Page 21 of A Witch in Notting Hill

Willow

M eeting everyone at the pub had seemed like a great idea at the time. Getting out of the flat, letting myself think about something other than the spell for five minutes, remembering that the three of them were good people and their willingness to help was earnest.

This morning, however, made me regret every decision I’d ever made leading up until now.

The throbbing headache behind my eyes made it hard to even hold them open long enough to rummage through my bag for a rogue Advil, and when I did find one, I swallowed it without water, wincing as it slid down my dry throat like a marble.

When was the last time I drank that much? Did I even drink that much, or was I just terrible at drinking? Maybe it was the beer. I wasn’t sure I’d ever had that much beer.

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 weird pub 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.

But so far, it seemed no one was trying to pitch me something, introduce me to someone, ask me questions I didn’t want to answer, or convince me to do anything other than simply go to brunch. And in this state, I could definitely handle brunch.

This is something I have to get ready for? I asked.

Lola: she lives.

Me: You weren’t doubting me, were you?

Minho: We started to, but Oliver put us straight.

My stomach turned one way at the thought of them thinking I might have been down for the count, then turned immediately back the other way at the thought of Oliver standing up for me. The flip-flop made me nauseated. But maybe not in a bad way.

Me: Chivalry isn’t dead, after all. How does one get ready for their first full English?

Minho: Meditation.

Oliver: Empty stomach. Vague hangover.

Lola: stretchy pants

Me: Done, done, and done. Jury’s out on meditation.

Oliver: Clever girl. Meet at Crown Court in an hour?

Minho: Grand.

Lola: already know i’ll be late

Me: See you there.

I closed my phone and stared at Vera, both of us wondering what the hell was going on.

“I’m going to brunch,” I said, but made no move to get up. “And I’m supposed to wear stretchy pants.”

“Do you even know what’s in a full English?”

“I suppose I’m about to find out.”

“Didn’t we just talk about being careful when you’re out and about?” she said.

“You think I want to be seen?”

“Of course not.” She sighed.

“I need them for the quest. I’m not just running around the city making friends.

” Even if it felt like I was. Drinks, then brunch the next day?

Neither of which I needed a glam team for?

Never mind a glam team—I didn’t even think we needed a reservation.

When was the last time I just walked into a restaurant and asked for a table?

“It’s my job to look out for you, Willow,” Vera said. “And if I can’t do it outside this hotel room, I have to make sure you’re looking out for yourself.” She nudged my sunglasses in my direction, and I took the hint.

“Thank you,” I said. With this headache, honestly, the sunglasses would be working overtime. “Do you need anything?”

“You know what I need,” she said. “You safe, and me back in my human body. Until then, I’m fine here.”

Since we moved into the flat, things had gotten much easier for Vera.

I meal prepped and made sure all food was accessible to her when I wasn’t home, all the technology in the flat could be accessed by voice controls, and there was even a doggy door that led into the garden.

When she said she was fine, I knew she meant it.

Armed with my stretchiest pair of pants (a gauzy cotton wide-leg situation), my largest pair of sunglasses, and a tote full of antacids, I said a silent prayer and headed for brunch.

The restaurant wasn’t far from my flat, so I took my time breathing in the fresh air and wandering through the streets.

It was damp, as London always is, but in a way that filled my lungs and made me feel inexplicably clean.

The neighborhood was quiet, save for a few dogs and a few small children, and I savored the walk, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other, watching the rows of homes go by, clearing my head of every thought that didn’t have to do with a slow, lazy morning.

By the time I arrived at the restaurant, my hangover subsided enough for the hunger to set in, and I was eager to dive into a full English—whatever that meant. I kept my sunglasses on as I looked around, relieved when I quickly spotted Lola at a table in the back.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she said as I slid into the booth across from her. “Are the sunglasses part of the disguise, or are you too hungover for overhead lighting?”

“Both?” I laughed, wincing only slightly as I pushed them onto my head.

“Those pale ales will get ya,” she said. “You don’t do a lot of drinking in the Hollywood party circuit? I thought those parties were all about booze.”

“Trust me, they are. I’m just more of a two-cocktails-only kind of girl.”

“You’re a four-pints kind of girl now,” she said.

“I hope I wasn’t embarrassing? Please say I wasn’t embarrassing.”

“Hardly. Unless you count being impossibly charming and picking up two rounds even when it wasn’t your turn embarrassing, which we definitely do not.”

Relief washed over me like warm water. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Nonsense.” She waved her hand. “You don’t owe us a thing.”

“I have a feeling once this quest starts you might change your minds.”

“Well, we’re about to find out.” She smiled, waving Oliver and Minho over to our table. “Because we start today.”

They were right about the full English. In order to enjoy a massive plate of eggs, bacon, sausages, baked beans, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, toast, and who even knew what else, one definitely needed a pair of pants three sizes too big and a hangover to match.

I could practically feel the food soaking up the booze and restoring my will to live.

Which I needed desperately, because when we got down to business, the nerves came back full force.

“Now that we’re stuffed to the brim and grease is oozing from our pores, are we ready for a road trip?” Minho asked, signaling the server for the bill.

“Not when you say it like that,” Lola groaned. She was clutching her stomach and leaning against the back of the booth, rolling her head side to side.

“Grow up, Lo,” Oliver said. “Get the gluten-free toast or stop complaining.”

“That crumbly shite? Never.”

I dug in my bag for the digestive enzyme I used for award shows, handing one over and instructing her to take it with a full glass of water.

“Saint Willow,” she said, and sighed. “We’re keeping you around forever.”

It was no secret I’d be going back to LA as soon as we finished the quest and reversed the spell, but the reminder that I wouldn’t actually be here forever, going out for pints and brunch and being treated like the girl next door, stung more than I’d expected it to.

For a fleeting, agonizing second, I allowed myself to wonder if it could always be like this.

“What’s the plan, then?” I asked, eager to change the subject before I went too far down that rabbit hole.