“You have to be patient. Seasons come and go at their own pace. I imagine this is annoying for you, when you’ve got magic that lets you take shortcuts to get whatever you like.”

“That’s just the thing. I love the changing of the seasons. I want to endure every torturous in-between; how it’s cold in the mornings in springtime, then hot by afternoon. I want to watch the leaves turn color slowly at the end of the year, the contrast of red maple against a white sky when a cold snap rushes in.”

I press my lips together. “I’m . . . not following. Do you want me to check the pantry for . . . what was it? Caramel apple? I bet they have some. Grandma and Grandpa don’t check their expired products frequently enough.”

“No,” he groans, forcefully. “It’s no good if the weather isn’t that perfect autumn crisp that makes me wish I ran an inn in Vermont.” He laughs in a hopeless sort of way, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I sound ridiculous, I know, but I want to carve pumpkins in October. I want to pick apples with you in September.”

He could have said I want to pick apples, but he said I want to pick apples with you. My heart softens like butter in a pan. “We can do that.”

The gentleness of my tone only serves to prod him closer to the edge. He springs to his feet, hands behind his back. Oh, no. It’s never a good sign when Hall paces.

“The longer I’m in this form, the more human I’m becoming. The more I want and need, like a human. I want to stay here and do all the human-type things I always dreamed of, which requires time. Years and years of it. But my role is magic, which isn’t compatible with humanity or the teaspoon-sized amount of time that fits into the human experience. I didn’t expect to feel this much. And the momentum is so quick: at first, I felt only a little bit human, with the smallest human needs. But then they grew bigger and bigger, so fast, new ones cropping up that I’ve never had before, and I don’t know how to deal with it, how to juggle it all. There are needs that didn’t exist for me a week ago that I can’t stop thinking about now. The more of this world I interact with, the greedier I get for more. Do you see the bind I’m in?”

He’s talking rapidly and mostly to himself, hair mussed, shirt wrinkled. He stops short in front of me, gaze yearning and just a little bit lost. I see him again in the theater, eyes roving my face, barely blinking. I see him in the kitchen, slowing time to protract our kiss as Grandma’s long may they reign rings in the air. I hear his voice again and again, on loop: Do you need me to kiss you in front of them?