Page 36 of A Witch in Notting Hill

“This is insane.”

“Just trust me.”

“We’re going to scare her to death. Why didn’t anyone think of that sooner?”

“It’s going to be fine as soon as she realizes it’s us.”

“Unless she calls the police first and we’re all handcuffed before she can even open the door.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Do you want a chance to apologize or not? Focus on what’s really important here.”

I swung the door open in the middle of their argument, all four of us equally shocked to see each other. Me because they were dressed like hotel staff, and them because I opened the door.

“Willow, hi,” Lola said, smiling wider than I’d even known was possible. People in my industry would have killed for teeth that straight.

“Hi.” I resisted the urge to look down at my pajamas, suddenly painfully aware I was standing in the doorway in nothing but boxer shorts and an old UCLA T-shirt. Bare feet, hair tied into a low braid, bleary eyes. Definitely not my bestlook. And definitely not a way I’d ever allow anyone else to see me, either.

But I couldn’t deny my curiosity.

“How did you guys find me?”

“Please don’t be mad,” Lola said. “But I saw the key card in your wallet, and then everything after that was like a bad spy movie. Uniforms hanging in the service entrance, key fob in the pocket, easy access to the computer, a few clicks, and—”

“Does anyone else know I’m here?”

“No.” Oliver stepped forward, shaking his head. “And it’s going to stay that way. I just owe you an apology, and we didn’t know how else to get in touch with you. It’s not like we can just find your email or, I don’t know, DM you on Instagram.”

“No.” I laughed a little. “I suppose it isn’t.”

“Are you mad?”

“Not mad,” I said. “Confused, maybe. And a little impressed? And a little concerned, you know, with security and all that.” If it was this easy for them, would it be that easy for someone else?

“That’s part of why we’re here,” she said, gesturing to Oliver to continue. I furrowed my eyebrows, hoping he was going to make sense of the late-night visit. He cleared his throat and glared down at Lola, and she nodded like she’d just remembered the plan.

“We’re going to, er, be down the hall.” She grabbed Minho by the arm and dragged him in the direction of the elevators, disappearing around a corner.

“Hi,” Oliver said, and exhaled, clearly gearing up for something. “I’m sorry it’s late. And I’m sorry we barged in like this.”

“This is the British version of ‘barging,’ I assume.”

A smile, small and tentative.

“And mostly I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier.”

When we’d parted ways and I got the Tube, I’d convinced myself I didn’t need an apology. That I’d never see him again, if I was lucky, and it didn’t matter what he thought, anyway. I knew what was real, and I didn’t need to convince anyone otherwise.

Except I did.

Item number six. Right there at the bottom of the page.Convince a skeptic.

Though if I could do anything to help it, he wouldn’t be the one I tried to convince.

“Go on,” I said, eager to hear what else he had to say, if only to unclench my jaw. He said some shitty things earlier, and I wasn’t about to let him get away with a simpleI’m sorry.Not that it seemed like he planned to, what with all the deep breaths and the squared shoulders and the practiced cadence of his speech.

“I was a wanker. I shouldn’t have said I thought you were smarter than someone who believed in magic, and I shouldn’t have been so pushy about my beliefs. It isn’t nonsense. And I’m sorry I said it was.”