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“At the rate we’re going,” he says, “I’m going to end up fighting a werewolf over you.”
That afternoon, Caroline and Trevor walk in carrying garment bags. “We’re here to play fairy godmother,” says Caroline.
His eyes light up. “I assure you, 16-year-old me would be willing to overlook that fact,” he says. “But if it’s off the table, go buy stock in Apple and Microsoft.” I arch a brow. “That seems slightly…I don’t know…unethical?” “Please don’t let your ethics get in the way of us owning a Caribbean island once it’s all figured out,”
Grandma Sue, the woman my grandfather married a few years after his first wife disappeared, is the only grandmother I’ve ever known. She’s always doted on me to such an extent that it was a shock when I learned we aren’t actually related. She flutters around me from the moment I walk in the door. “Why didn’t you tell us you had a meeting down here?” she asks. “My friends will be so upset they missed your visit.”
“It’s ridiculously unfair that you’re wearing that shirt,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with the need to cry. His eyes move over me—hair, face, moving down to the floor and back up—before he remembers to shut the door. “I needed to use every advantage available,” he says, with the barest of smiles.
“Honey, I’m home!” he calls. His voice echoes over the bare hardwood floors. I lean over the upstairs railing, smiling down at him. “I think we might need some rugs.” “It’s perfect like this,” he says, taking the stairs toward me, two at a time. “I can demand a blowjob from any room of the house without even raising my voice.”
“If this woman wants to kill me she doesn’t have to walk in. She can just apparate or whatever.” He laughs. “Are you using terms from Harry Potter?” I kiss his forehead. “I’m not sure what’s dorkier… that I accidentally invoked a term from Harry Potter or that you recognized it as such. But anyway, you see my point.”