“Don’t worry about it. It’s fine,” I say, waving a hand in dismissal.
“You must be used to it, though, in your line of work, right?”
“I get a wide range of reactions, but trust me, your kind is my favorite.”
They both giggle, each wearing the other’s lipstick. They are bliss personified.
“What a romantic life you must lead!” the fairy exclaims.
Sigh. This happens sometimes. While the kids at school surely envision my life as one filled with torture and sadness, my clients here have often remarked on the seeming dreaminess I must float around in all day. Of course neither iteration is true; I exist somewhere in the middle, seeing other people’s love lives so clearly but being completely dumbfounded by my own. No one wants to hear about that, though, especially two brides-to-be who just want to exist in their deserved fantasy state for as long as possible. And since they’re paying customers, I do my best to uphold that magical image.
“Yes, well”—I smile coyly—“a lady never reveals her secrets.”
This pleases them, and they leave a big tip before they go. Tips are certainly a perk of matching; happy couples tend to be more liberal with their dollars. You can’t expect someone whose heart you just smashed to thank you with extra Benjamins.
“Time to lock up.” Bob lumbers over. My clients were the last ones to enter the shop, and Bob was drilling holes in the backs of their heads the whole time, waiting for us to be done.
“Big plans tonight, Bob?” I ask as I straighten up my booth. The girls took the last of my business cards, so I pull out some extra from a box under the table.
“Yes. I’m going to my mother’s. We’re going to play chess and eat frogs’ legs.” He smiles dopily.
“Livin’ the dream, my friend. Let me just grab my bag, and then we can go.” I duck into the back room and pull off the Windy City Magic long-sleeved tee I wore for my shift, back from the literally one day when my mom thought we should have some kind of staff uniform. She could barely wear our cheesy logo across her chest for an hour before deciding it was a horrible idea. I still wear mine sometimes just to remind her she’s not infallible. I change back into the black tank I wore under my Manchester getup today. When Bob and I walk out into the crisp October air, I realize I may have been warmer wearing that crazy shirt.
“You okay getting home?” Bob asks. Sometimes he gives me a ride when Mom doesn’t close up, but from the way he’s hopping between feet, I can tell he’s anxious to get to his amphibian cuisine.
“I’ll be fine. My public transit chariot awaits.”
“Okay. Good night.” He shuffles off toward the parking garage. I start heading toward the bus stop, but for some reason, find myself climbing the steps to the Pier Park area. I never go this way—it takes too long and my arms are cold—but my feet are defying logic. Orange and yellow Ferris wheel spokes guide me upward, until I’m standing alone under the neon ring.
Well, not completely alone. Because sitting at the start of the ride’s queue is Charlie, elbows on his knees, staring at the sidewalk. I almost don’t recognize him at first, because a smattering of stubble covers his always clean-shaven face. He could easily be a statue, or one of those street performers who pretend to be statues; everything about his person displays a frozen sadness. I wonder how long he’s been sitting there.
“Hey,” I call out, my voice breaking his trance. Citrus-colored specs reflect on his lenses, but even still, I see the pain that lies behind them.
“Hey,” he echoes back, but with more melancholy. “Um, I hope this isn’t weird.” He approaches slowly, unsure of himself, so I meet him halfway to ease the struggle.
“It’s not weird, per se. Though you do know the wheel stops turning at eight o’clock.” I point up.
“Yeah.” There’s a long pause. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
I take a deep breath but exhale in shivers. Upon seeing this, Charlie removes his cotton blazer and drapes it over my shoulders, leaving him in a heather T. rex tee. It’s so rare to see him dressed so casual; something must really be wrong, and I’m pretty sure it’s my fault.
“Thanks,” I say, hugging the fabric close to me. My senses are suddenly overwhelmed by everything Charlie: his scent, his warmth, his touch. It catches me by surprise, how quickly these simple things take hold of me. My skin is covered in goose bumps but not because I’m cold. I was using my mini breakdown to see how I feel, giving myself time to breathe and see if any strong emotion pulls me in either direction. I think I finally have my answer.
“So what’s going on?” he asks. I wish that I could tell him, and maybe I should, but the truth stays locked inside me, a secret I shouldn’t keep but can’t release. If things are going to happen between him and Kim someday, I can’t stop it, but I can exist here, in the moment, with him. Where I want to be.
“I missed you,” I whisper.
“You did?” he gasps, eyebrows perched like ski slopes.
I nod. This gives him a shot of confidence, and he steps closer. “I missed you too.” He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. The goose bumps continue to spread. “Amber, I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but I want you to know: every time I’m around you, I feel like a non-fatal firework is lit inside me. It’s magic—actual magic—and you’ll have to forgive the pun, but I don’t want to be under anyone else’s spell.”
I try to be indifferent, but his admission is so honest, so unabashedly dorky and adorable, I’d have to be completely dead inside not to smile. Is this stupid, to keep moving forward? No, I don’t think so. Stupid would be denying my heart something it wants just because it’s afraid. I’m not going to live my life in fear just because of the unknown.
“Charlie,” I say with a tender laugh.
“No, I’m not done, I—”
I put a finger over his lips. “It’s okay,” I say softly. “I feel the same.”
Then he smiles—that majestic smile I know now is truly just for me—and picks me up, swinging me around and around until the blazer falls to the ground. The skyline and lake take turns spinning in my view, a flurry of twinkling lights, and then we stop as Charlie buries his face in the crook of my neck. A happy laugh tickles my skin as he wraps his arms around my waist, squeezing tight.
“Thank the Gods,” he cries, and I couldn’t agree more.
I’m not sure what will happen next. Maybe Charlie and I will end up together. Maybe my perception of his match is really the Fates trying to screw with me, preventing me from using my talent on myself. Maybe it’s destiny, and we’ll ride off into the sunset on the back of a rainbow-maned unicorn (shut up, it could happen).
Or maybe our paths will diverge someday, taking us in separate directions, making our relationship a brief but beautiful spot in a series of unforgettable encounters.
Either way, it will be a journey worth taking.
Either way, it will be a love story.
Amber Sand came to me while I was on the treadmill. Since my main thought while running is usually “Please don’t die,” I figured this character must be pretty special to break through my gasps for air. Amber’s adamant belief in love helped fuel me during a difficult time, and for that I will always be thankful.
I’ve always adored spellbinding stories, but seeing this book come to life was a magic all of its own. Every step of the way, I’ve been so touched by the support and encouragement I’ve received, and have been brought to happy tears many times.
To my agent, Jess, for picking Amber out of the slush and pushing her to be her best. You got this story right from the start and have been such a wonderful advocate. Thank you for believing in me and being a sympathetic ear to my endless, crazy questions.
To my editor, Kieran, for all the brilliant feedback and little smiley faces dotted throughout my drafts. Your insight has been invaluable, and I feel so lucky to have such a smart, thoughtful ally to help me bounce around ideas. Everyone at Hyperion has been so helpful and ki
nd; the Fates were truly on my side in this partnership!
To all the sassy, flawed, amazing heroines (and the creative forces behind them) who have helped shape my world, thank you for fighting the good fight. Buffy Summers, Veronica Mars, Lizzie Bennet, Katniss Everdeen: I’m looking at you (to name just a few).
To all my friends and family who have encouraged my creative endeavors throughout the years, your support means everything to me. Meghan, thank you for giving me time to write, and fueling my fangirl tendencies. Cheryl, thank you for your endless supply of friendship, love, and milk shakes.
To Tiff and Chris, my life coaches who are so fiercely protective and loving; I couldn’t ask for a better couple in my corner.
To Eleanor, for sitting by my side.
And to my mom, who somehow always knew I’d be a writer. Although you’ll never read this story, you are infused in every word and exclamation point. The foundation you gave me is truly the best kind of magic, without which I would never be where I am today.
Crystal Cestari lives just outside Chicago with her daughter. Her hobbies include avoiding broccoli and wandering the aisles at Target. She holds a master’s degree in mass communication and writes all her stories in longhand. Don’t miss The Sweetest Kind of Fate, the second book in the Windy City Magic series, coming soon! Visit Crystal at www.crystalcestari.com and on Twitter @crystalcestari.
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