Page 50 of A Witch in Notting Hill

“That better be the last thank-you I hear out of your mouth today,” she said, looping her arm through mine as she got out of the booth. “Min, take us to the isle.”

Oliver sat in the front to help navigate while Lola and I lounged in the back with the windows down and fresh air flowing through the car. I unraveled my hair from its bun, letting it whip this way and that, trying not to care about the knot it would be in later. It felt too good to just let it be.

It was easy to let my guard down for a few hours in the car, where no one would notice me and I didn’t have to do anythingother than sit there and watch England pass by out the window. But with my guard down, there was room for Oliver to slip in, which was arguably even more dangerous than being seen.

From my spot in the back seat, I had the perfect view of his profile: strong, angled jaw, curl of dark hair behind his ear, the kind of long eyelashes and sharp cheekbones my makeup artist would kill for. I studied the veins on the back of his hand as he scrolled through his phone, curating the perfect road trip playlist and keeping Minho on track with directions. He had a certain kind of grace I wasn’t sure even existed in America, and I wondered if I’d find myself looking for it when I got home.

Which I already knew I shouldn’t be.

My wondering was abruptly interrupted, however, by flashing dashboard lights and wipers on high speed. Both of which I knew were not a malfunction of the car.

“What’s going on?” Oliver asked, clicking around aimlessly while Minho tried to get the wipers to turn off.

“I’ve no idea,” he said. “Should I pull over?”

Get it together, Willow. Stop staring at his damn wrists and focus on something else before the car dies completely and we’re left stranded on the side of the highway.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I said, immediately regretting it when Oliver and Lola both looked at me like I’d saidI’m sure it’s Beyoncéinstead. “I mean, it’s just wipers and lights, and look, they’re already slowing down.”

Lola looked back at the dashboard, but Oliver kept his eyes trained on me, one brow raised. I wished it was the other way around. All I could do was shrug, but he seemed satisfied as the wipers came to a slow stop and the lights stayed on.

“See? Totally fine,” I said, trying to keep my voice from wobbling.

“Min, I swear, if this car breaks down, I’ll scream at the top of my lungs,” Lola said.

“It’s not going to break down, you cow. That was just a blip.”

A blip. Exactly.And if I could help it, there wouldn’t be another blip. We would be blip-free. Which meant I had to concentrate on anything other than how good Oliver looked with his elbow resting on the window frame and his hand in his hair.

We pulled up to the ferry port just before things could get any worse. Or rather, just in time for things to get worse.

No one told me we were taking a ferry, which meant I didn’t tell anyone I got horribly seasick. Without Dramamine in my system, I was doomed.

“Nice day for a ferry ride,” Minho said, pulling onto the platform. “Will be good to get out and stretch our legs a bit.”

We’d only just driven onto the boat, which was still sitting in the port, and I already felt my stomach churning. The full English that had saved me this morning was now my worst enemy. I wound my hair back into a bun to get it off my neck, willing the ferry to move for some airflow and for the ride to be one step closer to over.

“You okay?” Lola asked, craning her neck to catch my eye.

“Fine, fine,” I said. There was no way I was going to add seasickness to my list of ways I was inconveniencing them. “I’m just going to get out to, uh, get some air.” I had no idea if being on the top deck was going to make this better or worse, but either way, I couldn’t be around them.

“I’ll come,” she said, unbuckling her seat belt.

“No, no. I’m fine, really. You stay. I’ll be right back.”

I practically ran from the car, hoping she wouldn’t follow, taking gulping breaths of salty air as I made my way to the top. The ferry finally pulled away from the harbor, and I leaned my forehead on my arms, which were folded on the railing, continuing to breathe slowly and deeply, hoping to keep the nausea at bay.

“Keep your eyes on the horizon,” came a voice from over my shoulder. I couldn’t look up, but I knew it was Oliver. “I’m serious. It helps.” I lifted my head slowly, dragging my eyes to the spot where the sea met the sky. “Good girl.”

The last thing I needed was to hear those words out of his mouth at this moment. The butterflies in my stomach warred with the nausea, and the sensation was overwhelming. I swallowed hard, trying to tamp it down.Good girl.In that accent? Did he even know the effect that had on people? What a reckless, irresponsible man.

“Fancy a ginger ale? Might help. Happy to go down to the bar for ya.”

“This is mortifying enough,” I mumbled. “I’ll be fine. But thank you.”

“Nothing mortifying about a bit of seasickness. Happens to the best of us.”

“How’d you know?”