Page 47 of A Witch in Notting Hill

Trying to figure it out was making my headache worse, so I collapsed back onto the mattress and stopped asking myself questions I didn’t need the answers to.

At parties and bars in LA, packed with everyone who was anyone in the industry and more cameras and smartphones than people, I kept it to two cocktails and then club soda for the rest of the night. I couldn’t risk making any kind of a scene, slurring a word, stumbling, even. I had to be the picture of professionalism. Especially because I was also battling the magic, which made me embarrass myself more times than I was willing to count. Adding alcohol to the mix was a recipe for disaster.

But in London, far from my real life, I’d apparently forgotten myself.

I sat up to find Vera staring at me from the foot of the bed, her blinking so aggressive I was surprised I couldn’t hear it, like a cartoon.Blink blink.

“If you have something to say, please say it,” I said. “My stomach can’t handle anticipation this morning.”

“Just checking you’re alive,” she said. “Those few pints caught up with you, didn’t they?”

“It had to have been more than a few.”

“When you got home last night, you told me it was four.”

“I was lying.”

“You never lie to me.”

I flopped back onto the mattress. “That’s all it was?”

“That’s all it was.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“Indeed it is.”

“Vera!”

“Kidding, doll. I take it you aren’t feeling so hot?”

“I’m feeling like I had four pints last night is how I’m feeling,” I groaned. “Did anyone see me? Am I all over the tabloids? Where’s my phone?”

“Relax,” she said. “I had Siri read me the headlines and every email in my inbox. You were properly undercover in your weirdpub or wherever you were. But you won’t always be this lucky, Willow. You need to be careful.”

“I know, I know,” I said. She was right. I couldn’t get too comfortable.

“That’s what I have Oliver for,” I said. “He’s supposed to be making sure no one notices me.”

“Oh, is that what he’s doing?”

“Come on.”

“I’m just saying.” She didn’t sound teasing. She sounded disapproving, and it made my arm hair stand on end.

“I probably should text them, though,” I said. “Apologize for having a few too many.”

When I finally found my phone, I saw it was them who’d sent the first texts. In a group chat, apparently.

Minho:Anyone else in dire need of a full English?

Lola:just the toast. give me all the toast.

Minho:You need the protein. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.

Oliver:@Willow, get ready for your first full English.

Normally, I hated a group chat. Always got nervous about what to say, got overwhelmed by the notifications, could never keep up, and hated having unread texts. They were always with people I barely knew, didn’t remember meeting, or was fairly certain I’d never met in the first place. But this one felt... normal. Or at the very least how I assumed normal would feel, given I wasn’t sure I’d ever actually experienced it.