Page 49 of Spell Ya Later

I don’t know if anyone has ever put this much effort into getting to know me. When I’m with Laura, we talk about Laura. When I’m with Grandma, we talk about magic. When I was around Mom, we didn’t talk at all. I don’t think any of them could tell you my favorite color.

My chest aches a little at the knowledge that he wants to know me.

We pullup to a secluded section of the Metroparks just as the sun is setting. The reds, yellows, and oranges of the sky blend with the matching colors on the trees.

A babbling brook can be heard to my right, just out of sight. I instinctively turn toward it. Maybe I’m having a witchy nature moment, but I’d like to sit by it. If I start chanting and dancing around in a circle, I hope Noah doesn’t film it before he runs away.

He takes my hand and thankfully leads me straight to the little river, spreading a red plaid blanket on the grass.

“Did Nonna Ricci help you again?” I ask, sitting on the blanket. It’s surprisingly plushy.

Noah sports a guilty smile as he pulls takeout boxes out of the picnic basket. “I told you I can’t cook!”

I laugh as he hands me a white plastic fork. “I just don’t want her to think I’m dating you to get to her food. It’s a perk, but not the sole reason.”

“Not the sole reason?” A cocky smirk ticks up the side of his mouth. “What are the other reasons?”

I could mess with him. Use the opportunity to razz him. But there’s something in his eyes, a quick moment of doubt that tells me I shouldn’t. Tells me that he needs reassurance and is hiding it behind a smile.

“You’re kind, funny, handsome, and...you make me feel seen. You make me feel like me.”

Oof. Way to lay it on thick there, Hazel. My cheeks burn at my admission, eyes downcast toward the food. Maybe if I don’t make eye contact with him, he won’t address how I’ve laid myself bare before him.

He clears his throat, the sound jarring in the silence that has fallen. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve...Hazel, look at me?”

His hand gently covers mine so I’m unable to fidget with a stray thread. Rude.

With a deep breath, I finally meet his gaze to find those brown-black eyes kindly regarding me.

“You make me feel like me, too.”

Oh.My heart pitter-patters at his words.

“I want to know more about you,” I say, spearing a piece of steamed broccoli from one of the takeout containers. “I like learning more about you.”

Please take the spotlight off me, thank you.

He sighs, spearing his own piece of—what is that? Chicken parmesan? Thank the Lord above for Nonna Ricci. “What would you like to know?”

Do I detect some reluctance? Here I was thinking I was the only one with skeletons in my closet.

“Whatever you want to share. I don’t mean to be all up in your business, I just want to know more.”

“No, no, I know.” He sighs again, chewing his food slowly. “I just hate pity, and my life tends to get me pity.”

I cock my head in confusion without thought. I would’ve never imagined the word pity would be associated with him. “But you’re always so happy, so sunny.”

“I’ve learned some tough life lessons, and one of them is that life is short. Enjoying every moment is important to me.”

“That’s an incredibly healthy way to deal with trauma. I just drown myself in anger and regret.” I nervously giggle. It’s true, though.

He chuckles—a low rumble that vibrates through my body. “That happens, too.”

“That’s a good start. Tell me something else.” I nudge his knee with mine. “Even if it’s just your favorite color.”

“My favorite color is blue.”

“How utterly basic of you.”