They got back to Ash’s just after sunset. Heavenly Treasures was the only thrift store in town, but there was another in Dunwich that Ash just had to hit up. Sam had a general rule about not taking longer trips in his beat-up Tercel, but Ash begged until he relented—with the caveat that she wasn’t allowed to drive.

Mr. Williams’ eyes widened when he caught sight of the day’s haul. “What’s all this?”

Ash scurried up the stairs without glancing at her dad, so Sam answered, “You’re getting a new wardrobe.”

Mr. Williams’ eyes narrowed at his daughter’s back. She must have felt the glare because she called over her shoulder, “Show you later. We’ll be in my room.”

With an apologetic shrug, Sam trudged upstairs with his own armload of bags. The bags plopped to the floor; Sam followed suit and fell into a large pink beanbag chair. “Your dad doesn’t seem too excited to get new clothes.”

Ash set her own bags on the chair in the corner and turned to him with a sheepish expression. “About that…”

Sam narrowed his eyes at the sheepish look of innocence Ash was trying on. “Don’t tell me…”

“I knew if I said anything you wouldn’t let me!”

“Well, duh! That should’ve been your first hint. My clothes are fine. Why do people keep giving me such a hard time about this lately?”

“Who else is saying you dress like an emo lumberjack?”

“Ha ha. Just forget it.”

Ash scanned through the bags, pulling out bundles of folded clothes and organizing them into piles. “If you must know, I got the idea from something Veronica said today.”

That caught his attention. Sam perked up.

“She mentioned you’d be cuter if you paid a little more attention to your wardrobe.”

“Those were her exact words?” He tried to keep his tone from sounding too excited.

Ash’s gaze fell onto the ceiling while she recalled the other girl’s words. “She said, ‘I’d totally let Sam rail me if he wore anything other than flannel 24/7.’”

“Shut up!” He picked up one of Ash’s dozens of throw pillows and threw it at her. “Did she actually say something or not?”

She held up her hands in surrender and to protect from additional projectiles. “Okay, okay! Don’t get your panties in a bunch. She said something like, ‘Underneath all that flannel, Sam is actually kinda cute.’”

“She said that? Those exact words?”

The grin on Ash’s face grew to an almost maniacal size.

“Oh, shut up!” He tried, but he couldn’t quite wipe the stupid smile from his face. Crossing his arms, he pretended to be interested in the far side of the room. “Like I care about what she thinks.”

“Liar.”

She probably made it up just to justify buying me new clothes…or maybe so I’d finally have the balls to ask Veronica out. He wouldn’t put it past her to make something up like that. She’d been nagging him to let her give him a makeover for years, at least since the summer before freshman year.

‘New school, new look, new you’, was what she said. But 14-year-old Sam was too shy for such drastic changes. Puberty had been a real bitch, and the soon-to-be-freshman was clinging to anything that was the same.

That was a long time ago, though. He wasn’t that scared little boy anymore.

Then again…he hadn’t changed much since then, so was he still that same little kid?

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to at least see what she had in mind…

“Yes!” Ash pumped her fist. “I knew you’d come around.”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“I know that look.”

“The look of ‘it would just be faster to give Ash what she wants than to argue with her all night.’ That look?”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “That’s the one.”

The bags disgorged more and more clothes. While Ash busied herself with organizing the contents—it did actually look like she bought clothes for her dad and Alice, so she wasn’t a complete liar—Sam riffled through the bag nearest him. Aside from a small glass animal he thought his mom would like, the only other item in it was the painting Ash bought. He chuckled at the idea of her buying some ancient fertility charm. If this were some cheesy romance book, he’d think Ash was trying to nail down the town’s most eligible rich guy by getting pregnant.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Looking at the painting, he had to give her at least some credit. The painting was beautiful. Maybe a little haunting, too. He’d seen enough art where the people looked like shapeless lumps of dough or like kindergarteners had drawn them to appreciate when an artist could do it right.

He wondered how old it was. Judy said her grandma had something similar, and Judy was pretty up there, so that could have put Judy’s somewhere in the 1800s. He was no expert, but it didn’t look like it was the worse for it. The layered paint was cool and oily under his fingertips. His thumb brushed the strip of tape with DONATE written on it. Carefully, without scratching the painting, he worked at the corner until it came up. Girding himself to earn Ash’s wrath if he destroyed her new painting, he pulled the tape free a millimeter at a time, eyeing it to ensure none of the paint came free. The fresh tape pulled away with ease and curled into a corkscrew when it came free.

The persnickety tape clung to his hand, and when he tried to peel it off, it only transferred to the other. “Get off me, you little shit.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled, ridding himself of the tape at last by brushing his hand on the bed and leaving the sticky ball attached to Ash’s comforter.

Finally rid of the nuisance, he turned back to the painting. “Hey, check this out.”

A true lover’s kiss to bestow Her blessing

The words were written in a thick, curling script, followed by three initials.

Ash’s fingers brushed the newly revealed text. “P.H.L.”

“You better get Randall over here so you can bestow a blessing on him.”

“Shut up!” She swiped at Sam like he was a bothersome insect, whatever reverence that had come over her while reading the inscription disappearing like it’d never been there.

Rolling out of the beanbag chair, Sam jumped to his feet and circled to the other side of the bed. “What? You don’t want to be fruitful with him? I figure with this thing you could pop out a little Randall Masters the fifth by next year.”

“You are such an ass.” She stalked around the bed toward him, but he paced her, keeping the bed between them. “It’s already April, dumb ass. I couldn’t give birth by December. Didn’t you pay attention in sex ed?”

“I remember condoms and consent, but I must have been absent when they covered true love and mystical blessings.” He held the painting out and yanked it away when she reached for it. “Where’s your true lover now?”

With something bordering between a laugh and a battle cry, she leapt onto the bed, her momentum carrying her to the other side before Sam could get the headboard between them. She caught him around the waist and threw him down onto the beanbag. Sam cowered behind the painting like it was a shield.

“You know,” she said, trying to find an opening in his defenses to pinch or poke him, “I remember a certain little boy professing his undying love for me.” Spotting an opening, she jabbed her finger into his ribs, laughter exploded unbidden from Sam’s mouth. “He was so polite.”

Jab.

“So romantic.”

Jab.

“Told me I was his one true love.”

Jab.

“And said he’d marry me one day.”

Tickling had always been his Kryptonite. After a few long moments of torture, she finally eased the assault. Tears of mirth streamed down his face, and the laughter trickled to a stop like water chugging out of a bottle. Finally able to think—and breathe!—again, memories flitted through his mind.

When the Williams had a girl and the Dyers a boy, it was only a matter of time before they started joking about little Samael and Ashley getting married one day. They had grown up with the constant jokes, and at some point, the two little kids started to believe it. When they played house, they were husband and wife. And instead of playing cops and robbers, they played Bonnie and Clyde.

The naivete of youth, he thought and said as much.

Ash narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just that if I’d known then how time and gravity would ravage you, then I wouldn’t have been so quick to propose marriage.”

“That’s it!” She yanked the painting out of his hands and tossed it on a pile of clothes. Without the protection of her beloved painting, Sam was at her mercy. She pinned him with her knees, poking, pinching, and tickling until he begged her to stop.

“No, not my underarms!”

“Say I haven’t been ravaged by gravity or time!” She dug her fingertips into his ribs.

Air wheezed out of his lungs, and his face hurt from smiling. Finally, she relented enough so he could catch his breath.

“Okay,” he gasped, taking in a lungful of air. “Okay, okay. I surrender.”

“Say it.” She curled her fingers into claws.

The words spilled from Sam’s mouth in a rush. “It’s a good thing you got the love spell. Otherwise, your true love would take one look and—” He didn’t have time to finish. Ash dug her fingers into his ribs, his sides, and underarms.

Sam didn’t have the energy to fight back. Knees pinned his hands down, and she pressed on his shoulders with her hand so he couldn’t wriggle out of her grasp.

When he finally blinked the tears from his eyes, he saw an unreadable expression on her face. “What’s up?”

The pressure on his shoulders eased a bit, and Ash sat up. Sam didn’t dare let himself relax, though. He’d fallen for her tricks too many times before. In the blink of an eye, he could again be at her mercy.

“Can you imagine if Randy was my true love? How sad would that be?”

Sam didn’t know what to say to that, and Ash looked like she was lost in thought, so he took some time to formulate a response. “You guys have been dating forever.” It had only been eight months, but in high school time, it may as well have been forever.

Her mouth opened, but whatever she was going to say didn’t come out. The pensive expression slipped from her face, replaced by one much more familiar—mischief. Ash squared her shoulders and threw out her hands, announcing in a grand, imperious tone, “I’m afraid the fates have decreed the only man worthy of my hand is Sir Samael Dyer the Brave.”

A laugh burst from him, straight from his stomach.

Man, I haven’t thought about Sir Samael Dyer the Brave and Lady Ashley Williams the Fierce since we were…eight? The two wayward adventurers had traveled the land, ridding the kingdom of evil, and—

His reminiscent thoughts were hijacked as Ash leaned down and planted a kiss on his lips.