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Penbrook shrugged in that way he had, a languid roll of his shoulders, unhindered by the abundant flowers in his arms. “You wriggle your nose when you’re thoughtful.”
Her nose scrunched.
“Or when you’re peeved,” he amended. “Sometimes I can almost see your invisible whiskers twitching.”
But really, when Fia inspected her feelings, she realized that spark of warmth at her center wasn’t vexation—it wasn’t even something she could properly name. Unexpectedly, she enjoyed the teasing. And besides, hadn’t she thought of him as a lazy cat?
“My whiskers twitch when I’m plotting,” she said, playfully smiling.
With a rustle of leaves and stems, Gwendolyn parted the peonies in Penbrook’s arms so her face appeared in the gap. Bright with curiosity, her eyes darted back and forth between him and Fia. “Now, what are you two whispering about?”
“Oh,” Fia said innocently. “Penbrook was just saying he’d be delighted to carry your flowers home for you.”
“I was?” He cleared his throat, realizing he might have been bested. “I was.”
“How lovely,” Gwendolyn said, pressing her beringed hands together.
“And I told him about your jellied gingersnaps,” Fia added with a purposeful wrinkle of her nose. “You can’t let him leave without trying one.”
Penbrook inclined his head. “Why do I think I’m in for an unexpected treat?”
“Oh, you are,” Fia promised as she turned away.
His laughter followed her, and she decided she liked the sound.
Behind the counter, Andromeda was all smiles and charm. The customers loved her—the funny stories she told, the lipstick-kissed packaging she offered those who bought Dahl’s Love Drops. A besotted girl stood before her now, waiting as Andromeda pressed her lips to a fresh sheet of paper and wrapped it, rather indelicately, around one of those rose-tinted bottles.
“There, enjoy this taste of love.” Andromeda passed over the package with a grin.
“What’s love made of?” the girl whispered, voice gone satin soft.
“Sunrises and moonsets,” Andromeda said to the customer’s delight. But her hand fluttered to the ribbon of rings around her neck—a reminder of all the times she hadn’t found love.
This unexpected glimpse of Andromeda’s vulnerable heart only set Fia more on edge. The ruin of curses was still brewing, and as she moused around the shop, she overheard some of the townsfolk’s latest worries. Luckily, the ones in the store today didn’t seem to think she was responsible, despite Dominik Honestly’s accusations.
“You’ve been unusually quiet all morning,” one of the Sinclair sisters was saying to the other. “Something’s on your mind, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” The sister, younger by a year or two, exhaled, then let loose the shored-up words. “Last night, there was this incessant whispering outside my window.”
“The wind, I’m sure.”
“No.” A nervous twitch of her lip. “It was… well, it was the swan girl murmuring to her swan.”
The elder sister let out a little laugh. “Katrine, really. You think the statue from the courtyard fountain came to life?”
Katrine nervously ran her fingers through a bowl of miscellaneous charm stones, lifting one that was pink. “The sculpture awakened in the moonlight. When she moved, I could hear her limbs cracking, and her voice too. Oh, it was hoarse and splintered, like her throat was full of gravel.”
“And what was she saying?” Asked more with amusement than concern.
“How very much she’d like to eat the swan.”
“I don’t—”
“It’s the curse, Morella, I swear.” Katrine set her mouth firmly.
The sisters traded a long look, something unspoken communicated between them.
“I don’t think it’s rose quartz you need then.” Uncertainly, Morella sifted through the stones.
