Page 50 of The Serendipity

“Don’t badmouth the town magic. If anything, it’s good magic. Or luck. Or whatever. Speaking of, any more closet teleportation?”

I don’t know why I didn’t tell Sophie it happened again. She’s my best friend. And she didn’t freak out or think I was nuts the first time.

But for some reason, last night when I appeared at her door post possum incident to grab my spare key, I just said I got locked out, not that I transported again.

I feel bad about lying, but I also don’t want to talk about it. Preferably, I don’t want to acknowledge the situation. Maybe if I pretend it never happened, it won’t happen again.

Which feels a little like being a kid and thinking that if your head is under the covers, the monster under the bed can’t eat you.

“No more transporting. And I’d like to keep it that way, so let’s never speak of it again. Doesn’t magic need people to believe in it to work?”

“You’re thinking of Tinkerbell. She told Peter Pan if people stopped believing in fairies, they’d all cease to exist.”

I lift my water in a silent toast. “Let’s do that. We don’t believe in or speak of the magic—in my closet or otherwise—and then it doesn’t exist.”

Or I can forget that I’m lying to my bestie about it.

“I kind of like the idea of magic,” Sophie says. “Happy magic, like Galentine always talked about. She said the building helped her find love.”

“And how many times did Galentine get married?”

“Four? Seven? I don’t remember. That just means the magic did areallygood job.”

“Or it’s fickle and unreliable.”

“Maybe you transporting into Archer’s closet is the building’s version of a giving you a meet cute?”

I groan. But I’m also blushing because I’m suddenly thinking about that moment again in the hallway, tucked into Archer’s warm chest.

“Can we be done with the magic talk? I’m hungry enough to eat a whole pizza and don’t want you spoiling my appetite.”

“Fine. Also, pizza will be my treat as a way to thank you for rage-helping with the garden.”

I cheer.

“Once we finish this last section,” she adds.

I groan.

“You’re a cruel, cruel garden taskmaster. But I guess I’ll keep you as a friend.”

Even if I’m not being a fully honest one to you right now.

Chapter Ten

Willa

Despite the twotimes I’ve now experienced unwanted closet transportation, I still don’ttrulybelieve in magic. Or luck—goodorbad. Not fates or fated mates (though I love both in novels) or even Murphy’s Law.

And yet.

And yet.

And yet somehow, despite wanting to avoid Archer like a resurgence of the Bubonic plague, he is everywhere I am over the next few days.

Yes, I know we live in the same building. But there are residents of The Serendipity I’ve never laid eyes on. And if Sophie and I didn’t make plans, literal weeks could go by without seeing each other.

Despite this, Archer is like a whole game of whack-a-mole, and I’m without a little mallet to knock him back into his mole holes.

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