Page 16 of The Stalker Snafu

Sticky little hands grabbed mine, and I allowed myself to be tugged toward Finn on the stage. He smiled down at me, dimples on full display as he held out a hand.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said as I took his hand.

He pulled me up onto the stage, and I huffed a breath. “I should get back to work.”

“This’ll only take a minute. I promise.”

Two guys walked out from behind the curtain, rolling a large antique cabinet between them onto the stage. Warning bells went off in my head.

“I’m not getting inside that,” I warned Finn, nodding toward the monster of a cabinet. It looked big enough to fit both of us plus some of the kids.

“I wouldn’t dream of hiding your pretty face,” he quipped as the cabinet rolled toward us. He stopped it with a palm to the front, nodding a thanks to the two guys.

“Does Mr. Everton know you’re here?” I asked through a forced smile, eyeing him out of the corner of my eye as I waved at the kids watching us. My boss had explicitly banned Finn from going anywhere near his catering gigs, but of course Finn loved to poke at that boundary every chance he got. Typical family stuff.

“Not exactly.” Finn winced, letting go of the cabinet. Smile bright, he flourished a hand toward me and addressed the crowd. “Fellow magicians, say hello to my new assistant, Miss Cupcake!”

I rolled my eyes as the kids clapped, but I mimicked Finn’s earlier bow with a much shallower one of my own.

“She’s helping me with a very special trick today,” Finn announced. He stuck the wand between his arm and side and cupped his hands together between us. “Hold out your hands like this, sugar.”

It looked a little silly, and I had no clue what was happening, but I did as he asked.

Finn brandished a red silk handkerchief from his pocket, and my eyes widened in warning.

“If you’re thinking of tying me up⁠—”

He barked a laugh, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“This is a family-friendly magic show. Don’t go giving me any ideas,” he whispered with a wink.

The butterflies in my stomach had the audacity to purr at the look he gave me. Could butterflies even do that?

Finn turned back to the crowd, took off his top hat, and out of its depths pulled a glass orb filled with shades of green and blue. Flecks of silver glinted at its center. He placed the orb in my hands, and it was cool to the touch. My hands decided this would be a good time to start shaking. I wasn’t exactly stage-shy after playing the piano in front of crowds for years, but I was completely out of my element here.

Then he draped the silk handkerchief over the orb, and I stood as still as possible while waiting for something to happen.

“And now I’ll just use a little magic on the mystical orb,” Finn announced, tapping his wand against the top of the orb three times. I didn’t feel anything change. “And…”

He pinched the top of the handkerchief before tugging it off and pulling the weight of the orb away with it, leaving me gaping at a small white egg in its place.

“Holy macaroni,” I blurted as the crowd oohed and ahhed. “How’d you do that?”

Finn’s grin widened, and he looked far too cocky for a children’s magician. “Magic.”

I blinked hard before staring at the egg. Were my eyes betraying me?

“And now, my lovely assistant will crack the egg…” Finn trailed off, setting a tall stool in front of me with a flourish. Both he and the crowd eyed me expectantly.

I hesitated, still holding the egg with both hands. I’d never exactly been the best egg-cracker when trying to bake, and now Finn was putting a lot of pressure on me. What if I cracked it wrong and ruined his trick?

“Like I was saying,” Finn said loudly, the edges of his smile tensing as he gave me a pointed look. “My assistant will crack the egg…”

I forced a weak smile for the crowd, leaning closer to my partner in crime so I could speak out of the corner of my mouth. “Finn, I’m not sure about this⁠—”

“Trust me,” he whispered back through his smile, nodding toward the egg. “You can do it. It’s just an egg. Pretend you’re cooking breakfast or something, and just crack it against the stool.”

He didn’t understand. Unless Pop-Tarts counted, I’d never cooked breakfast in my life.