Page 24 of A Witch in Notting Hill

Willow

“T his is it?” I asked, squinting my eyes to read the faded sign hanging haphazardly above the doorway. Sonny’s Inn. Vacancies.

With one eye closed and my head tilted to the side, I supposed it did have a sort of old English charm.

Whitewashed, pebble-dash exterior, dark shingled roof, a pale blue door with chipping paint and a curtained window.

In its prime, it was probably beautiful.

Though its prime was likely generations before even our great-greats would have stayed here, but that wasn’t the point.

The point was everyone had agreed to stay on my behalf, and Oliver had been kind enough to make the arrangements.

I wasn’t about to forget that just because the bed-and-breakfast looked like it might crumble to the ground as soon as we stepped through the door.

“The Isle of Wight is apparently more popular than we thought,” Oliver said. “This was the only spot I could find in town with rooms available. If it’s not okay, I can keep looking for something further inland, or try calling some places that didn’t have availability online. Just, er, let me know.”

“It’s great,” I assured him. “Thank you for doing this.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We’ve not been inside.”

“He’s right. Might be a proper shithole.”

“Thanks for the confidence, Min,” Oliver said. “You can sleep in the car if you’d like.”

“And miss out on this cultural experience? I think not.”

“Inside, the lot of you,” Oliver said, nudging everyone toward the entrance.

We followed his orders, packing ourselves like sardines into the minuscule lobby between the door and the check-in desk.

With Oliver pressed up against my back, I could no longer ignore the reality of the situation: we were spending a night in the same bed-and-breakfast. Sleeping just down the hall from each other, painfully aware the other was a mere few feet away.

Or at least it was painful for one of us.

I didn’t want to be thinking about him in his room alone.

Picturing what he might look like underneath his clothes, with his hair a mess, his shoulders relaxed, and his eyes tired.

I didn’t want to wonder what he sounded like late at night, or in the morning, or in the moments in between.

But I’m only human, and some (most) things were out of my control.

“Name?” the receptionist asked, just peering over the top of her ancient desktop.

“Hadley,” Oliver said over my shoulder. “Should be a reservation for four.”

“Ah, yes,” she said, clicking around, “in the Hampshire Suite.”

“It’s a suite?” Oliver asked.

“Do believe I mentioned it over the phone,” she said, seemingly uninterested in discussing it further. “One bunkie and a queen bed, there. Should be more than enough room for you lot. Let me just get the key for you.”

I snuck a glance at the three of them while she looked behind her for a key hanging on the wall. I was hoping for validation, but I found Min and Lola as unfazed as the receptionist. Oliver, on the other hand, looked equally spooked.

Is this okay? he mouthed.

Fine , I mouthed back. What else was I supposed to say?

Thanks for arranging all of this on my behalf, but I actually can’t share a room with you because the whole thing might burst into flames ?

I’m trying hard not to be attracted to you, but spending the night in the same room is going to ruin all my progress ?

The way you’re mouthing words to me right now and forcing me to focus on your lips is making it impossible for me to answer ?

It was going to be a long night.

“Well, should we go see our digs?” Minho asked, shaking the old brass key in the air.

Our digs were, well, what we expected after the receptionist dropped the bomb, I supposed.

Bunk beds pushed up against one wall, a queen bed pushed up against the other, about a foot of space between the two.

Aside from a small bathroom tucked into one corner and a writing desk in the other, there wasn’t much else.

No distractions, nowhere to hide. Just the four of us crammed into the world’s tiniest room for an unexpected overnight.

“This is... cozy,” Lo said. “Oliver, you’re sure—”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, then,” she said, and clapped. “Should we go find dinner while the mint soaks?”

“I thought we’d all just stay in here, actually. Plenty of space. Maybe get a bit of room service, check out the hotel bar...” Minho said, unable to suppress a smile.

“We get it,” Oliver snapped. “Would you rather have driven back to the city tonight, then? Come back first thing in the morning just to drink the tea?”

“Touché,” Min said, pushing past Oliver and out the door before he could see Min roll his eyes.

“Tough crowd,” I whispered.

“You’re telling me,” he said. “Willow, honestly, if you aren’t okay with this, please speak now. We all practically lived together like this in uni, and we’re used to shitty houseshares, but we were strangers to you not too long ago, and I’m sure you’re used to much nicer accommodations...”

“Oliver,” I said, reaching out to touch his arm. Letting my hand linger. Watching his eyes flick from my hand back to my face, softening. “It’s fine. Honestly. Perfect, even. The thought of having to do that ferry ride any more than necessary is light years worse than having to share a room.”

“You say that now. Wait until you hear how loud Lola snores.”

“I heard that,” she called from the hallway. “Are you two coming, or should we leave you alone in the honeymoon suite?”

“Bugger off,” Oliver said. I watched the tips of his ears turn the same pink as his cheeks—my only indication that maybe I wasn’t alone in feeling.

.. whatever this was. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and find us a place for dinner, yeah?

We’ll get the mint soaking and meet you in the lobby.

Maybe that charming receptionist has some ideas. ”

With an aggressive salute with her middle finger, Lola disappeared down the hallway toward the lobby with Min in tow, leaving me and Oliver alone in the room. He cleared his throat loud enough for me to get the message: let’s do what we have to do and get out of here.

“I’ll just, uh, get the mint soaking, then,” I said, fumbling in my tote for the bundle. As I unwrapped it, he filled a small glass with cold water from the sink and set it on the desk, reaching his hand out for me to pass him the herbs.

“Thanks,” I said. “Listen, I—”

“I just want to—”

We both laughed, gesturing for the other to go ahead. “You first,” he said, leaning back on the desk and gripping the edge with his hands. His long fingers curled around the wood, and I felt a tug deep in my stomach.

“I really appreciate all you’ve done for me today, and I’m sorry we’re all stuck in here because of me.”

“Rubbish,” he said, shaking his head. “We all chose to do this, remember? Besides, we could all use a break from the city, anyway. Really, it’s no bother.”

How one man could at once be so grumpy and so relaxed, I wasn’t sure. It made me want to know what else lurked beneath the surface, but I knew better than to try to find out. My powers didn’t include prophecy, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t see exactly how that story ended.

“What were you going to say?” I asked, holding my breath while I waited for the answer.

He crossed his arms over his chest, uncrossed them again, white knuckles on the edge of the desk. Let go, ran his hands through his hair, dropped them at his sides.

“Spit it out, Oliver,” I said.

“I know you’re seeing that bloke,” he said, “and I don’t want any of this to be weird because of that.”

“I... What?” He didn’t have to explain what he meant by “any of this.” I knew he wasn’t just talking about the small room. He was talking about the energy between us. What I didn’t know was what “bloke” he was talking about.

“I saw your phone screen,” he said. “I didn’t mean to pry, honestly.

It just lit up on the picnic blanket in the park that night and I caught a glimpse.

Lola mentioned he was another industry bloke, and I just— I don’t want you to think— And I’m sorry if any of this was invasive, which now that I hear it out loud, it definitely was—”

“No, it’s fine.” I sighed, realizing I should have been relieved the phone wallpaper did its job, but instead I felt the opposite.

Frustrated. Disappointed. “Like I said, it’s early days, so.

Hardly worth the mention, really.” If Vera was here, she would have killed me.

Our plan worked exactly as we’d hoped, and instead of letting it be, I was poking holes left and right.

This should have been what I wanted. If Oliver thought I was seeing someone, it might relieve some of the tension, and there would be less of a risk of my magic going haywire. But I was never good at doing what I should be doing, so I dipped another toe into the fire.

“Are you seeing someone?” I asked. “I’d hate to think I was monopolizing all this time when there was someone—”

“There isn’t,” he said. Not short, not curt, just matter-of-fact.

“Well then.” It was all I could think to say that wouldn’t further incriminate me. That wouldn’t add to the lingering look and the shrinking distance between us.

“We should meet the others,” he said, but it came out hoarse and shallow. Like he was only saying it because he had to and not because he meant it. After another second of excruciating eye contact, I pulled myself away and headed toward the lobby.

Dinner was in a pub that looked almost identical to the bed-and-breakfast: quaint, rustic, older than America itself.

We ordered from the small menu—pub grub, they called it—and pulled greasy fish and chips apart with our fingers, sipped light beers, and chatted mindlessly if only to kill time before we were forced to head back to our one-room abode.

It was nice. Familiar, even. Almost like they weren’t near strangers who were about to have the intensely intimate experience of seeing me sleep.