Page 20 of A Witch in Notting Hill

Oliver

T he summer passed by much the same as it always did.

Long, slow days in the shop, endless pints outside pubs with other patrons spilling into the streets.

Longing for a holiday but refusing to close Coven & Codex and miss out on the business when tourists were infiltrating Notting Hill looking to spend their money.

Only this summer, we had the addition of Willow.

After our first meeting at the park, she kept to herself for a few weeks.

Moved into a flat nearby, said she was settling into the city, arranging to have some of her stuff sent from LA, adjusting to the idea of living in London for a whole lot longer than she’d anticipated.

We gave her space, getting on with our routines like we didn’t even know she was here.

Only we did know she was here. I knew she was here.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about her being here.

I no longer read on the Tube, but instead kept my head on a swivel looking for even the slightest trace of her auburn hair.

Every short, curvy woman waiting to cross every street bore a passing resemblance, until I got a closer look and was reminded no one could even hold a candle.

“Why don’t you just invite her out already?” Lo asked one night as we wandered down the Regent’s Canal in Little Venice, eating ice cream and kicking rocks off the path.

“What?”

“Willow,” she said. “I know you’re thinking about her. You’ve been checking your phone incessantly for the past few weeks, and you never check your phone. Why don’t you invite her out with us?”

Having perceptive friends was starting to feel like more of a curse than a blessing.

“Am I being that obvious?”

“Only to me,” she said. “And to Min.”

“You’ve talked about it? Should I just jump into the river right now?”

“Since when are you one for drama?” she asked. “We haven’t talked about it talked about it. We’ve just noticed it seems like you’re distracted, that’s all. And since she’s the only thing in your life that’s changed in quite a while, it adds up.”

“Not sure it matters, though, does it? What with the guy she’s seeing and all that shite about ‘early days.’”

“That’s just something people say after they’ve been on like, one date,” she said.

“Is one date enough for the bloke to be her phone background?”

Lola stopped in her tracks, but I kept walking.

“She’s got a bloke set as her phone background?”

I nodded. “Saw it that night in the park. Before she slipped it into her pocket. You don’t reckon she has a brother or anything, do you?”

“I wish I could say yes, but I think only a sister. What did he look like?”

“I only got a glimpse. Shouldn’t have even been looking in the first place,” I confessed. “Tall, much taller than Willow—”

“Everyone’s taller than Willow.”

“Light brown hair, kind of messy. On purpose. Like he’s trying too hard to look younger than he is.”

“Holy shit,” she said, grabbing my arm. Again, I kept walking. “Was it Kit Hayes?”

“I don’t know what Kit Hayes looks like.”

“God, Oliver, at least pretend you’ve seen a rom-com.”

“Why would I pretend I’ve seen a rom-com?”

“Focus,” she said. Little did she know, now that we were on the topic of Willow’s dating life, it was impossible for me to think about anything else. Even though I knew I should have been thinking about literally everything else. “Did he have kind eyes?”

“Did he what?”

“Don’t be difficult.”

“Of the two of us in this conversation, I wouldn’t say I’m the one being difficult.”

“I heard a rumor she and Kit were supposed to do a film together. I bet it was him. In which case, this is worse than I thought.”

“Grand,” I said, kicking a rock harder than necessary into the river. “Care to fill me in?”

“One of those guys who looks like a golden boy but is actually a dick,” she said. “You know the type.”

“Everyone in Hollywood seems to be the type,” I said, hating what the thought of someone being a dick to Willow was doing to my body.

My irritation was visceral, rising in my chest like hot lava.

Or maybe it was acid reflux. Likely one and the same, if I was honest. “What do we even know about him, anyway?” I was desperately hoping whatever preconceived notions Lola had were only hearsay, headlines from shitty tabloids or gossip from her coworkers.

“We know he was rude to a server at a restaurant in Mayfair last year,” she said. “And that he supposedly fired his valet in front of an entire red carpet.”

“How do we know those things?”

“Same way we know anything about celebrities,” she said. “TikTok? I don’t know. The point is, he’s a wanker. And if even you aren’t going to be with her, we still don’t want him with her.”

“Slow down,” I said, finally stopping mid-stride. “First of all, it isn’t up to us who she dates. She’s a grown woman with agency and all the trappings of the twenty-first century—”

“Bugger off—”

“—and second of all, we don’t actually know anything about this bloke. Maybe he isn’t as bad as everyone says.” I was trying to convince myself more than Lola, but fortunately, she didn’t notice. “And third—”

“There’s a third?”

“We hardly know Willow that well, either. Maybe they have a history.”

“They don’t.”

“Lola.”

“Are you done?”

“No,” I said. “Last but most certainly not least, I don’t want to be with her.

We need to get that idea off the table before we start this whole thing in earnest, because I cannot have you watching my every move and wiggling your eyebrows for the next five months.

And the whole point of me going along with this thing, aside from my connections in the city, is to make Willow comfortable.

What good would I be if I was chatting her up?

Especially while she’s seeing someone? Get it out of your head, Lo. I mean it.”

“You first.”

I grabbed her shoulders and shook her in the direction of the river, letting go only when she screamed.

“You bastard.” She laughed, smacking me on the arm. “Why d’you have to take everything so seriously?”

“I don’t,” I said. “This is just something that happens to be serious.”

“Everything is serious with you.”

“That’s not true.” Was it? Did I take things too seriously? I mean, I was no comedian, that was for sure, but wasn’t that part of my charm? The whole grumpy British bookshop owner, quiet, reserved, contemplative. It was an archetype. People loved an archetype.

“Unfortunately it is,” Lola said. “But that’s quite all right. Now’s the perfect time to try out a little spontaneity. Take out your phone.”

“Absolutely not.”

“D’you want to be a killjoy your whole life, or d’you want to have some fun?”

“We were having fun,” I said. “Before all this. When we were just walking and talking and eating ice cream. That was fun, wasn’t it?”

“That is a Thursday,” she said. “We do this all the time. Let’s get you out of your comfort zone.”

“You’ve been doing that since uni. Can’t I have five minutes to just enjoy my comfort zone?”

“Not when you’re racing against the clock. She’s going to be gone before you know it. Or properly dating that tosser, and then we’re really going to be screwed.”

“You know, if you didn’t make everything such a ‘we’ situation, you wouldn’t have to be stressed about all of this.”

“I’m a masochist,” she said with a shrug.

“What can I say? Your phone, please.” She held out her hand, wiggling her fingers.

We both knew I had no choice but to hand it over, so it was better I didn’t fight it.

I slapped it into her hand, and she rolled her eyes, using my face to unlock it before she opened WhatsApp.

“The fact that you even have bloody Willow James’s number is mental,” she said. “D’you know how many people would kill for that?”

“I don’t, and I’m not interested in finding out. Please don’t make it a big deal.”

“You’re not giving me enough credit. I haven’t even asked for it yet. Haven’t forced you to make a group chat or anything, either. The Lola of Two Years Ago would have already driven the poor woman straight back to Los Angeles. I’m making progress.”

Thinking about the Lola of Two Years Ago made me smile. She was right. She was only slightly insane now, compared to fully unhinged like she was when we were younger. And I wasn’t giving her enough credit.

“You’re right,” I said, holding my hands up in surrender. “Do your worst.”

“Careful what you wish for, Hadley.”

Three hours later we were sat at a pub on the water, packed into a snug and waiting for the arrival of one Willow James.

As much as I took the piss out of Lola, she did know what she was doing.

As soon as she convinced Willow this was another unknown pub and we could hide out in the back, promised her we wouldn’t talk quest if she didn’t want to, we just wanted to check in on how she was adjusting to the city and buy her a pint, she was sold.

Pints on me, though, she’d said. Lola had happily obliged.

“Do you think she’s offering to buy a round because she’s rich and she feels sorry for us?” Lola asked when we slid into the booth.

“I think she’s offering to buy us a round because she’s a decent human being,” Min said. “And you have your own two-bedroom flat in the center of Notting Hill, Lo. You aren’t exactly struggling.”

“Fair play,” she said.

Before any of us could say anything else idiotic, I caught sight of Willow slipping through the front door, careful not to let it slam behind her.

Her hair was in one long braid over her shoulder, a few wispy strands in front obscuring her face.

It was the first time I’d seen her without a hat since she first came into the shop, and I was paralyzed.

Even with the wisps of hair obscuring her eyes, there was a certain clarity to her expression that had been shadowed by her hat this whole time.

Out from under the brim, she was practically glowing.

Her auburn waves and her peachy complexion were nearly the same color, giving her a kind of otherworldly appearance that made it easy to understand why she was the star of every red carpet, or whatever Lola said.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

As she made her way to our table at the back of the pub, nearly every set of eyes turned to follow her path.

Either she didn’t notice or was really good at pretending she didn’t notice, because she just kept walking, but I noticed, and I couldn’t cope with the way people were gawking at her.

I was out of the booth before I could think better of it, cutting a path through the pub to meet her halfway.

“Gemma, great to see you,” I announced loudly as I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her in the direction of our snug. “I’m so glad you’re back from South Africa.”

“What are you doing?” she whispered, trying not to laugh.

“Dispelling suspicions,” I said. “People were starting to notice you. Now they just think you’re a doppelganger.”

“A doppelganger who’s meeting an insane person for a pint,” she said, letting the laugh loose and reclaiming everyone’s attention.

“Sorry we didn’t all go to acting school,” I said. “I mean”—I raised my voice again, if only to make her laugh—“sorry we didn’t all join the Peace Corps after uni.”

“Jesus, Oliver. You didn’t tell me Gemma was Mother Teresa. I’m not sure I look the part.” She looked down at her jeans and trainers, but I couldn’t follow her gaze. I was too busy staring at her face, her flushed cheeks and her clear eyes, thinking she might actually be a saint after all.

“You look grand,” I said, snapping myself out of my trance and reminding us both what we were doing here. “The others are just in the back there.”

“Gemma, welcome back,” Minho said as we approached the snug.

“You heard all that?” I asked.

“Oh, we did indeed,” he said, turning back to Willow. “Do please tell us about the Peace Corps.”

“It was wonderful. South Africa is beautiful this time of year.”

“All right, all right, enough,” I said. “I did this for your own good, you know.”

“And I appreciate it,” she said, softening her tone. The honey in her voice matched the rest of her so perfectly, for a second I wasn’t sure she was real. God, mate, get it together.

“How have you been?” Lola asked. “Adjusting to the city okay?”

“More or less,” she said. “Moved into the new flat almost three weeks ago, and most of what I needed from LA arrived last weekend, so I’m settling in.”

“Have you seen much of Notting Hill?”

She chewed her lip, and I forced myself to look away.

“It’s, uh, I’ve just been, well, no.” She forced a laugh.

“I keep telling myself I’m going to explore the city, but then I chicken out when the time comes.

Which I know is stupid. But this is the first time my life has been quiet in so long, and I don’t want to do anything to disrupt the peace, you know?

” We didn’t really know, since we weren’t international celebrities, but the three of us did enjoy quiet lives, more or less, so we could imagine.

I could definitely imagine. “Sorry, that was a massive overshare and kind of a downer right out of the gate. Enough about me. What have you guys been up to? Having a more fun summer than I am, I hope?”

“A whole lot of this,” Min said, gesturing around the pub. “Weather’s been shite, obviously, so we’ve just been kicking around.”

“We’re bored to death, he means,” Lola said. “We’re glad you came out with us tonight. We’re sick of staring at each other. We needed someone new to stare at.”

“What Lola means is it’s good to see you,” I said, shooting a sideways glance at Lo, who only shrugged.

“You guys, too. It’s good to get out of the flat. I probably should have done this sooner.”

“No bother.” Lola smiled. “What’s important is you’re doing it now, and we’re happy to have you here.”

Thank god. Something normal. Willow’s bright smile reached her eyes this time, and I relaxed for what might have been the first time since she got to London. It was good to have her out with us before we started the quest. To get to know each other without all the witchy shit.

To just be four friends in a pub in London in the summer, before we started the quest and all hell broke loose.