Page 75 of Love, Magic and Misfortune
“I had no clue.” She faced him, reaching up and fluffing out the top of his curls. “Did you go into town to get your hair cut? Look at you…” She reached down, holding the hem of his sweater with her fingertips. “Is this new? It’s so soft, and thiscolor. Is it blue or black?”
Jasper grasped her wrists, pulling her hands from his sweater and holding them in between their bodies. “Vi,please. It would be nice if I didn’t look like a lobster in front of your friend.”
She beamed. “You do blush easily. It starts off kind of rosy and subtle, but then quickly escalates to fire-engine red.”
“Thanks. That’s really helpful.” He lifted one hand from hers to scratch his head.
Looking at him, Violet felt warm all over, like she could easily lift to her toes and catch his mouth in a quick kiss. Just a soft little gesture to express her affection and delight at his presence. At his personal growth and how much he’d opened up in the past two and a half months.
Suddenly, he felt very… Not cursed. Not traumatized and hiding himself away—a mop of dark hair, a dreary chateau and a dusty sweater. He was still Jasper, but a little sharper around the edges. A little brighter and well rested.
He looked down at her, taking her in with his big gray eyes. “You look beautiful.”
She beamed. Shewantedtokiss him. But her gut told her “no” and made the butterflies settle down.
“Thanks,” she said, taking a few steps backward with his hands still in hers. “I have some hot cocoa in lieu of alcohol. Would you like that?”
“I would.” He smiled, allowing himself to be pulled forward. “That sounds delicious.”
* * *
After all theguests had arrived and the food had been served and devoured, everyone settled down in the front sitting room.
The fireplace roared and the tall pine tree flickered and shone with lights and colorful baubles. Scents like rosemary and thyme, cinnamon sticks and orange floated through the warm air of the cottage.
Simone, Violet and René sat on Gram’s old squishy couch, the former two with large, cinnamon-citrus muffins warmly buttered on small plates in their laps and the latter opting for a cup of Irish coffee. After a tense battle for the armchair (where technically Jasper had won), Freddie sat in the seat perpendicular to the couch while Jasper sat on the floor near the fireplace. He hadn’t eaten much during lunch, but Jasper wasnotbeing shy about the homemade blackberry raspberry tart on his plate. Freddie had tea, but he barely drank, his eyes too busy darting over to Jasper every ten seconds.
“Well, I think the show ended perfectly,” Simone said, pinching off a large chunk of muffin with her shiny red fingernails. “I like the ambiguity. It lets me derive my own interpretation of the story’s ending and everything that happened.”
“I don’t,” Freddie said, looking up at Simone. “It’s frustrating. Just tell me how it ends. I need closure. Straightforward.”
Simone popped another bite into her mouth, then covered her lips with her palm in a polite gesture. “The intent of the artist is that you establish your own closure.”
Freddie shook his head. “I don’t like it. It’s a tease. I gave it two stars on the streaming site.” His eyes flickered over to Jasper yet again before he lifted his teacup to take a sip.
René sat a little straighter against the back of the couch. “I rated it four stars. I think the storyline gave us enough clues to draw upon in establishing a firm ending. He died, didn’t he? At the very end.”
“No.” Simone’s eyes widened. “That was a five-star show. And I don’t think he died. I think he was just tired after the battle and laid down. Even the director said he was just tired in an interview—”
“I saw that interview,” Violet chimed in. “I think that was a joke. He was being facetious. I gave it three stars. I didn’t think it was great, but it definitely wasn’t bad.”
“I agree,” René said.
“It was perfection, and he didn’t die.” Simone shook her head, resolute. “Why wouldn’t the director just say so in the interview?”
“See?” Freddie frowned. “This is why the ending was stupid. Just say what it is so everyone is on the same dang page. I had to push myself to finish it… Should have just stopped watching.”
“But that is the very nature of art, my dear young man—subjective and open to a myriad of interpretations.” René glanced over toward Jasper on the floor. “You are awfully quiet, Monsieur Laurent. No thoughts on this topic? You were quiet at lunch, too.”
“He’s always quiet,” Freddie said, his voice soft. “He was like this when we were kids… never talked to anyone except Violet.”
Jasper blinked, looking around at everyone suddenly staring back at him. Irritation was rising in Violet’s chest at Freddie’s direct assault, but Jasper’s voice kept her quiet.
“I don’t watch television, so I don’t know what you’re talking about… These shows. It was the same when I was little—everyone was always talking about TV shows and movies, but my parents didn’t even have a television in the house. I think my parents took me to the movies once?”
“Some kids at our school thought Jasper was stuck up, but really he was just interested in other things,” Violet added.
Simone tilted her head. “Other things like what?”
