THE LUCK THIEF BY READY WRITER

Chapter 13: Market and Memory

Tuesday morning brought the caterer tasting, Kenji's camera, Michelle's questions, and Sienna's barely controlled anxiety all converging in Mrs. Chen's dining room.

Nina had arranged samples from two backup caterers—Lucia's Kitchen, specializing in Italian-fusion cuisine, and Winter Harvest, focused on seasonal New England fare. Both had arrived early, transforming Mrs. Chen's elegant space into a showcase of culinary possibility.

"This is overwhelming," Sienna said, staring at the spread. "How am I supposed to choose?"

"By tasting everything and trusting your instincts." Nina gestured to the plates. "We'll start with appetizers, move through entrées, finish with desserts. Kenji will film, Michelle will observe, and you'll tell me what makes you feel something."

"Feel something?"

"This is your wedding. Not a performance for i********:, not a production for Vogue—yours. What tastes like the beginning of your marriage?" Nina surprised herself with the question. A week ago, she'd have asked "what photographs best" or "what impresses guests most." Now she wanted authenticity.

Sienna blinked back tears. "You really have changed."

"Working on it," Nina said. "Now taste. We have forty-five minutes before your dress fitting."

The tasting became something unexpected—not just food selection but conversation about what the wedding meant. Sienna opened up about her fears, about performing happiness for followers while feeling terrified underneath, about wanting the day to be real instead of perfect.

Michelle's pen flew across pages. Kenji's camera captured moments Nina didn't realize were happening—Sienna's hand shaking as she tasted the first dish, Nina's gentle reassurance, the gradual relaxation as authenticity replaced performance.

By the time they finished, Sienna had chosen Winter Harvest—not because it was more photogenic but because "it tastes like New England winter. Like home. Like something real."

"Perfect choice," Nina said, meaning it.

After Sienna left for her fitting, Michelle lingered for follow-up questions.

"That was beautiful," she said. "The way you guided her from performance to authenticity. Where did you learn that?"

Nina thought about curse-breaking traditions and a man who saw too much and nine days of learning to feel again. "Recently. Very recently. I'm still figuring it out as I go."

"It shows. In the best way." Michelle closed her notebook. "One more question—the consultant who was here yesterday. Ezra. What's his role exactly?"

Nina hesitated. "He's... complicated. He specializes in finding things people have lost. Objects, meaning, perspective. He's been helping me remember why I started doing this work in the first place."

"You're in love with him." It wasn't a question.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only to anyone watching. Which, given the cameras, is everyone." Michelle smiled. "Don't worry. Love stories sell magazines. Especially complicated ones where both people are clearly fighting for something. What are you fighting for?"

"Each other," Nina said simply. "We're fighting for each other."

That afternoon, Nina returned to her office to find chaos.

Not curse-induced chaos—business chaos. Good chaos.

"Boss, we need to talk about scaling," Maya said the moment Nina walked in. She gestured at the scheduling board, now completely full. "We have eight consultations scheduled this week, three venue tours, Sienna's final fittings, and Patricia Henderson's New Year's gala planning starting Thursday. We can't sustain this with just the two of us."

"We need to hire someone."

"We need to hire two someones. An administrative assistant and another planner." Maya pulled out a spreadsheet—comprehensive, detailed, clearly prepared. "I've run the numbers. With current bookings and projected growth, we can afford two full-time positions starting January. But Boss? We need help now. Like, yesterday now."

Nina looked at the numbers, at the overwhelming evidence of success, and felt something close to panic. Growth meant change. Change meant risk. Risk meant potentially losing control.

But she'd been learning that control was an illusion anyway.

"Do it," she said. "Post the positions today. Let's hire for immediate start."

"Really? Just like that?"

"Just like that. You clearly know what we need. I trust your judgment." Nina smiled at Maya's shocked expression. "What? I can delegate now. It's one of my new skills."

"Who are you and what have you done with my control-freak boss?"

"She's on vacation. Possibly permanently." Nina pulled up her calendar. "What's tonight's tradition?"

"According to your mysterious schedule, it's the Christmas market in Harvard Square. Very touristy, very crowded, very festive."

"Perfect. Text Ezra and tell him six PM at the T station."

After Maya left, Nina spent an hour reviewing contracts and coordinating schedules. Her phone buzzed constantly—vendor questions, client updates, new inquiry emails. The business that had been quietly successful for four years was suddenly thriving.

The curse had definitely weakened.

Her phone rang. An unknown number.

"Nina Castellanos."

"Ms. Castellanos, this is Detective Rivera. We spoke last week about your office break-in?"

Nina's stomach clenched. "Yes. Has something happened?"

"Not exactly. But we've had three more similar incidents this week—commercial spaces broken into, nothing stolen, just files disturbed. All businesses owned by women, all in your neighborhood. I'm wondering if you've noticed any other suspicious activity?"

Nina thought of Octavia, of magic and curses and warnings delivered by postal workers. "No, nothing suspicious. Just the one incident."

"If you do notice anything—anyone following you, strange encounters, anything that feels off—please call me immediately." Rivera's voice was serious. "We're treating this as a potential stalking case. Someone targeting successful women in the area."

After hanging up, Nina sat very still. Three more break-ins. A pattern emerging. Except it wasn't a stalker—it was a curse escalating, finding new ways to apply pressure.

Or was it? Maybe the break-ins were unrelated. Maybe she was so deep in magical thinking that she was seeing curses everywhere.

She texted Ezra: Detective Rivera called. Three more break-ins like mine. Thinks it's a stalker. I think it's curse escalation. Thoughts?

His response came quickly: Could be both. Curses often manifest through real-world events that seem coincidental. Be careful. I don't like this.

Me neither. But twelve days left. We're almost there.

Twelve days until Christmas Eve. Until Octavia's final test. A pause, then: Nina, I've been thinking about what Mrs. Chen said. About the choice. What if there's no loophole? What if we really do have to choose?

Then we choose each other. We've been over this.

But what if choosing each other means losing everything else? Your business, your reputation, the life you're building?

Nina stared at the message, at the fear underneath. Ezra was already planning his sacrifice, already calculating how to save her at his own expense.

We'll talk about it tonight. Face to face. No making decisions alone.

Okay. Six PM. Harvard Square. I'll try to make it there.

The phrasing caught Nina's attention. Try?

The boundaries are... unstable today. Some days I can walk fifteen blocks. Other days I can barely manage five. It's unpredictable. Another pause. If I can't make it, can we move the tradition to somewhere closer to the shop?

Of course. But Ezra—the curse is supposed to be weakening. If your boundaries are getting worse—

It means the final test is close. Magic always gets unstable before big changes. I'll be okay. Just might need to adjust plans.

Nina felt cold dread settle in her stomach. Twelve days until the choice. And Ezra's curse was getting worse instead of better.

At six PM, Nina waited at the Harvard Square T station, watching crowds flow past. Students with backpacks, tourists with cameras, locals hurrying home from work. Normal people living normal lives without curses or impossible choices.

She was about to text Ezra when she spotted him emerging from the crowd, moving slower than usual, his face tight with pain.

"You made it," she said, relief flooding through her.

"Barely. That was twelve blocks and it felt like running through concrete." Ezra leaned against the wall, catching his breath. "But I'm here. Where's this market?"

"Can you manage three more blocks? We can skip this tradition if—"

"No. I want to do this." He straightened, wincing. "Lead the way."

The Harvard Square Christmas Market sprawled across several blocks—white tents, twinkling lights, vendors selling everything from handmade jewelry to artisan candles. It was crowded, loud, overwhelming in the best way.

Nina and Ezra wandered through slowly, Ezra's hand tight on hers for support as much as connection.

"Tell me something," Nina said as they paused at a stall selling wooden toys. "Why are you really pushing yourself so hard? Walking further than you can comfortably manage, attending every tradition even when you're exhausted?"

"Because I have twelve days left to prove I can be more than my curse. To show that I'm choosing to live instead of just existing." Ezra picked up a hand-carved horse, examining it. "Also because if we only have twelve more days together, I want to make them count."

"We're going to have more than twelve days."

"You don't know that. Neither do I." He set down the horse carefully. "So I'm choosing to be present for every moment I have. Even the painful ones. Especially the painful ones."

They continued through the market, stopping at stalls that caught their attention. Nina bought handmade ornaments she didn't need. Ezra purchased a leather journal for reasons he didn't explain. They shared roasted chestnuts and mulled wine, their breaths clouding in the cold air.

At a stall selling vintage photographs, Nina stopped abruptly.

The vendor had a collection of old Christmas photos—families from the 1950s and 60s, posed awkwardly in front of trees, children in uncomfortable formal wear, everyone trying to look happy for the camera.

One photo in particular caught her eye—a family of three, parents and young daughter, dated December 1985. The girl looked about eight, wearing a velvet dress and a forced smile. Her parents looked tired but genuine, their hands on her shoulders, clearly loving despite the posed artifice.

"That was the year before everything changed," Nina said quietly. "Before I became someone who performed happiness instead of feeling it."

Ezra studied the photo. "What changed?"

"My parents started fighting more. Money problems, stress, the usual stuff that breaks families quietly." Nina touched the frame gently. "I started trying to be perfect—perfect grades, perfect behavior, perfect daughter—thinking if I was good enough, they'd stop fighting. Then they died, and I spent sixteen years thinking I hadn't been good enough to save them."

"Nina—"

"I know it's not rational. I know children aren't responsible for adult problems. But knowing and believing are different." She looked at him. "That's what the curse has been teaching me. That I've been performing perfection for sixteen years, thinking if I controlled everything, I could prevent more loss. But perfection is just another way of not living."

"So what's the alternative?"

"This." Nina gestured at the market around them—the chaos, the imperfection, the messy beautiful reality of being present. "Showing up. Feeling things. Risking loss because the alternative is guaranteed loneliness."

Ezra pulled her into a hug there in the middle of the crowded market. "You've come so far in ten days. You know that, right?"

"We both have. You're walking twelve blocks. I'm buying useless ornaments and admitting feelings. We're basically different people."

"We're the same people. Just less broken." He kissed her forehead. "Or maybe just differently broken in ways that work better."

They continued through the market, but Nina's mind was elsewhere. Thinking about the photo, about performance versus authenticity, about the choice coming in twelve days.

At a jewelry stall, something caught her eye—a simple silver bracelet with a small compass charm.

"For finding your way home," the vendor explained. "The compass always points north. A reminder that you can always find your direction, even when lost."

Nina bought it without overthinking. When she showed Ezra, he smiled.

"For after the curse breaks? A reminder that you found your way back?"

"For now," Nina corrected. "A reminder that I'm still finding my way. That it's okay to be lost sometimes as long as you keep moving."

She put it on immediately, the silver cool against her wrist next to where the curse mark used to burn.

By eight PM, Ezra was clearly exhausted. They'd completed the tradition—three hours in the market, genuine engagement, authentic presence—but the cost was evident in every line of his body.

"I need to get back," he admitted. "The pull is getting stronger."

They walked slowly toward the T station. Ezra made it five blocks before he had to stop, leaning against a building, breathing hard.

"This is getting worse," Nina said, fear sharp in her voice. "Ezra, your curse is escalating. We need to figure out how to break it now, not wait for Christmas Eve."

"There's no breaking it early. Octavia's curses have timelines. Mine was seven years. Yours is thirty days. They don't end before they're meant to." He straightened with effort. "I just need to make it twelve more days. Then we face the choice together."

"What if you can't make it twelve more days?"

"Then you face it alone. And you choose yourself, Nina. You choose your life, your business, your future. Not me."

"No." Nina's voice was fierce. "We've been over this. No sacrifices. We both survive or we keep fighting until we do."

"And if that's not an option?"

"Then we make it an option. We're stubborn and creative and we've come too far to give up now." She took his face in her hands. "I love you, Ezra Solomon. And I'm not losing you right when I'm learning how to love someone. The universe doesn't get to be that cruel."

Ezra's eyes widened. "You love me?"

"Obviously. Have you not been paying attention?"

"I wasn't sure if it was love or just proximity and shared trauma and—" He stopped, laughing breathlessly. "I love you too. In case that wasn't obvious. I've loved you since you bought the broken tree because you saw yourself in it."

They kissed there on the street, pedestrians flowing around them, the city indifferent to their magic and their curses and their impossible love.

When they finally pulled apart, Ezra was crying.

"What's wrong?" Nina asked, alarmed.

"Nothing. Everything. I'm just—" He wiped his eyes roughly. "I'm realizing I might actually survive this. That we might both survive this. That love might be enough to rewrite the rules."

"Love and stubbornness," Nina corrected. "We're very stubborn."

"The stubbornest." He kissed her again. "Okay. Let's get me back to the shop before I collapse on a public street. Very undignified."

Nina hailed a cab—Ezra was too exhausted to walk further. She rode with him back to the North End, helped him upstairs to his apartment, made him tea he was too tired to drink.

"Stay," he said as she prepared to leave. "Just for a while. I don't want to be alone yet."

Nina stayed, sitting on his futon while he lay with his head in her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair, feeling how warm he was, how present despite the exhaustion.

"Tell me about your perfect day," she said quietly. "After the curses break. After all of this. What does your perfect day look like?"

Ezra was quiet for a long moment. "I'd wake up somewhere new. Maybe a bed and breakfast in Vermont, or a cabin in Maine. Somewhere I've never been because I've been trapped for seven years. You'd be there. We'd have terrible coffee and perfect pastries and we'd spend the day doing absolutely nothing productive. Just existing together without purpose or schedule."

"That sounds nice."

"What about you? What's your perfect day?"

Nina thought about it—really thought instead of deflecting. "I'd work. But not frantically, not managing chaos. I'd plan something beautiful because I wanted to, not because I was running from feelings. You'd be there, probably distracting me with terrible ideas. Maya and Jamie would stop by. Maybe Mrs. Chen. We'd have dinner together, all of us, and it would be messy and loud and perfect."

"That sounds like a life."

"It does." Nina smiled in the dim apartment. "We should try to build that. After we survive Christmas Eve."

"We will survive Christmas Eve," Ezra said with more confidence than he'd shown in days. "Because we're stubborn and in love and neither of those things accepts failure."

"Exactly." Nina leaned down to kiss him. "Now rest. You walked twelve blocks today. That's huge. Tomorrow you rest and recover."

"Tomorrow I rest. But Thursday—"

"Thursday we can worry about Thursday." Nina stood reluctantly. "I need to go. Early morning vendor meetings. But text me tomorrow. Let me know how you're feeling."

"Every hour on the hour," Ezra promised. "Very clingy girlfriend behavior."

"Boyfriend," Nina corrected. "Are we doing labels now?"

"I think we passed labels three days ago." Ezra's smile was soft. "But yes. Boyfriend works. Boyfriend who loves you and is going to survive this."

"Both of us," Nina emphasized. "We both survive."

"Both of us," he agreed.

Nina left reluctantly, taking the T home through dark December streets. Her phone buzzed with a text from Maya: Posted the job listings. Already have fifteen applications. People really want to work for us.

That's because we're suddenly successful and cool, Nina typed back.

That's because you're suddenly authentic and people can tell. See you tomorrow, Boss. Get some rest.

At home, Nina found no envelope under her door. No warning from Octavia. Just silence, which was somehow more unsettling than threats.

She looked at her new bracelet, at the compass charm pointing north. At the photos on her fridge of the past ten days. At the crooked tree in the corner, now decorated with the imperfect ornaments they'd collected.

Ten days. Ten traditions. The curse barely visible now, a ghost of what it had been.

And twelve days until everything either fell into place or fell completely apart.

Nina touched her wrist—barely a shadow, more memory than mark—and felt her pulse underneath.

Alive. Fighting. Falling.

In love.

Terrified.

Ready.

Twelve days until Christmas Eve.

Twelve days to find the loophole.

Twelve days to prove that love and stubbornness could rewrite magic's rules.

It would have to be enough.