Page 49 of Enchanted to Meet You
When I snorted in response, he glanced my way. “You think I’m wrong?”
“Beauty pageants are never harmless—especially a beauty pageant run by Rosalie Hopkins. Free cookies aside, I think she’s up to something.”
“The timing is a little concerning,” he agreed, “especially with it being the same night as the Hunter’s Moon.”
I shivered involuntarily. “Would you please stop calling it that?”
“Why? That’s what it’s called. The Hunter’s Moon symbolizes abundance—a time when people celebrate the harvest and all they’ve reaped as they prepare for the change that’s—”
“Okay, now you’re just creeping me out.”
“How can that creep you out? You’re awitch.”
“I’m acottagewitch,” I reminded him. “I make things look nicer, and people feel better about themselves. I don’t mess around with reapings... or wolves.”
“I think you underestimate yourself.”
Even though it was so dark, I saw his eyes flash at me—just for a moment—almost as intensely as the few stars that were winking above.
Then he said, “Watch out for that gravel there,” and reached out to take my wrist and guide me over the deadly gravel. “I wouldn’t want you to turn an ankle in those boots.”
“Yeah, thanks.” My voice was as unsteady as my feet since I was still a bit shaken by the compliment—and thezing!of my heartstrings at the feel of his fingers, though this time he was touching me through the fabric of my coat, and I knew the sensation was all in my head. “Next time we go tracking a wild animal, I’ll try to dress more appropriately.”
“At least don’t wear such high heels. You know, I don’t think we’re going to find anything out here.” Derrick looked out across the darkness surrounding the train tracks and heaved a sigh. The temperature had fallen since the sun had set, so his breath fogged up in front of him. “We should probably call it a night and head home.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said. I’d been yearning for a hot shower and a glass of wine for hours. And maybe a little something more. “Do you want to stop for something to eat along the way? My friend Dina asked us to join her and her boyfriend, Mark, at his family’s restaurant.”
What Dina’s most recent text had actually said was:
LegalBeagle:Get over here! The special tonight is branzino. It’s selling out fast, but Mark says he can hold some for you and your fake boyfriend if you can get here by nine.
“Not sure going out is the best idea,” he said. “Especially given that your cat is in a box on my front seat.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
Hmmm. Was he really worried about Pye, or was this a sex invite? It had been a long time since I’d made it to the sex stage of a relationship with a guy. Usually we didn’t make it past Getting to Know You coffees because it became so glaringly obvious one of us had lied on our dating profiles (Me. Always me. About not being a witch).
“I have some lasagna I can heat up,” I offered. “From Sunday night. Mama Giovanni always makes sure I go home with some, in addition to her gravy.”
“That sounds good,” he said.
Yes, it did. It did sound good. So did the idea of those lips and fingers of his on my naked body.
Which was how we found ourselves a little while later back at my place, after me having texted Dina back:
Nix the branzino. Fake BF wants to stay in.
Her reply was classic Dina:
LegalBeagle:Wooo, girl! Ride that biker boy!
The world works in funny ways. If you had told me a week ago that I’d be getting dinner ready for myself and my fake witch boyfriend, I’d have fallen over laughing.
But here I was, the height of domesticity, giving Derrick a tour of the upstairs of my house as Mama Giovanni’s lasagna warmed up in the oven (I said “the height of domesticity.” Just because I’m a cottage witch doesn’t mean I can actually cook).
“So this is my parents’ old bedroom,” I said, flicking on thelight. “You’re welcome to stay in here, but you might find it a little . . . crowded.”
That’s because even though the second-floor bedroom was huge, I’d converted it instead to a sewing room, since the thought of banging guys in my parents’ bedroom was deeply unsexy.
