Page 104 of A Witch in Notting Hill

“And if you came to your senses and hated it?”

“That would be for me to figure out, wouldn’t it?”

She stared at me, a piercing stare with her green marble eyes, and I stared back, unafraid of whatever she was about to say. It was becoming increasingly apparent a break was definitely in order, and in that case, Ididfancy a tea.

What I did not fancy was arguing with Vera about my future. She might have known what was best for me as an actor, but that didn’t mean she knew what was best for me as a person.

“I’m sorry,” she said eventually, shaking her head like she was snapping herself out of whatever mood she was in. “I know I’mbeing hard on you. And I know that’s something I have to work on. I’ve been thinking about that a lot over the last few months. All I’ve ever known is that life, and I’m projecting that onto you, aren’t I?”

“I’m sure we’re projecting onto each other.” I sighed, sitting back down.

“Maybe a break for you is good. Maybe that’ll mean a break for me, too.”

“You won’t pick up another client to replace me? I know people in the industry who would kill for you as a manager. I’m sure you could have someone new in a heartbeat.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she said, and winked. It was unnerving on her cat face no matter how normal it would have been on her human face. “I haven’t wanted to admit it, but this has been nice for me, too. Minus the cat thing, obviously. But the time off. It’s not as boring as I thought it’d be. Turns out podcasts and audiobooks and walks around the neighborhood aren’t such a bad way to pass the time. I’m sure I’ll be bored to death before I know it, but for now, it hasn’t been so miserable.”

It was more of a relief than I could have anticipated to hear her say those words. And for her to sound like she actually meant them. Every moment of the last six months had been riddled with an undercurrent of guilt, and to hear Vera say she actually saw value in this experience made me feel slightly less awful for what had happened. Not a lot, but enough to release my shoulders from my ears for a few minutes.

“And I’m going to make it right with the press,” she said. “I have a call with our lawyer this afternoon to confirm he’s gotten all major entertainment news outlets to scrub the photos and videos, and I’ve already spread the word about your relationship with Kit being nothing but a rumor. Seems to have done his career some good in the meantime, but without you even in the city, I doubt he’ll be hanging on to that story.”

“Thank you,” I said. Mad as I was she was the one to tip off the press in the first place, I was glad she was making it right.

“You’re really going to walk away?”

“I’m not sure I have much of a choice,” I said. “I need to put myself first. My magic, my personal life, everything I’ve been missing out on.”

“And what about Oliver? What does this mean for you two?”

“I hope I’m about to find out.”

Oliver’s flat door was unlocked when I arrived, and he’d instructed me to just let myself in. Lush kitchen smells wafted down the staircase, making me all the more eager to see what the night had in store.

I had no idea where any of this was going or what any of it meant, and even as I climbed the stairs I still hadn’t the slightest clue what to say. All I knew was I owed him an apology, and if there was even a chance he might believe magic was real, I needed to know. The solstice was tomorrow, and I was running out of time.

“Willow?” he called at the sound of my footsteps. “That you?”

“Who else would it be?” I asked. “Did you invite someone else for tea?”

“Thought Kit Hayes might like a cuppa.” I froze halfway up the stairs, relieved when I heard the sound of his laugh. “Too soon?”

“Entirely.”

When I made it up the stairs and rounded the corner into the kitchen, I froze for the second time. Oliver had a dish towel slung over his shoulder, one hand on his hip, and the other stirring a pot of what looked to be a curry on the stove. He wore a navy sweater and a pair of dark jeans, both of which made his eyes seem even clearer than usual when he turned to look atme. A dark curl hung in the center of his forehead, and I briefly forgot the reason I was here. Frankly, it would have been a miracle if I could have remembered my own name.

“Hi,” I said, suddenly feeling painfully awkward and unsure of what to do with myself.

“Hi,” he returned. “Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable.” He brushed off his hands on the towel and pulled out a kitchen chair, gesturing for me to sit. I handed off the bottle of wine I’d brought—it felt weird showing up empty-handed, especially since I was beginning to learnteaactually meant dinner—and he accepted with a wary smile. We were both uncertain, but we were trying.

His flat was exactly what I’d have expected, had I allowed myself to daydream about it. Warm, cozy. Sophisticated. Dark wood furniture and a small selection of vintage-looking art. Books piled on every surface, windowsills included. Heavy throw blankets draped over the back of the couch, a tattered ottoman, a TV that looked like it was collecting dust. He mentioned he didn’t spend much time here and that most of his time was spent in the shop, but aside from the television, it looked pleasantly lived-in. I wondered how much had been left over from his uncle Arthur.

“I hope vindaloo is okay,” he said, returning his attention briefly to the stove. “I remembered a while ago you said you’d been eating a lot of Indian takeaway, so I figured I’d hedge my bets.”

“You hedged right,” I said. He turned down the heat and popped the cork on the wine, pouring us two generous glasses.

“It’s a good job we’ve got something stronger than tea,” he said. “Reckon we’ll need it.”

I hummed in agreement for lack of a better response, taking a long swig after hesitantly clinking our glasses together.