Page 9 of A Witch in Notting Hill

“I’ll just be a minute there,” he said. “Going to pop ’round back and find Greg for a smoke.”

She nodded, and I thanked whatever higher power was out there for granting me a few precious minutes to get myself together and get the hell out before he saw me.

Why does this matter so much to me?Perhaps because I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself. Perhaps because I had grease dripping down my wrists and bags under my eyes the size of Texas. Perhaps because the last time I saw him I exploded a lightbulb and I wasn’t exactly keen on making another scene. It didn’t matter. What did matter was that I knew I wasn’t ready for another run-in. It was time to go.

Once he was safely out of earshot, I dropped more pounds than were necessary on the bar, thanked Gloria, assured her I didn’t need the change, and headed for the door.

“Have you been in before, love?” she asked before I was safely over the threshold.Damn it.“Sorry to stop you there, it’s just you seem so familiar, and I hadn’t noticed it before.”

She’d been so kind, I hated to lie, but I wasn’t interested in being recognized by anyone else, especially with Oliver headed back into the pub any minute, so I did what I always did in these scenarios: kept it vague and extricated myself, pronto.

“I get that a lot.” I smiled. “Must just have one of those faces. Thanks again.” I didn’t leave her time to say anything else, though I could tell she wanted to. If I was almost outed by the bartender in a hole-in-the-wall pub, I feared removing my disguise at all was going to be even harder than I thought.

Despite the unexpected intrusion, I’d still managed to mark a few titles and to learn a little more about Coven & Codex and its services, not to mention the impossibly delicious sandwich and the fish for Vera, so this was still a productive afternoon. And when I went back into Coven & Codex tomorrow, I would do it with a little more optimism and refreshed resolve.

Chapter 6

Oliver

Sunday slipped by in the rhythm of every other day of my life: work, run, read, repeat. There were errands, sure, and dinner plans with my friends, but the rest of my time revolved around an easy, predictable schedule. One that made sense to me and had little room for chaos.

So when that gorgeous, peculiar American walked back into my shop two days later, the impending chaos turned my stomach over. What was she doing back here? Was it possible I might have what she’s looking for? It couldn’t be. She didn’t seem like the type. Quirky, maybe. But notwitchy. When she’d first come in I’d suspected it was just for a browse, not a purpose.

Though what the hell did I know? I’d spoken to her for all of five minutes. For all I knew, she could have thought herself to be the Grand High Witch of North America. And if that was the case, I would need even more distance than I’d thought.

I tried and failed not to study her as she moved through the shop. Same low baseball cap, same basket held tight to her side,this time both paired with oversize sunglasses and a linen dress that hung loosely from her curves. She trailed her manicured fingers over the volumes stacked in Ceremonies and Customs, squinting at the spines, strolled distractedly through the aisles of Elements and Crystals, stalled briefly in Divinations, before ducking around a tight corner and stopping in Reversals, Retractions, and Revocations.

It was never a good sign when anyone stopped in Reversals, Retractions, and Revocations. It meant they’d mucked something up, didn’t want to take ownership, so instead blamed powers that didn’t exist, then demanded answers from Coven & Codex to fix their problems.

Still, I watched. Captivated.

She pulled book after book from the shelves,Undonefollowed byTurn Back Time: The Art of Reversing Spells, flipping through them in vain before gently sliding them back into their respective places. What the hell was she looking for?

I only had another second to wonder before two young women crowded her from both sides of the aisle, phones in hand and crazed smiles painted on their nervous faces. Did they know her?

I took a few steps closer, if only to mitigate anything suspicious that might be going on in the shop. I wasn’t close enough to hear their conversation, but I was close enough to see the woman’s soft, placating smile as the three of them posed for a selfie. For what purpose, I hadn’t the foggiest idea.

Just as they seemingly thanked her and shuffled away, heads bent, giggling over the photo, a few more customers began to make their way toward the back of the shop. What was I missing?

Fortunately, no one else approached her, only stood on the periphery and whispered while nodding in her direction, like she was some kind of museum exhibit. She pulled the hat lowerover her eyes and slipped into the Celtic section, taking refuge behind a fairy tree while she waited for the small crowd to dissipate.

Deciding it was finally time for me to follow suit and look away, I slipped my phone from my back pocket to text Minho and Lola: the only two people I’d ever tell about an intriguing woman in my shop, even if I might regret it in the same breath.

Me:Something’s going on in the shop today. Second time this American woman has been in this week, and two girls stopped to take a photo. Small crowd formed.

They both replied almost instantly. Minho worked in a cushy corner office as an architect and had his texts linked to his computer, and Lola worked from home as a video game designer, so the two were usually accessible during the day. Which was often a blessing and a curse.

Lola:Is she a celeb??

Minho:Must be. What’s she look like?

Me:Hard to tell. Baseball cap and sunglasses on.

Minho:Definitely famous.

Lola:Anything else?

Undone, curly hair that makes me want to run my hands through it. A body with curves I will get on my knees for a chance to see without the oversize clothes.