feeling. The one that says 'don't' but when I look at Oliver, it's the last feeling I have. He's quirky.

"Do you know a girl named Phoebe?"

"I don't believe I do, but I'm a new import, remember?"

I follow him to the parking lot on the east side of the park and spot a jeep, completely exposed to the elements, no top. Oliver strides over to it and opens the passenger door. I get in. "Cool car."

"Yeah," he says. "Not too bad."

Half an hour later, we are in the library. Oliver sits at one of the computers and types in a password to access the internet. I sit down beside him. "Aren't we living in the age of insta-information? Don't you have a cell phone?"

"Don't you?"

Good question. I feel my pocket. "Nope. I think I left it at home."

"Doesn't matter," he says. "We're here for a reason."

"I'm not following."

He types something into the computer and the screen flashes before a brilliant photo of the London Eye comes into view. The picture is taken at sunset. Orange hues painting the sky against a backdrop of architectural masterpieces, hedged in blue light. "That's beautiful," I mutter.

"If I had the power to really impress you, I'd be able to wave a magic wand and take us there. But I'd like it to be known that in addition to the Hallmark holiday we not so lovingly refer to as Valentine's Day, February 14th is also Ferris Wheel Day and Library Lovers Day. So to begin our un-valentine's day, it seemed fitting to bring you to a library to look at a spectacular picture of a spectacular Ferris Wheel."

We sit there for a few moments, in order to give the London Eye and the library the respect it deserves. I momentarily debate telling him about the strange book, but I don't.

As I study his profile, all of his interest captured by the photo, I can't help it. The smile that I don't like to show anyone pulls at the corners of my mouth. "That's pretty impressive in itself, Oliver."

"Ollie," he corrects me.

"Fine, Ollie. Either way, I'm impressed that you know such things."

Ollie grins. It's charming. He's got bright blue eyes and a mop of dark, curly hair underneath that fedora. And he has some serious dimples. Maybe un-valentine's day isn't going to be the worst thing.

Our next stop is at what was formerly Fernando's, the only place in town that served authentic Mexican food. There's a Taco Bell at the mall, but that hardly counts. The doors on this place have been closed for months though, when it's owners, Maria and you guessed it, Fernando, decided to close its doors and move to be closer to their children.

Ollie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key, slipping it into the lock. "Don't worry," he says. "My dad bought it a month ago."

I think I'd rather see Fernando's closed than see it tarnished with some run of the mill diner found on every street corner in small town America. I cringe. "What's it going to be called?"

"Fernando's," He answers. "Nothing's changing."

"Really?"

He shoulders the door, holds it for me and nods. "Really. My Dad used to come to Serenity Falls every year when he was little during the summer to spend time with his grandparents. When he heard this place was closed and up for sale, he decided we needed to move here, thus, a Baltimore native became a Serenity Falls resident with aspirations to make that bowling team someday."

He flicks the lights on revealing everything is the same as it's always been and I'm happy to see he wasn't bluffing-nothing has changed. He points to the counter. "Sit down."

I sit and he heads to the back. "What are you doing, Ollie?"

"Making you dinner," he replies. "I realize Valentine's Day traditionally offers dinner, but it also offers sweets. I'm planning my moves based on the opposite of sweets. We're eating something spicy. Earth movingly spicy." He pauses. "Do you like spicy food?"

"Who doesn't?"

"My mother, my aunt Betty, and a friend of mine back in Baltimore named Rocky. If you're asking."

I chuckle. "Rocky?"

He nods matter-of -factly. "Rocky Rhodes. I wish that part was untrue. But it's not. His parents did that to him."

"At least he has parents," I say it out loud before I can stop myself. If Oliver thinks anything about my comment, he doesn't say so. Instead, he gets to work. I hear pots and pans clanging together. I peek my head into the kitchen. "Need help?"

"Therapy if you ask my mom but negative in regard to cooking dinner."

I shove my hands in my pockets but instead of wandering back to the counter to sit and wait, I saunter over to the jukebox and deposit a few coins. I select one of my all-time favorite songs, Iris. Mostly because it holds one of the few memories I have of my mother. She used to play the song softly and hum along while she baked cookies. I remember playing with my Barbie's on the floor of the living room while the house smelled of coffee and cookies and the sound of my mother's voice was so soothing.

https://youtu.be/NdYWuo9OFAw

The music starts and I close my eyes and find myself absorbing the words, remembering her. I get so lost in thought, that I don't hear Ollie approach from behind until he taps my shoulder. I turn and make to apologize for zoning out but before I can, he brings his pointer finger to his mouth to shush me. He extends his hand and I smile before taking it. "Dancing is a very Valentine's Day themed activity," I point out.

He nods and pulls me close to him, his arm snaking around my waist. "I'm sure dancing with fedora clad wannabe magicians happens to you all the time on Valentine's Day."

I smirk. "Constantly."

He shimmies his shoulders. "Loosen up kid, we're only dancing."

Now that he points it out, I realize I'm standing there stiff as a board. I inhale and exhale and try to gather my wits about me. A task far easier said than done when I'm in the arms of a strange boy who doesn't seem to have a care in the world. I think I might like Ollie. He's a breath of fresh air from the norm.

"What are we having for dinner?" I ask him.

"Chimichangas Bravas, Senorita."

I arch a brow. "Brave chimichangas?"

He shrugs, "Certainly better than cowardly chiminchangas. Speaking of which, as much as I'd love to stay and bask in your beauty, there's good food to make." As he says it, the song ends and he gestures to one of the booths in the corner. "Have a seat."

Ten minutes later he emerges from the kitchen with two plates. There is a mound of cheese on top of both of the tortillas, bubbled in a melty gooey mess and the smell is phenomenal. Weird and he can cook. I no longer think I like Ollie. I know I do.

Ollie takes a napkin, shakes it out, lays it on his lap and picks up a fork before pointing it at me. "Best Chimichanga you're ever gonna have. It'll melt your face off. The chili sauce I use may or may not have a few extra doses of habanero peppers."

I pick up my own fork. "Sounds promising." And a little scary.

On first bite, it's excellent. A marriage of textures and flavors that complement each other perfectly, but the heat. Oh my god, the heat, it lingers, scorching my tongue and I pick up my water and take a sip. Ollie looks worried.

"Definitely the opposite of sweet, dear Oliver."

"Hashtag goals," he says. "So why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"Because there isn't much to tell."

He continues to eat, seemingly unaffected by the edible fire he's consuming. "Okay, want to play a game?"

I nod. Because so far, even though this is crazy, I'm having the time of my life.

"I will ask a question. You answer. You will ask a question. I will answer."

"How is that a game?"

"Well you get ten seconds or less. If you take longer to answer the question, you get docked. Three strikes and you're done. Winner gets to ask one final question."

"Got it," I say. "What's your full name?"

"Oliver David Hudson. Gonna suggest making the questions a bit trickier. Like this. Do you believe in fate? Why or why not?"

"That's two questions," I say. "No and because it's a joke. Do you?"

He looks at me. "Didn't until a few hours ago. I might now. How long have you lived here?"

"Four years. Do you dress like that on purpose?"

"I do everything I do on purpose. Would you rather be lost in the woods or locked in a Walmart overnight?"

"Walmart. Access to survival equipment. Do you believe aliens exist?"

He nods. "I believe I've seen one. How are the chimichangas? Not cowardly I hope."

"They're good. Siblings?"

"My parents stopped when they got it right, so no, just me. You?"

I laugh. "A sister, Molly and a brother, Isaac." I don't volunteer that they're my foster siblings. He doesn't need to know. "Molly would love your magic tricks What are you most afraid of?"

"Maybe I can show her. Afraid of spending my whole life dying to live. If you could be any animal, what would it be?"

"A kangaroo. How 'bout you?"

He shrugs, "Something more badass than a kangaroo, maybe a lion. Do you get along with your parents?"

I freeze. I try to open my mouth but I don't. I can't. I know I'm going over my ten seconds but I don't care. "Pass." I say.

"Sure you want to pass, you'll get docked. Only two lifelines after that."

"I'm sure. Do you miss Baltimore?"

He nods. "I do miss it, but mostly because of the people I left behind. If you had to choose between being deaf or blind, which one would you pick?"

"That's not a fair question. I wouldn't pick either."

"You have to."

"Fine. Deaf. Why are you into magic tricks?"

"Because they make people smile. Do you have any theories on existentialism?"

"What? Uh..."

He makes a check mark in the air with the tip of his finger. "Theo -2, Ollie - golden."

Fine. One lifeline left.

"Do you think conspiracy theorists have any cred?" I ask.

"Depends on the conspiracy theory they're supporting I suppose. Why do you hate Valentine's Day?"

Because it's the last time I saw my mother. I'd rather lose a thousand times to him than utter those words. So I cross my arms over my chest. "Just do."

"Not a good enough answer. Want to elaborate?"

"Not even a little."

"But you'll lose."

"So I lose. I'm okay with that."

He stands, takes a huge sip of water and holds out his hand. I take it and rise to my feet.

"Final question," Ollie says. "Think you can handle it?"

I nod. Can't be any worse than the last one.

"Can I kiss you? I mean I know kissing is traditionally associated with Valentine's Day, but I really want to." The smile is gone from his face. Those eyes burn into mine and I feel unsettled in the best possible way.

I nod. I don't know why. I shouldn't. But I want him to kiss me.

He removes his fedora before setting it down on the table. Black curls tumble to cover his eye and he smiles, showing off those distinct dimples. As he moves closer, sliding his hand along the side of my face, my jaw and then cupping my ear, he says softly. "I could get used to un-valentine's day."

So could I.

Oliver's lips are soft. They're soft and gentle and they touch mine and ignite the strangest sparks in my body. I lean into him and he kisses me harder and if I've ever been sure of anything, it's that I don't want this to end.

But it does. "It's getting late. I should get you home."

He's right. "Will you show Molly a magic trick? She'd love it."

"I would love to show your sister a trick."

We're quiet during the drive. Mostly because I just keep replaying that kiss over and over and over again. I don't want tonight to be over. Totally unexpected. When we turn on my street, I say, "Can everyday be un-valentine's day?"

He nods. "Technically every day is un-valentine's day but I'll see what I can do. I mean, we didn't get to cutting down a tree and decorating it with Christmas décor. It was in my plan, but our brave chimichangas and Q and A lasted longer than I thought."

I smirk. "You want to decorate a Christmas tree in February?"

"We could hide Easter eggs. Up to you."

I laugh. "I had a lot of fun tonight, Ollie. The most fun I've had in a long time."

"I don't know if I should feel pride or pity that you've said that. I just made you dinner. Nothing special."

"That's where you're wrong." It was everything special. I can't remember ever feeling so intensely intrigued and content. Not for a long time.

He arches a brow. "In that case, brace yourself. Knowing me might blow your mind. And get ready for Christmas tree cutting tomorrow. Egg hunt on the weekend. We'll do it all, you and I strange fountain goddess."

"Fountain goddess?"

"A little something I like to call gorgeous girls I meet near fountains." He keeps his hands in his pockets and tips his chin to our house. "Nice place," he says. "Very colonial."

"It is nice. Let me see if Molly is still up." I can't wait for her to see Oliver and his magic tricks.

He sits on the swing that hangs from the rafters of the front porch and I move to the front door and turn the knob. It's locked. It's never locked. I knock and wait.

A blonde woman I've never seen before answers the door. "Can I help you?"

I look at Ollie and try not to laugh. "You can start by telling me why you're at my house. Where's Mel and Henry?"

"Where's who?"

I laugh and look to the side at Oliver. "Is it April Fool's Day too?"

He rises to his feet and comes to stand next to me. "April Fools will be epic. What's going on?"

"Who are you?" the blonde woman demands, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling. "I'm trying to have a romantic evening with my husband."

A knot settles in my stomach and I feel dizzy. I begin to sway on my feet when Ollie puts his hands on my shoulders and steers me to the steps, sitting me down. "You okay, you look a bit pale."

I shake my head, unable to believe what's happening. It wasn't the berry-tree-bark-root-concoction. It was the book. The pages. The light.

It was real.

And if I'm to believe anything Phoebe said, Oliver is meant to change my life.

THE END

A/N: I DO plan on making this a full length novel, not revolving around Valentine's Day but a story for Ollie and Theo and the magic book. I'm on deadline currently, but stay tuned to my profile for updates when I begin! Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it!

BIO:
LD Crichton writes New Adult/Young Adult romance. Her debut novel, The Enchantment of Emma Fletcher is coming out on March 13, 2017 from Pocket Star Books. She lives in Canada but only until the lottery win that will allow her to move to the Caribbean in search of Jack Spa

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