Page 77 of A Witch in Notting Hill

“As sure as it gets.”

“I have a nice living room,” she said, “with plenty of space and everything. You’d hardly even know I was there.”

“The point is to know you’re there.”

“I just mean I wouldn’t be a bother. I’d be in my room, so you’d have your own space, and—”

“We can argue about it on the Tube,” I said. “Feel like you can get out of here?”

She nodded, and the three of us helped her up, making sure she was steady on her feet before letting go. I kept my arm looped around her waist as we piled on the layers so that she didn’t have to get on the Tube wrapped in every towel we owned. She could be wrapped in every sweater we owned, which would at least let her hang on to a bit more privacy.

With our pile of wet towels, Willow dressed like the Michelin Man, and the little black cat in tow, we made our way across the park in the direction of the station. The sun painted streaks of oranges and pinks across the hazy sky, but I didn’t have the energy to notice. I didn’t have the energy to do much of anything other than thank the universe Willow was okay and keep my arm around her waist, holding her tight. Keeping her upright. Keeping her warm. Keeping her close.

During the ride, she dropped her head onto my shoulder, and I wasn’t sure if she was awake or asleep, and frankly, I didn’t care. What mattered was she trusted me. I was a source of comfort to her, and I couldn’t think of anything more rewarding.

Min and Lola got off at their respective stops, asking me to keep them posted on how she was doing and to let them know if we needed anything. I promised to do both, ultimately relieved when it was just me and Willow. And the cat.

“This is us,” she mumbled when we got to the station, and I couldn’t stop the pounding in my chest at the word.Us.I couldn’t stop myself from imagining what it would be like to always share the same stop. To always be anus.

“Let’s do it, then.” I wrapped my arm back around her waist, grateful she wasn’t too proud to use me for support. The train was crowded with rush hour commuters, and I had to bob and weave us off the carriage and out onto the street.

“Where’s Vera?” Willow asked, suddenly snapping her head around to look for the cat.

“Relax,” I said, hiking the carrier up higher on my other shoulder. “I’ve got her.”

“You are a good flatmate,” she said.

“I’ve not even been in the flat yet.”

“Well, you’re off to a good start.”

I didn’t used to be the kind of bloke who smiled to myself.

Her flat was exactly what I had hoped for her. Peaceful, clean, secluded. She led me down a quiet side street and up a small flight of stairs to a glossy black front door, flanked by tall pillars and window boxes with ruby-red flowers.

I followed her to the second floor, keeping my hands braced at her hips in case she lost her balance. When she fumbled with the keys, I took them from her shaking hands and unlocked the door, ushering her inside.

“You should have a shower, if you fancy it,” I said, heading into the kitchen to get her a large glass of water. “Might help to regulate the body temperature.”

“And get the seaweed out of my hair.”

“Not seaweed if it’s in a pond, is it?”

“Now’s an interesting time to argue,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. I handed her the water on my way to the bathroom, trying not to hold her gaze too long. I was barely keeping myself together as it was, and the last thing I needed was to look at her flushed face on my way to run the shower.

The bathroom counter was lined with candles, and I lit a few before turning the water pressure on full blast and letting the stream run warm. When I left the bathroom, I was surprised to find her already standing in the bedroom, peeling off the layers of sweaters we’d cloaked her in at the Heath.

“Oh, let me just—”

“Stay,” she whispered, and time slowed. She moved through honey, continuing to peel off layer after layer, while I stood silent, trying to figure out what came next. She was down to that damn swimsuit and a pair of my sweatpants when she said, “Please.”

I wouldn’t have said no in any lifetime. Would have tried, maybe, to pretend I was a good guy. Tried to pretend I didn’t want to get in the way of her thing with that bloke, tried to pretend I didn’t want to keep her up, or didn’t want to crowd her space, or didn’t want to overstay my welcome.

But the moment that single syllable left her lips, I was helpless.

“I’ll be right here when you get out,” I said, my voice hardly more than a scratch in my throat. She smiled, satisfied, and disappeared into the bathroom without closing the door behind her.

I sat on her bed, letting my eyes wander around the room. It was impersonal, mostly, seeing as it was a rental, but there were glimpses of Willow in every corner: a pile of baseball hats, a stack of gold jewelry, more white trainers than I could count. I couldn’t reconcile celebrity Willow with this Willow. The one who had a retainer on the nightstand and a fraying phone charger coiled beside the bed. The one I rescued from the pond this morning, who leaned her head on my shoulder on the Tube, who accepted help and asked me to stay. The one who was making herself a home here with my friends in my neighborhood whom I wasn’t sure how we’d say goodbye to when the time came.