Leather-Bound Magic

I had been dreading this trip to the beach. I tried to talk my friends into going to the mountains where we could ski and not be bothered by as many people, but I guess they find some appeal in getting sand in places where sand shouldn't be while being surrounded by masses of sweaty, noisy, and aggravating people. Uncertain of why I agreed to come, I chose to walk along the beach and collect shells instead of swimming like my friends were. Bad enough that I got looks when I was fully clothed, I didn't need to be gawked at in my bathing suit by men who clearly had nothing better to do than irritate me.

While sulking my way around the beach, I suddenly felt like a brick wall had slammed into my back, sending me tumbling into and scoring a mouthful of sand. While spitting the grit out of my mouth, ready to give whoever ran into me a piece of my mind, I saw a corner of something black sticking out of the sand. It was cracked and worn, but still managed to hold the pitch darkness that a new leather jacket had. Intrigued would have been an understatement, as this strange little corner kept all of my attention until I noticed a massive shadow hovering over me.

"I'm sorry, miss," said the figure that was attached to the aforementioned shadow. "I didn't see you there. Need a hand up?"

Still too focused on the corner of leather to have something snarky to say, I said, "Um...sure." He offered me his hand to help me stand, and I noticed he was staring a little too long as I was dusting the sand off of my jeans. "Can I help you?" I asked.

He shook his head as if coming from a daze. "Um, well, I was actually hoping to take you to dinner as an apo-"

"Saying you were sorry and helping me up was enough. Thank you." I cursed my curvy figure while wearing my nicest smile as he gaped for a second, then shrugged and walked away. It wasn't that he was ugly, he had the toned body that made other girls swoon and ocean eyes that would capture your soul if you weren't careful. However, I had no interest as I was married to writing, and making me eat sand isn't what I would call a good first impression.

Besides, something else on that beach deserved my attention.

I bent over to pick up the corner of leather, which I quickly found out was actually a cover for a small, black book. The leather was cracked and worn, its time in the sand and ocean having not been kind to it. It looked as though if I had made one wrong move and the cover would crumble. The pages, however, were a different story. I was shocked to see that the pages were crisp, white, and just as lively as if they had just then been put into the old and worn binding. The ink was just as bold and legible as if they had just been written in its bold scrawl.

Before I could get the chance to check the pages for a name or address, my friend Khala came marching over to me, directing a frustrating glare mixed with a pout directly at me. I was confused as to why, at first, but then I realized that she must have seen me turn down Mr. Shove-Me-Into-Sand. I rolled my eyes as I placed the book into my bag.

Khala had dark tan skin and caramel colored hair that waved its way down to her waist. She was as beautiful to the average human eye as she was annoying to me. In fact, Khala was more annoying than the guys that she tried to hook me up with. I call her my friend only to avoid hurting Clark's feelings. Clark was Khala's boyfriend and had been a good friend of mine since we were in middle school. He knew that I had no interest in dating and he respected that, and even tried to explain that to Khala.

"Saria Jones," Khala scolded. "I know you did not just turn down a hunk of a man!"

"He shoved me into sand," I said. "And even if I was capable of being turned on, that would have been a hard turn off."

"Geez, are you a lesbian?"

"No."

"Then what are you doing!"

"I'm just not interested, leave me alone about it, please."

Clark then came up behind Khala, being the brotherly knight in shining armor that he is. "If she doesn't want to date, then stop making her," he said quietly. "Not everyone is looking for that special someone, and not everyone needs that special someone."

I teased Clark with the nickname of Superman, especially with him having black hair and wearing glasses just like the superhero himself, but it was moments like these that really made him earn it.

As she always does when he offers that explanation, Khala rolled her eyes as if it was impossible for someone to just not be interested, but at least the pattern of her getting off my back over something so stupid stuck.

~~~

It had been two days since our return from the beach, and I had made the decision to stop procrastinating my unpacking. I had taken out the bits and pieces that I needed right away, but my shells were still in my bag and I had plans for them. Piece by piece, I flung my clothes into the hamper, and before I got to the shells, I felt a sheet of leather and a pang of guilt in my gut.

The book, I thought. I had completely forgotten about the book.

Casting my search for the shells aside, I picked up the book, flopped down onto my bed, and began to look for a name, or an address, or something that could connect me with the rightful owner. Flipping through the pages, I discovered that the text was written in Latin with pictures of food and fire.

It wasn't immediately in the front, nor in the very back, so I had to do some page flipping. It was near the end that I found pages that were written in English. In a scrawl much like the rest of the book was written in, it read as follows:

Miss Meredith Compton,

I hope this book finds you well. I wanted to thank you for your interest, not many people would have taken the time to realize that the spells in my grandmother's book were only to make her life easier. I noticed how excited you were about the spells for cooking, so I made sure to write them in this book just for you. I also enchanted it to slow the aging, but be careful! It can still burn!

Yours truly,

Elizabeth Miller

Spells? Enchanted to slow aging? I thought. Wow, someone was either delusional, or they put a lot of effort into this prop.

I brought out my laptop and started searching for Meredith Compton. Instead of getting a character from a movie, I ended up finding an interview with an elderly lady named Melissa Compton who had her own cooking show. I clicked on the link and in the interview it spoke of how she had been inspired by her grandmother to cook. While I had no interest in cooking shows, something about Ms. Compton's voice was soothing and kept my attention drawn to the point that I almost forgot about the book that I had found.

"Who would you say gave you the greatest inspiration to cook?" the interviewer asked.

"Oh, why none other than my dear grandma, of course," she said jovially. "She always had such a way with cooking, and as a kid, I always thought it had been because of that book she had gotten as a gift when she was a kid. Of course, growing up I realized that she was just a spectacular cook, but you know how childish fantasies are."

The elderly woman then looked down for a second. "I do still wonder what happened to that book, though. My dear grandmother brought it with us on a trip to the beach and that was the last time any of us had seen it."

It was at this point that I shook myself out of my stupor. I thought, for a second, that I had found the book that belonged to her grandmother. I was confused, though, as to how it would have been possible for someone to be crazy enough to openly talk about magic like that, even if it was a joke. On top of that, how had the book been so well preserved? Was it actually a fake or a newer copy of it that had gotten lost?

I didn't have the time to ask all of those questions. Even if it turned out to be a copy of the original, I knew that the elderly woman would have loved to have even a small piece of her grandmother with her.

It took some time to find an email address, but when I did, I immediately copied it, pasted it into the "To" line in my email, and typed out the message.

Ms. Compton,

While I'm not sure if it is the original copy, I do believe to have stumbled upon the book that your grandmother lost. Attached is a picture of the book. If you wish to contact me, feel free to respond to my email or contact me at (XXX)XXX-XXXX.

Thank you for your time,

Saria Jones

I pushed send, set the book to the side, then proceeded with my writing to fill the time.

~~~

I was in the process of cooking a dinner of honey garlic pork chops when my phone rang. Excitedly hoping that it was Ms. Compton, I dashed over, then let out a loud and audible groan and an eye roll that would have had my mom convinced that my pupils should have been stuck in the back of the sockets. It was Khala, and a call at this time can only mean one thing...

"Who is he this time?" I answered the phone in the most monotone way possible to avoid showing my frustration.

"He's good, Saria! He might even be 'the one'!" Khala jabbered into the phone. "He's good-looking, tall, and- just for you- he's a fan of your stories!"

I sighed. "Look, Khala-"

"Come on, girl! Give him a chance! Live a little!"

Normally, this would lead to a short argument that would lead into a failed double date. However, tonight, I decided that enough was enough.

"Khala, with all due respect, I have not clicked with a single person in existence, especially not the ones you set me up with. I do not desire to date, I do not want a relationship, and I am already living the start of my happily ever after with my books, my home, and my peace and quiet. Is it too hard to ask you to please respect that and leave me alone about dating?"

"But Saria-"

"No, Khala. Have a good night." I hung up on her and slid down to the floor. Khala was far from the first person to insist that I just hadn't found the right person to be in a relationship with, and I was tired of having to cut people off for interfering with my life and happiness. I understood that she might have had good intentions, but her intentions made me feel uncomfortable.

Suddenly, my phone started ringing again. Thinking it was Khala, I instantly answered the phone with, "I'm sorry for coming across as rude earlier, but I seriously can't take the arranged dates anymore."

"Oh my," said a concerned, familiar, and enchanting voice. "Did I call at a bad time, dear?"

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "Oh goodness, no! I'm sorry about that, I thought-"

"That I was a friend or family member that had been trying to set you up with some random gent?" There was a slight chuckle on the other line.

"Yeah, I'm sorry."

"Oh dearie, I've probably had to tell my friends and family no to dates much more than you have. While I was dedicated to cooking, I wanted to cook for guests of my choosing rather than an angry man and wild children. Don't you apologize for a thing."

I laughed a little. At this point, I knew that this had to be Ms. Compton, and I was so happy that she was just as charming off-screen as she was on.

"I do believe, however," she said, "that you might have found something of mine?"

"Yes, ma'am!" I responded. "I found it on the beach and found a note close to the back that was addressed to a Meredith Compton."

"Oho! That's my grandmother's name! You may well have found her book!"

"Well, ma'am, it might not be." I picked up the book. "While the leather looks like it's seen some wear and tear, the pages look brand new. This could well be a copy."

She chuckled, this time as if she were talking to a naïve child. "Well, there's one way to find out for sure. Are you cooking something right now?"

As she had asked me that question, I was flipping my pork chop over. "Oddly enough, yes. Why do you ask?"

"Around the middle of the book, there should be a page with a pan with a fire in it. When you find it, try reading the words out loud."

"Umm, ok?" I thought this was beyond strange, but I didn't mind entertaining the woman for a second. Maybe it was a cooking tip and she was about to translate it for me.

I found the page and read the words to her. " Ignis resurgens a calore, benedicat cibum utinam manducare."

As soon as the words left my mouth, a fire erupted from my frying pan. I dropped my phone, shouted profanities, and searched for flour to toss on the flames to choke them out. By the time I had a bag of flour, the fire had died. I put the flour down on the counter and grabbed the pan, ready to toss the chop when I realized that I didn't smell charred food. I looked down and discovered that my food wasn't burnt, but cooked perfectly. The flavors of the spices I had in the pan blended together with the meat to create the most savory smell that had ever graced my olfactory nerves.

To say that I was confused was an understatement. I was willing to believe that it had all been coincidence and fiction until now, but it was quite obvious that the book that I had found was a spell book for cooking. It didn't make sense, I had always been taught that magic didn't exist, and that if it did, it was for raising demons or stuff like that. Yet here I was, holding a frying pan that had just been on fire with food that had not a single speck of charred meat on it.

I set the pan down on the counter and once again found myself sitting on my kitchen floor. This is a dream, I thought to myself. A wild, crazy dream that I've got to wake up from. I closed my eyes, pinched myself, then opened my eyes again to still be on the floor with the scent of my food gracing my nostrils. No, this was not a dream, this was somehow real.

My stunned gaze found its way to my phone. Somehow, Ms. Compton hadn't hung up on me, as I could still see her number on my screen. Trembling, I reached for my phone and held it up to my ear.

"Ms. Compton?" I choked out in barely a whisper.

"I'm here," she said gently. "Are you all right?"

"I-I'm okay.... When would you like your book back?"

~~~

I stepped out of my car, carefully carrying the small black book, making sure that the binding didn't fall apart while I walked up to the small cottage that was tucked away in the woods. The cottage looked like one of those tiny homes that came straight out of a television series, but was still old enough to have ivy creeping from the ground to the roof. Even though I was still a distance from the door, I was still entranced by the smell of bread baking and the flowers being carried from their home in the garden over to where I stood. The comforting scene made me feel as though I could rest where I stood, but I reminded myself that I had a mission.

During the two days that had passed before my meeting with Ms. Compton, I took the time to translate the spells in the book. The one I had used by mistake was intended to be a blessing from the fire for food. There was also a spell for fire, several for plant growth, and a few for summoning water, but the vast majority had to do with cooking. I hadn't tried any of them after that, since I knew that the book wasn't mine to use. Despite that, I was curious as to the full story behind it.

Finally making my way to the cottage door, I knocked on it gently. "Come in!" shouted the merry voice of Ms. Compton.

I opened the door and saw a women who was slightly different from the famous chef on TV. She was definitely the same woman, certainly, but she was much more enchanting in person than from behind the screen. Her skin was a soft peach with the wrinkles on her face emphasizing her smile and her bright green eyes that twinkled with joy and a touch of mischievousness. Her hair was like that of smoke: wispy, curly, and silver in color.

"Oh, Saria, it is such a pleasure to meet you!" she said in her usual cheerful tone. "Won't you have a seat? I bet you're hungry after that drive." She waved to a small, wooden table with two chairs at it as she turned back to the oven and pulled out a loaf of bread.

Normally, I would have tried to duck out as quick as possible, but her grandmotherly kindness was hard to turn down. Besides, I had to ask her more about the book and how it worked. I took a seat at the table and gently set the book down off to the side of it.

She brought a platter of bread with little bowls of butter and honey on each side. "This has always been one of my favorite snacks," she said. "There's nothing quite like the taste of homemade bread with a little bit of butter and honey."

After she set the platter down in the center of the table, she gave the book a glance, then picked it up and smiled down at it. "I must have been about your age the last time I saw this. I know I must have made it seem like I was but a little tyke when she lost it, but no, I was a grown woman with my own restaurant." She then looked up at me. "I know that look. You want to know more about it, don't you?"

I nodded, knowing that there was no need to lie or ask too many questions if she was going to offer me the answers.

She took a seat and started telling the story of the small black book.

"Back in my grandmother's day, the woman's only purpose was to cook, clean, and raise children. However, my grandmother just couldn't cook good food to save her life! No matter how hard she tried, how many ways she changed her recipes, or seasoned the food up, she just couldn't get it right. She had a son to raise and a husband to help feed, and she just didn't feel like she was doing it right at all.

"She was desperate and was looking everywhere for something. Anything, really. One day, she was having lunch with the local grocery-store owner's wife, Elizabeth, and asking her for tips when Elizabeth pulled her to the side and showed her this gigantic book that her grandmother had written. She had told her that this was the reason that everything that everyone in her family did worked so well for them. My grandmother was shocked, but when Elizabeth later made this little booklet for her to carry, she wasn't going to say no.

"Suddenly, my father and grandfather were eating like kings! They didn't know how, but to my understanding they didn't care, either. My grandmother even made her own little herb garden to experiment and continued to use the spells long after my father had moved out and married my mother. Unfortunately, my parents died in an accident when I was very young, so I was raised by my grandparents.

"I was fascinated with cooking, so I spent time with my grandmother in the kitchen and watched her use the book. I then got older and learned how to cook on my own without it and I even taught her some tricks. She would still use the book on occasion, but we both discovered that I had a knack for cooking. I had such a skill for it that my grandfather took the time to teach me how to operate my own business. Even when I was a kid, it was odd for a young lady to be taught how to do 'men's work,' but my grandfather used the excuse of not knowing how to raise a girl.

"When I became an adult, my grandfather helped me start my own restaurant. It was at that point that my grandmother must have realized that I had neither a desire for a family nor the need for the book, so instead of giving it to me, she hung on to it until not long after my grandfather passed away. He had asked to have his ashes spread into the ocean, which was why we were on the beach the day the book was lost. Even though she claimed it was accidental, I believe that she had lost this book on purpose. She had no need for it any more, and she knew better than anyone that her days were numbered as well. She decided to do what she pleased and enjoyed the rest of her days frequenting my restaurant until she could no longer walk and then she passed away."

I had been silently chewing on a thick slice of bread, covered with honey and butter, listening intently to the story that the mystical woman in front of me was telling. This wasn't quite the story I was expecting, but it was enthralling to hear, nonetheless.

However, I still had questions. "Ms. Compton," I said.

"Oh, please call me Melissa, sweetie," she responded in a soft voice tinged with longing.

"Melissa," I corrected myself. "How exactly does the magic in this book work?"

"Hmm," she squinted her eyes with thought. "It's hard to say, but I think that magic in general works better for those who need it more than those who want it. For example, my grandmother needed to be able to cook, so it helped her to cook. However, it didn't work as well for me as it did for her."

"But I didn't need any help with my cooking. Why did it work for me that night we were on the phone?"

She chuckled. "Perhaps it wasn't help with cooking that you needed, but rather, a new perspective on the world. I admit, I looked you up, Saria, and I must say, your writing is excellent overall and I quite enjoyed myself! However, I couldn't help but notice that your writing seems... dry, as of late. Like something had been draining your passion away."

I blushed a little. I noticed that my writing had been going downhill recently, too. Ever since I had announced my decision to not get married and not have kids, people had been harassing me and taking my mind away from my writing, making it angrier and more scattered instead of the passionate and heartfelt poetry that I had been so used to writing.

Melissa reached over and patted my hand. "It's ok, dear," she said softly, with a smile that showed more in her eyes than on her face. "Sometimes, we all just need a little bit of magic to give our lives meaning again."

~~~

After that day, Melissa and I spoke on the phone daily. What she had said about a little bit of magic was right, because I ended up writing a book that quickly became a bestseller. As soon as it hit the shelves, Melissa grabbed a copy and had it read in a single day. She called me that night and told me how much she enjoyed it.

"Your passion is back, sweetie," she said, "and I love it so much!"

"Thank you!" I said, blushing a bit.

"Tell me, the old lady in the book... she wouldn't happen to be based on a certain famous cook you know, would she?"

I laughed. "That obvious, huh?"

"Eh, just a little bit."

"Well, what can I say? A story about a revolutionary woman chef going on an adventure with her warrior granddaughter makes for a pretty cool story, and someone had to tell it."

"And tell it well you did, dearie."

We would have conversations like that daily, even when I traveled for book signings and the occasional comic convention.

Khala had given up on setting me up for blind dates after that one phone call, and she later apologized to me for doing it, especially after my book became a hit. After that, we actually did warm up to each other and became friends, just not as good of friends as I was with Clark, and certainly not as close as I had become with Melissa.

Life had been going amazingly, and while I wasn't becoming super rich, I was still quite comfortable. However, even situations like that can change in the blink of an eye.

Two years to the day had passed since I had returned the little black book to Melissa, and she and I were going to celebrate with a lunch together. I spent that entire morning packing up a delicious jam that I thought would go splendidly with her homemade bread that she loved to make and had brought with me the draft to the sequel of the book that I had written right after our first meeting. I made the drive imagining what she would have to say and wondering what kind of advice she could offer me to make it more exciting.

When I pulled up into her driveway, I was blinded by the red and blue lights of an ambulance and the sun reflecting off of the metal. Panicked, I thrust the car into park and dashed to the cottage door to be greeted by two paramedics pushing a gurney with a full black bag on it.

"No," I choked out. "NO!" I was screaming and bawling, the world was spinning and crumbling around me. It couldn't be. Not the one who took me right in as family without a second thought. Not the first person who could help me out of my writing slump. Not the beautiful woman who showed me the wonders of homemade bread.

She couldn't be dead.

What happened over the next few hours was a jumbled mess of tormented screaming and people holding me, talking to me in nonsense that I couldn't understand. Did I vomit at one point? I think I did. I could barely breathe, let alone think. When I finally realized that everyone was gone, I laid myself out on the small couch and stared up at the ceiling, trying to understand what I had heard that day. Someone said something about a heart attack, how she had just enough time to call 911 for help, but she was gone when they made it.

The next morning, I woke up on the couch, my view as fuzzy as my brain was. I got up to go to the kitchen, thinking that I was going to cook a wonderful breakfast as a treat to Melissa when my gaze landed on a pile of dough. The memory of the day before slammed into me like a bulldozer into an abandoned building, causing me to lose my appetite and to lay back down on the couch that I had just left.

The world felt emptier now, like I had lost a parent. It's strange how much you can grow to love a person in two years, I thought. Even though she had never wanted nor had any kids of her own, she treated me like I was family and I did my best to return the favor. I couldn't stop her from buying the book, but I made sure that she had been the first to get my signature in her copy. We would even challenge each other to cooking contests on occasion, even though I knew that she would always win.

The sound of my phone ringing snapped me back into the present day, even though my movements to grab it were painfully slow.

"Hello?" I answered in a coarse whisper.

"Wow," Clark said. "You sound like death warmed over."

"Good to hear from you, too, Superman."

"Seriously, though, are you okay?"

I sniffed as I sat up and rubbed my eyes. "Not really, I made it to Melissa's house just in time to see them take her body away and I just haven't been able to leave."

"Oh, Saria, I'm so sorry, I didn't know that you were there."

"It's okay, I'm not sure how much better I would have taken it not being here. I take it the news stations have already started talking about it."

"Yeah, that's actually why I wanted to call you. Apparently, you're a millionaire now."

"I'm sorry, I'm a what?"

"A millionaire. The news said that Melissa left everything to you. The rights to her shows, to her cookbooks, even her house. They're all yours now."

"Wait, but why? She'd only known me for two years, how-"

"You were the closest person to family that she had left. She had no one else when she passed, only you."

I was back into a fog again. I shouldn't have been surprised, Melissa had hinted at that multiple times, but I guess a part of me just thought that we would have a lot longer together.

Clark did his best to cheer me up, and Khala chimed in a bit, too. It helped a little bit to have them to support me, but I felt like they just didn't quite get me as well as Melissa did, which hurt even more. I had always felt like the odd one out, but then Melissa would be the wonderful grandmotherly figure that she was and helped me to feel like I belonged somewhere.

After getting off of the phone, I got up and wandered the cottage for a bit. I eventually stumbled across the little black book that had brought us together. It had a fairly new cover on it, taking on the pitch black color that Melissa and I agreed that it needed to have. Even though the pages would stay forever new, the cover was beginning to fall apart and I knew that the book still had some years to be read and some others to help.

I picked it up to read it for nostalgia when a slip of paper fell out of it and onto the floor. I picked it up and unfolded it when I found Melissa's tidy print in her favorite purple ink written on it. I sat down to read it, knowing that I was probably going to cry again at what I read. Knowing this, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and read the words in front of me.

Saria,

If you're reading this, then chances are that I have shed my mortal coil, as the fancy writers would put it. This shouldn't come as too much of a surprise, because to say I was an old maid when you met me a year before I wrote this is an understatement at best.

There was more to the story about the book you're holding now than what I told you on that day. You see, my grandmother had actually figured out that all Elizabeth had done to the book was write down phrases in Latin and enchanted the book itself to cast the spell that my grandmother wanted without having to travel far and wide for the right ingredients. She also knew that I was going to go far, and she knew that I had absolutely no intentions of marrying or having children. With this in mind, she herself wrote one last enchantment just for me.

I told you that I had suspected her losing it on purpose, but after you left that day, I read the spell for myself and had my suspicions confirmed. She lost it with the intentions of it being found by the person meant to inherit my legacy. That being said, I couldn't be happier that it was you who found it. Use all that you inherit as a way to build your own legacy as a storyteller, just as I built my legacy upon being someone who loves to cook for others.

I do ask of one favor, though. I already recited the spell for you, so all you need to do is allow for the book to get lost somewhere. That way, just as I have done with you, you can meet someone who needs a love that only you can offer. You can help someone find their way through life. You can help someone be who they were truly meant to be.

It truly was a blessing and a magical experience to have met you and to be a part of your adventure, Saria. Don't cry for me, because I know that I am happier than I ever was before.

Sincerely,

Melissa

As expected, tears were spilling from my eyes, but this time with joy instead of desolation and fear. I knew what I needed to do next if I were to properly honor Melissa's memory the way she wanted me to.

I picked up my phone and called Khala.

"Hey girl, are you doing ok?" she answered quickly and with authentic concern.

"I'm still working on that," I said, hoarser than I cared to have been. "I have an off the wall request from you and Clark."

~~~

"I thought you absolutely hated the beach?" Clark said with a puzzled look on his face.

I smiled and said, "I do, but this is where I found Melissa's book, and I feel like maybe this will help me feel a little bit better."

Clark shrugged, then took off to the water with Khala. Neither of them knew that the book was enchanted, let alone what I had intended to do with it.

I looked around for a good spot to be at, where I wouldn't be seen as well. I then saw a small cliff that was far enough away from people to where I could throw the book with it looking like I was just trying to skip rocks. It took a bit of time to make it there, but the effort was well worth it. I stared off into the horizon for a bit, admiring the view of the white, cottony clouds kissing the ocean's surface and the smell of the salty wind as it brushed through my hair.

I then took the book out of my bag and looked at it for a moment, then bent my arm back and flung the book like a frisbee out into the ocean, where it landed with a plop to cease to be seen again until the time was right.

I admired the view some more, letting the wind and the ocean's waves heal my heart. It was hard to accept, but I realized that even though Melissa was gone, I wasn't actually alone. I still had the friends that I had made and plenty more that I was going to make, and I had the memory of her to lift me up when I felt down.

As the sun set, I reunited with Khala and Clark. While Khala was no longer setting me up with random guys, she would make it a habit of telling me when she had to chase off gawkers, and I had apparently attracted the attention of several while on my way to the cliff. I laughed, because she seemed to have more fun with that than she did with trying to set me up.

I took one last longing look over the beach as the stars began to dot the sky over it. The cool night air was starting to sweep its way into the coast, bringing more of the salt tinged air through our hair.

"It's almost magical, isn't it?" Clark said, noticing me staring off.

"Well, Superman," I said, "sometimes we all just need a little bit of magic to give our lives meaning again."