Page 36 of Anders and the Girl Worth Fighting For
“I want to make moon spell cookies,” I said in a rush beforeI could lose my nerve. The church and my mother banned the word magic in my life for almost as long as I could remember. Even simple children’s stories about magic had been taboo in my church. It never even crossed my mind until now to make the cookies my grandmother promised granted your every desire if made just right. I couldn’t stop thinking about them now, though.
“Never heard of them.” He shrugged. “They any good?” He was so calm and nonchalant. I literally said I wanted to make a spell andnothing. I relaxed just a little. Maybe he didn’t understand, but at least the very word didn’t earn me lectures, the silent treatment, “volunteer” hours at church, or worse.
“I think so. I made them with my grandma once. They are very simple. The most complicated part is, well, uh…” Maybe I hadn’t relaxed enough for this, after all. I couldn’t finish my sentence and stared helplessly at Anders, afraid of what he would say.
“Oh, that part. Yeah, super complicated.” Anders’s dry tone startled a laugh out of me.
“The complicated part is the spell. It’s just a bunch of spices added to the cookie depending on what kind of spell you want to do, but I think it’s the kind of thing where maybe intention matters, you know.” I shrugged, helplessness creeping back in at my stupid plan and worse explanation.
Somehow, in all my worry about his reactions to the moon spell cookies, I didn’t notice that we had our raincoats on and were out the door already on our way to the parking garage.
“Alright. What kind of spell are you casting today?” He asked like it was any other Tuesday and everyone wanted to make cookies with spells on them. Is this how it is? Do people really not freak out at the barest mention of magic?
“I’m not sure, but many of the ingredients cross over between the spells. Cinnamon is used in most of them. Nutmeg,basil, lemon, honey, that kind of thing.” I don’t know why I remembered these cookies so clearly after only making them once, but I’m glad I did.
“So, what spells are there? Maybe I can help you decide what to do.”
I wasn’t sure what to do with his easy acceptance of this. Maybe he didn’t believe in spells and just wanted good cookies. Maybe he just didn’t care. I don’t know.
“There’s a prosperity spell, a protection spell, a psychic ability spell, and a love spell.” I rushed through the list, hoping he didn’t catch them all. I don’t know why. Yes, I do. Anders made me nervous, and the thought of love, or lust, with him, near him, made my heart stutter and skip in an excited, nervous wave.
I know it’s ridiculous. I taunted him on our first proper date just last night, but that was just dinner. That could have been nothing. Except kissing him felt like standing on a cliff face, hoping to fall.
“Well, a protection spell would probably be a good idea, but a love spell would be fun. Can we do both?” We made it to his car, and he opened the door for me again. His question threw me off, and I didn’t get in the car right away.
“You think a love spell would be fun?” I stared at him, mouth agape in shock at his admission.
“Yeah. By love spell, I assume that it really means lust spell because love can’t be spelled, it just is. It grows, or it doesn’t.”
Jaw. Floor. The two just met. Was this big marine really standing in front of me saying something so sentimental aslove just is?
“Of course, you would think love meant lust.” I recovered my shock and tried to sound nonchalant. “Ugh, do men really not think of anything else?”
He turned back towards me at that, and I instantly regrettedmy outburst. His eyes were laughing though, and a playful smile crept up his face. He stepped towards me and I stepped back, hitting the side of the car. He moved towards me again, blocking out the light and stealing all the oxygen from my lungs.
His ridiculous, beautiful face made me stupid. My hands twitched with the need to touch him even while I tried to maintain my dignity. I wouldn’t stop at simply touching him and we were in a semi-public space, after all.
“Not really.”
I’d forgotten the question.
“I’m really looking forward to your cookies, Grace. I’ve missed them.” His voice was low and husky and he pressed so close to me that our breaths mingled into one. My mouth went dry.
Anders chose a grocery store far from where we were holed up in the safe house. We passed several on our way there and I couldn’t help wondering why he didn’t just go to any of the other options.
“I don’t like them and if we vary where we go, we are harder to keep track of,” he explained when I asked.
We were heading in the opposite direction of Hilton Head today and I guess it made sense. Whoever that was on the beach last night was less likely to know where we were if we weren’t predictable.
The day was rainy, like so many were. By the time we got to the store, it came down in blinding torrents. If I hadn’t grown up here, I might be worried about going out in a storm like this. As it was, I was very used to the dramatic shifts in weather, andbarely being able to see through the rain didn’t bother me at all. I was safe with Anders.
We parked close to the door and Anders held an umbrella for me when he opened the door. I don’t think anyone has ever done that. His kindness stunned me, freezing me before a moment before I could recover and step out of the car. The store itself was a small one meant to serve a small community, but it would do for what we needed. I was certain it still carried all the basics for cooking. Something tickled the back of my mind as I took in the surrounding cars. I couldn’t pin it and chalked it up to the tension and unease of my current situation.
It wasn’t until I was picking out a baking pan that my brain caught up to what my eyes had seen. I knew one of the cars in the parking lot. I swear I had seen it at church before. Pastor Robert drove an old truck. The kind with the square corners and single-row seats. The back window had a decal of a mountain on it. He always talked about how the prophets in the Bible all went to mountains and so mountains themselves must be holy. It wasn’t his weirdest claim.
“I think my pastor is here,” I said off-handedly to Anders as we moved on to the spices. He stiffened beside me when I said that.
“You’re sure?” He asked, and I watched as he scanned the store. He was tall enough to see the top of the shelves and maybe even over them.
