Page 13 of Spell Ya Later

Oh Lord, the innuendo. Jesus take the wheel.

“It was nice to meet you,” I mumble in BEBE’s general direction.

I turn to go back to my table, alone with my sister where I belong, when a gentle hand touches mine for a brief second. I almost jump at the electric buzz that surges through my skin.

I stare at the point of contact for a beat. Two.

That is not normal. But, what about this evening has been?

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. I didn’t mean to, you just took me a bit by surprise there. If it helps, no one has made me laugh like that in a long time,” BEBE says so sincerely I swear a piece of my heart melts off.

“You’re welcome?”

“I’m Noah. Noah Rogers.” He extends his hand.

“Hazel Hollis,” I reply. My fingers wrap around his and the same buzz skitters across my skin, raising the little hairs on my arms.

Whatisthat?

“Would you want to wait for our food together?” Noah asks. “Benji just went through a really nasty break up, and talking with your friend is the most I’ve seen him smile in two weeks.”

I turn to my sister and it’s quite apparent she’s barely even noticed my absence. The bitch.

“My sister,” I correct, sitting down. “Until our food arrives.”

Another reason I don’t go out in public very often is I have no idea what to say to people. I have barely any idea what’s going on in popular culture, and I’m sure Noah would be super freaked out to hear how I cleaned the store today by murmuring some Latin-adjacent gibberish.

What do I even talk about? What do people talk about when they can’t stop staring at the other person’s mouth?

Pretty lips are so pretty.

“Tell me a bit about yourself, Hazel.”

The dreaded question. Hi, I’m Hazel and up until yesterday I lived at home with my Mom. I was also unemployed and I comefrom a long line of witches that I don’t know anything about because my mom refuses to say anything. Nice to meet you.

“There’s not too much to tell. I’m one of those sheltered, boring people who should be studied in a lab somewhere.”

Was I raised in a barn? How was that answer better?

Thankfully, I get a deep, gorgeous laugh in response, not the awkward exit I was expecting.

He leans in, accentuating the lean lines of his shoulders and torso. “Unless you spend your time staring at the wall, there’s always something to tell. What do you do for fun?”

“How dare you guess my favorite hobby on the first try?” I need to rein in this new desire to be funny. It’s not working for me. “I enjoy painting, that’s what I usually do when I’m not working in the shop or teaching.”

Noah perks up like a golden retriever. “Where do you teach? I have a cousin who’s an elementary school teacher.”

“Oh, God no. Not with children.” I shudder at the thought. “I teach a couple of sketching classes at the community center on Saturdays and Wednesdays.”

“Wow, my artistic ability begins and ends at stick figures. You must be talented if you teach.”

“I’m a volunteer. And you know what they say—those who can’t do, teach.” I let out a self-deprecating chuckle.

He shakes his head. “I don’t believe that for a second. You’re talented, I can tell.”

Oh, hello cheeks. I almost forgot you were on fire.

“What about you? Tell me about you.”