Page 118 of Charmed, I'm Sure
“Magnolia pressed pause.”
“What? Why? Huh? I don’t get it. I thought things were going well with y’all.”
“They were.”
“Then what happened?”
I exhaled a heavy breath, shaking my head as I gestured for her to lead the way—right into…oh, for fuck’s sake.
“I amnotgoing intoVictoria’s Secretwith my baby sister. Hell to the fuck no, Adelaide. I really don’t want to pour acid into my eyes or get a lobotomy.”
“Quit being a ninny and come on. I just want jammies and workout clothes.”
I quirked a brow. “Since when did you start working out?”
“I don’t. They’re comfy.” She shrugged. “Now come on, and keep talking.”
I spilled my guts as Addy rifled through an astronomical amount of clothing, watching as she went from nodding in understanding to her cheeks flaming pink with rage.
“What the actualfuckis wrong with people in that town? Does she have any idea who’s been doing it?”
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I shook my head. “Not that I know of.”
“And you haven’t heard from her at all over the last few days?”
Another shake of my head.
“Have you reached out?”
“She asked for space. It’s killing me, but I’m trying to do what she asked.”
Addy paused her rummaging and met my gaze, her eyes soft, tinged with the kind of sadness that made me want to sprint away from this conversation. She’d always been able to read me, to see through any mask I put on, and this was no different.
Rounding the table, she wrapped her arms around my waist and squeezed. “You’re a good man, Taylor Hallows. She knows that. She’ll come around.”
“I hope you’re right.” I returned her embrace, exhaling a heavy breath. “I really hope you’re right.”
By the time Addy finished her shopping—my arms full ofherbags, and none of my own—we were heading back toward the car.
“I’m starving,” she groaned dramatically once she was settled in the passenger seat.
“We were just by a food court, Adelaide,” I deadpanned.
“Yeah, I know. But I still need to go toMignon Fagetto grab something for Mom, so I figured we could grab lunch over that way.”
“What am I, your chauffeur?”
“No?” My eyes narrowed at her innocent tone, her lips twitching as she fought a smile. “Okay, I hadn’tintendedfor you to be my chauffeur, but it’s not my fault you didn’t find anything at the mall.Maybeyou’ll have better luck there?”
With a roll of my eyes and a groan, I pulled up the address for the jewelry store and grumbled, “Doubtful.”
An hour and a half later, we were back in the car, and I didn’t particularly care for the cocky smirk my sister was giving me as she shookmytiny bag from the jewelry store in my face.
“Itoldyou,” she sing-songed.
“Hush.”
I hadn’t expected to find anything for Magnolia at a jewelry store—it was always so cookie-cutter and commercial, and my girl was neither of those things. ButMignon Fagetwas different. Their pieces were crafted for locals, for people who loved Louisiana. A little chunky, a little funky, but artfully made. Unique. Just like Magnolia.
