Page 70 of Enchanted to Meet You
“Because it could be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe it’s why you never win.”
Yasmin shot him a dirty look. “Jess, I’m not sure about this guy. If you want to keep hanging out with him, you might have to leave him at home next time.”
She was only half joking. Yasmin took her trivia very seriously.
I was giving Derrick a mock-reproachful look when Sal and Mark appeared with the beer and wine.
“You girls are never gonna guess who I ran into at the bar.” Mark slid wineglasses and frozen beer steins in front of us.
“If you’re going to say the mayor, don’t.” Dina was pouring pinot grigio from the carafe Sal had brought over into our glasses. “I already spotted her over at the table with the rest of the Right Honorables.”
“The mayor’s here?” I looked around and saw her sitting with her wife and several of West Harbor’s judges, along with the city attorney and a couple council members.
Would this be a good time to sneak Esther’s letter to Margo Dunleavy? Probably not, with Esther so close by at the hostess booth. She hadn’t wanted her parents to know anything about her magic.
But if I could catch Margo alone...
Sal looked, too. “Oh, damn. Half of city hall is here. They’re great at this. We’re gonna get creamed.”
“No, we’re not.” Yasmin was exuding confidence. “What do they know about witches? We’ve got two of the witchiest witches in town sitting right here next to us. We’re going to ice those nerds.”
“The mayor’s not who I was talking about,” Mark said. “I meant Rosalie Hopkins.”
“Rosalie really is here?” The hair on the back of my neck rose. I’d known she’d be there, of course, even hearing her name caused me anxiety. That woman had given me paranormal PTSD.
“Yeah. She just went back to her seat at that table over there with the Veuve Clique Ohs.”
I swung around to look, then let out an inward groan. Rosalie was there, all right, sitting in one of her many pastel-colored cashmere sweater sets and sipping champagne while idly chatting with her friends from the Yacht Club. Billy—who’d evidently come straight from work, since he was wearing a suit—seemed to sense my gaze and began turning his head toward me.
“Oh, God.” I ducked behind a menu, pretending to be searching for something to order.
“Subtle,” remarked Derrick.
“I don’t care.” I kept my face buried in the menu. “Is he still looking over here?”
“Uh.” Derrick shook his head. “No. One of his kids just came up and is talking to him. At least I think it’s his kid. A young girl in a cheerleading outfit?”
“Lizzie.” I lowered the menu and peeked. Billy was engrossed in conversation with his daughter, who was a smaller, perkier version of Rosalie. Dressed in a West Harbor High junior varsity cheerleading uniform, her blond hair was swept into a high ponytail tied with a large maroon bow. Lizzie had a sweet face and, from all I’d heard on the teen circuit, an even sweeter disposition.
But it was the adoring look on Billy that got to me. Billy clearly cherished his kids. Rosalie had given him exactly what he’d always wanted: a family of his own to love. Maybe she wasn’t as bad as I thought.
Or maybe the spell Dina and I had cast had actually worked.
“Good,” I said, as I turned back to my menu and began to read it, though I mostly knew it by heart.
Derrick raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Good what?”
“I mean... the food is good here.” I hadn’t meant to share my musings on Billy out loud. “Do you want something more to eat than just nachos? I really like the burger.”
“Sure,” he said, grinning at something he seemed to find amusing. “Let’s make it two.”
I signaled our server and put in our order for two cheeseburgers with fries just as Dr. Steve, the trivia master, began welcoming everyone over the microphone. The game was starting.
Meanwhile, Mark was complaining. “I really don’t know what you all have against Rosalie.”
“Shhh.” Dina was almost as intense during Trivia as her sister-in-law, because it was one of the only nights Mark took off from the restaurant. “Dr. Steve is speaking.”
“She’s just a very nice person when you get to know her,” Mark said.
