Spellbinding Love, page 3
“You could probably rig the State Fair, if you wanted,” Alison added. “Like, Blue Ribbon winner every time. I bet other Earth Witches do it without even knowing.”
“That would make Opa and Oma rise up from their graves and murder me,” Katie countered. “In fact, using your powers responsibly was Oma’s number one thing. Plus mine seem to be more affected by my emotions than yours, and I would be way too nervous about upsetting Oma to use mine well.”
“Nerd,” Linnea clucked affectionately, and restarted the movie.
It was fun to get lost in the world of magic in the movie, because secretly, Katie wished being a witch was a little more like that. The coven was close to a matriarchy and full of feminine support, but there wasn’t the same aesthetic with the coven as Nicole Kidman and Sandra Bullock had. There weren’t spells, and their potions were more like chemistry experiments than spooky, nature-inspired concoctions.
“God, I wish being a witch was this cool,” Jess sighed, voicing Katie’s inner thoughts aloud. “I was so into this and Charmed when I was little. I wanted pentagrams and shit, you know?”
“Imagine Barb letting a pentagram into the coven,” Linnea snorted.
“She’d die,” Alison agreed.
“To be fair, I think the Satanist stuff of the eighties really scared her, you know? Like, she was sort of upset with this movie after we saw it, because she didn’t want people to think we could raise the dead,” Linnea said.
Katie smothered a smile because of course Barb Peterson would worry about public image. But other than the coven symbol— a small constellation, which Alison now had as a tattoo— that Barb allowed, theirs was a very sanitized version of witchcraft.
Alison shrugged. “I tried a coven in Portland that was more earth-mother-y, but honestly, it was kind of annoying. They took shit very seriously and it just…wasn’t for me. They kept telling me if I prayed to Mother Earth hard enough, I’d be able to see the ghosts instead of just feel them.”
Katie rolled her eyes. “I guess I wouldn’t want that, but like, a little more Hollywood witchiness would be fun, you know? Like, I’d love to dress like Stevie Nicks at all times.”
“Yesssss,” Jess agreed. “And have candles everywhere.”
“We could do that now, I suppose,” Katie pointed out. “Although dressing like Stevie isn’t really practical if you’re a farmer.”
“True,” Jess said. “Also I know they’re sketchy as fuck, but some sort of love potion would be amazing, so long as it didn’t override that person’s consent, you know? Like, something you could both drink and you’d know you’re both into each other instead of doing a stupid dance around it for weeks.”
“You got something you need to talk about?” Katie asked drily.
“Just that it’s really fucking hard to date when you’re queer,” Jess sighed. “If I could just find a gay or bi Sandra Bullock, I’d be set.”
“She is super hot,” Linnea said. “I’m with you there.” The two of them high-fived and Linnea unpaused the movie and for the next two hours Katie let herself just enjoy the time with her friends, those prickling concerns about Micah and Gina be damned.
CHAPTER THREE
To the west, the sunset painted the sky orange pink. The mosquitoes would be terrible any second now, especially this close to the lake, but Katie decided to stay a little longer. She loved this time of day on the farm. Colors popped, the greens somehow richer and the golds somehow brighter. Even the blue of the lake seemed sharper. Giroud gamboled about her legs and then sprinted off towards the lake with an enthusiastic bark.
The lake wasn’t even really a lake, just a large pond out on the southern edge of their property. It didn’t have a name, although at age 12, in a fit of over-identification with Anne of Green Gables due entirely to her red hair, Katie named it the Lake of Shining Waters. Opa and Oma dutifully attempted to call it that to the best they could recall, but it didn’t stick, even for Katie. That’s because it’s not your name for it, Micah had patiently explained once. Come up with a name for it that you love, and you’ll remember it. But Katie didn’t have the imagination Anne did, so it remained the lake. She pulled a tennis ball from her pocket and whistled to Giroud. He dashed back to her side, his butt waggling frantically at the sight of the toy. “You ready, boy?” she asked in the high pitched tone she only used when she was alone with Giroud. “Ready?” Giroud sprang up on his hind legs and landed heavily. Malamutes could be quick, but they weren’t exactly nimble. “Go!” she cried and hurled the ball as far into the lake as she could.
Giroud plowed into the water without a second’s hesitation. Of course he frolicked through the cattails at the edge, dredging up all kinds of slime instead of taking the cleaner, more direct path she’d hoped. But Giroud paddled happily to the ball and caught it in his jaws before turning back. He showered her with droplets shaking himself off and returned the ball with a proud butt wiggle. “Again?” she cooed, and Giroud was into the lake before she even threw the ball. She swatted at a mosquito and watched him play, wishing Opa was here. Of the two of them Opa was more like her— Oma was more like Barb and Linnea, always making friends and encouraging Katie to broaden her horizons. But Opa was quiet. He preferred solitude and evenings down by the lake on days like this. He never made her talk about her feelings and rarely ever asked her about her day, but she knew he cared. He was comforting, peaceful, steady.
She missed him terribly.
The only time she was legitimately jealous of Linnea’s powers was when she told a story about talking to her deceased grandfather the week after his funeral. To Linnea it was just a silly story because her grandfather was just one in a line of dozens of family members who loved and adored her. But Katie had precious few family members— her father was an only child and her mother had just a half-brother nearly twelve years older than her, whom Katie met for the first and only time at the funeral. She didn’t have any cousins to speak of and no siblings, either. Just Oma and Opa.
And Micah, of course, but he wasn’t blood. He might be the beneficiary on all her accounts and her emergency contact, but Katie’s family was otherwise gone, all of them buried in the graveyard behind St. John’s Lutheran Church over on Maple. And some day, probably sooner than she would like, Micah was going to find someone he loved and make her his family. Katie would still be important to him, but it wouldn’t be the same and she’d be alone for good. She had spent years getting used to that fact, but it still never sat easy on her shoulders. Sometimes she almost imagined a different life, one where she and Micah were together, but she always stopped herself before she went too far. No point in mucking around with something that worked, and she and Micah, well, they worked well the way they were now and if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Giroud shook himself dry— or drier, rather— and she threw the ball one last time. The birdsong was getting louder, and their chirps and the buzz of insects nearly drowned out Giroud’s joyful splashes. Katie shook her head, clearing herself of the negative thoughts. She loved her life, even if she missed Opa. Even if sometimes, she found her solitude a little lonely.
It was a hot, sunny day when Katie tromped back towards the house from fixing a broken fence. She tossed her tool bag down on the porch with a resounding thud and Micah walked out. “You’re early,” she said and sat down on the steps to untie her boots.
Micah shrugged. “Had a chance to leave the restaurant so I took it,” he said. Part of what made their friendship work was both of them understood that with their jobs, sometimes you just couldn’t take a break. And when you could, you seized that moment with both hands and ran with it. “Where were you?”
“Back pasture,” she said, picking at the knot in her laces. “Minor fence repair.” Her hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat and she took a moment to suck down the remaining water in her water bottle before pulling off her other boot. She carefully rolled down her socks, checking each one before discarding it, and then stood. “Tick check?” she asked. It was one of the things that went hand in hand with having this much land— tall grass in a pasture left fallow meant ticks, and ticks meant Lyme Disease, and she very much didn’t want that. Normally she’d run up to the bathroom and use the full length mirror, but it was easier if there was someone else to help.
“Stand up,” he said, and jerked his chin. They walked around to the side of the porch to be hidden from the road. Not that many people came by this way, but still. She didn’t feel like giving her neighbors a heart attack. Katie unhooked her overalls and let them fall just to her waist. She peeled her green long sleeved shirt off and tossed it aside as well. Her teal sports bra was dark with sweat and she turned her back to let Micah examine her hairline.
“Sorry I’m so gross,” she muttered as he ran his hand through her hair. She felt oddly self-conscious, considering he’d done this dozens of times before.
“It’s fine,” he said and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Still less gross than the time you threw up on my legs.” His breath fanned the nape of her neck.
“That was in fifth grade and you knew I don’t handle tire swings well,” she grumbled.
“I definitely learned my lesson, yes.” He clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Turn,” he ordered, and she revolved a quarter turn so he could check behind her ear.
“I didn’t like, roll around on the ground, you know,” she said defensively. A blush was crawling up her neck for no reason at all and she curled her hands into fists.
“Yeah, but you were probably kneeling in long grass, right?”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. He was studying her skin carefully— which was the point of this, but still made her stomach feel oddly fluttery— and she cleared her throat. “Okay, fine. Just hurry up.”
“Other side,” he replied. She turned the other direction and he tipped her head to the side. One hand spanned her jaw to hold her in place, his touch burning. “Hold on—oh, nope. Just dirt,” he said, and she let out a shaky breath, her heart suddenly racing.
Apparently, she was really nervous about Lyme Disease. She looked up and found him watching her again, but his expression was unfamiliar. That threw her, because nothing about Micah had been unfamiliar since they both made it through puberty. Normally she’d have him check her lower back now, but her skin was erupting into goosebumps despite the warm weather and her heart was unaccountably pounding against her ribs. “You know what? I’ve got it from here. I’ll just run up and shower,” she said, forcing herself to sound breezy.
Micah seemed to tear his eyes away from her. “Yeah, sounds good,” he said, peering over at Giroud, who was peeing into the bushes. She always could count on Giroud to ruin the moment. He rubbed at the back of his neck and she wondered if it was her imagination, or if a blush was staining his cheeks and ears, too. “Then get ready for an ass kicking,” he said, but his voice was thick and not quite its usual teasing lilt.
“Whatever, Chelsea sucks and and no one on that team could find the goal if it ran up and kicked them in the ass,” she said, but her banter sounded strained. She grabbed her shirt and socks— her shoes would stay outside thanks to both the smell and the mud— and Micah picked up her tools. She darted upstairs and shut the door to the bathroom a little harder than necessary and turned the water on as cool as was tolerable.
When she came down from her shower she felt more like herself and if Micah’s face was any indication, so did he. He was puttering around the kitchen in Oma’s old apron. It looked ridiculous on him— about a foot too short, in addition to having ruffles and printed roosters all over it— but he had claimed it as his own at age 12 and neither Oma nor Katie were ever one to stand in the way of tradition. Underneath it was his Ravenclaw t-shirt, which was entirely too tight around his shoulders to make her comfortable. She hated it when he wore things that reminded her of just how unfairly attractive he was. It was exceedingly inconvenient, even though she’d largely made her peace with that back in high school. Back then, she was approaching chubby and had a massive chip on her shoulder, while he filled out into the J-Crew model he was clearly meant to be. She was well aware of what league she was in, and what league he was in, and that made it easier to ignore his chiseled features and focus on what really mattered: being a dick to him in order to make him laugh.
As usual he was trying out something new for dinner while Katie sat at the old diner table and jiggled her knee, the red cushions on the metal chair squeaking with each movement. “So how ridiculous is this sandwich going to be?” she asked. She took a sip of beer and patted absently at Geraldine, who had found her way into the kitchen and was mewling around her ankles.
“Less ridiculous than the Bloomington; more ridiculous than the Richfield. On par with the Edina,” he said over his shoulder. The grease on the stove hissed and spit, and thankfully, the earlier weirdness seemed to have passed.
“Which one was the Edina?”
“Turkey, cheddar, and cranberry mayo. You know what? I want a tomato for these,” he said. “Mind grabbing one?”
“You’re gonna cut into my profits,” Katie grumbled and heaved herself off the chair.
The tomato plants were fortunately closest to the house, but she decided to swing by the raspberry bushes at the last minute to pick a few handfuls for dessert. She had some chocolate ice cream in the back of the freezer, she was pretty sure, and it wasn’t a gourmet sandwich but it was a good dessert.
Micah had their sandwiches plated, just waiting on the tomatoes, by the time she got back. Katie grabbed the beers and trailed him from the kitchen to the living room. She had slowly started replacing Oma and Opa’s furniture— the couch was new and way more comfortable than the sleeper Oma bought when Katie was in high school— but it still had the “inhabited by the elderly” vibe that made her feel so at home. The shelves were full of Oma’s knick-knacks and the hutch displayed her rarely-used wedding china, and Katie would never replace the cuckoo clock Opa bought in Germany when he was younger. The house was bursting with memories and she liked it that way.
Shortly after Opa died, Micah had practically moved in. He knew she couldn’t be alone in the house, haunted by ghosts she couldn’t see, so he showed up with a duffle bag and stayed for two months; commuting back and forth to the Cities, making sure she ate breakfast and dinner and helping her sort through Opa’s clothes. She couldn’t have made it through those days without him; his presence as steady and reassuring as the trees and fields surrounding them.
It felt selfish to admit it, but part of her was relieved that nothing seemed to have come of his flirtation with Gina. She was feeling a little possessive of him lately, and wasn’t sure she’d handle him splitting time between her and a girlfriend very well. She did want Micah to find someone to settle down with and be happy, but she was secretly glad he wasn’t really looking yet.
“You ready for this?” she asked as she scrolled through the DVR. He sat down in his usual spot, and she fought the usual urge to sit closer to him.
“You mean to watch your ass lose? Always.”
“Knowing the outcome really saps the entertainment from our banter, doesn’t it?” she replied.
“Speak for yourself.”
“That’s only because you know you’re going to win.” Katie found the Arsenal vs. Chelsea game from two weeks ago and hit play. Between the restaurant and the farm, getting together to watch their teams slaughter each other had been tricky for the past few years. At first they tried to do a media blackout to avoid finding out the results, but Micah’s Facebook feed was full of Chelsea fans who kept up running liveblogs of the score, and he was too addicted to Facebook to ever really give it up. Plus, Farmer Twitter was weirdly a real thing that she was involved in, and a few of her farmer friends were also Premier League fans, and honestly, it was just a losing battle. So now they were left with trashtalking despite already knowing who won, but tradition died hard in the Frankowski-Johnson friendship. Giroud was predictably confused at the amount of times they shouted his name, but there was nothing for that. Katie had threatened to change Giroud-the-dog’s name when Giroud-the-player switched from Arsenal to Chelsea, but in the end, Micah had convinced her that was petty and needlessly confusing for the dog. Plus, at least he stayed sort-of in the family. If he’d gone to Tottenham, holy hell would have broken out.
By the 67th minute, Katie’s eyes were drooping. She hated being the the twenty-something who fell asleep on the couch before 9pm, but farming was exhausting. In addition to her usual chores and fence mending, she’d had to cut down another ash tree thanks to the rapidly spreading emerald ash borer, and operating a chainsaw to bring down an entire tree was no joke. She tried to keep her eyes on the game but it kept blurring, and pretty soon she decided to give in and let herself drift off.
“Hey,” Micah said softly some time later, jiggling her feet. She’d put them in his lap at halftime to better stretch out her stiff muscles and didn’t realize she’d left them there.
“Mmmph,” she grunted. “What?”
“You’re sleeping. And missing how badly you guys are losing.”
“Three to two is not that bad. In fact, it’s an unusually high scoring game.”
“You didn’t deny sleeping.”
“I wasn’t. I was resting my eyes.”
“Liar.”
“God, you’re impossible, aren’t you?”
Micah winked, his blue eyes sparkling. “Always and forever.”
Katie sat up and rubbed at her eyes, stealing Geraldine from his lap. “You’re also a kitty hog.” She buried her face in her kitty’s fur.
“Well, I’d go get Giroud but he’s already passed out like his mom.”
“God, do not encourage him any more than you already do. He already thinks he’s a lapdog. One day I’m gonna get squished by that beast trying to sit on me and it’ll be your fault.”
