Page 29 of A Witch in Notting Hill

Oliver

F irst thing in the morning, I was alone in the back of the shop, shelving new stock and rearranging a table display for October.

Halloween was right around the corner, which meant business was about to pick up, and I had to decorate accordingly.

Tourists loved Halloween. And tourists loved spending money. It was a win-win.

Minus how painful it was to decorate the damn place every year and deal with the customers dressed as the witches from Hocus Pocus asking me to take their photo in front of the window displays.

I was stacking every book I could find with a purple or orange spine in a haphazard pile on an end table surrounded by votive candles and miniature pumpkins when Willow knocked on the front door, rattling the “Closed” sign and demanding my attention.

“Good morning,” I said, opening the door and motioning for her to come inside.

“I hope this is okay. You said I could come in early and I—”

“I meant it,” I assured her. “And it’s more than okay. On one condition.” She widened her eyes, and I tried not to count the shades of brown and gold. “You help me with these bloody Halloween decorations.”

A laugh escaped her in a rush of breath. “You made me nervous,” she said.

“You always make me nervous,” I countered, relishing the way surprise looked on her features. Her mouth a delicate O, her light eyebrows high on her forehead. If I regretted letting that bit of truth slip out, that expression was all I needed to change my mind.

“Lucky for you, I’m a pro at Halloween decorations.”

“All the Americans are.”

“Or I can just head back to my flat, and—” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder and took a step toward the door. I grabbed her hand, pulling her back toward me.

“I’m kidding,” I said. “I would love your help, Willow. I like you in my shop.”

She was almost right up against me, and I was certain she’d take a step back. Only she didn’t. So I didn’t, either. And we stood in the doorway of the shop at the crack of dawn, chest to chest, waiting for the other to make a move.

“Good,” she said breathily. “I like being in your shop.”

“I’m glad you took me up on my offer.”

“Needed to get out of the flat,” she said.

“Ah, so it wasn’t about me at all?” I teased, though I was desperate to know the answer. Because, selfishly, when I offered the shop as a safe haven, it was only partially about giving Willow a place to hide. The other part was about getting to have her here, all to myself.

“So what if it was?” she said, surprising us both and lifting her chin to meet my eyes. I’d expected banter. Expected some witty comeback. Not... the truth.

“I don’t believe in witchcraft, but I’d say you’re a mind reader,” I said.

The hitch in her breathing was too much for this hour.

I wasn’t sure if it was because of the light dig or because of my confession, but it sent me reeling.

A single sharp inhale and I was already a goner.

“Come in,” I said, leading her out of the doorway and farther into the shop before I made a fool of myself.

She followed me through the stacks into the back room where we first met over an exploded lightbulb. It had only been a few months ago, but it seemed like we’d done more in those few months than I’d done in the past year.

I used to think I’d been comfortable in my life, but I was starting to realize that comfort might have been complacency.

I’d gotten used to slow, easy routines, a low-maintenance lifestyle, two close friends, and my family just outside the city, and I didn’t need much more than that.

Or at least I thought I didn’t, until Willow walked in the door.

But now as I watched her weave a string of lights around my stack of books, piling the end into a mason jar and stepping back to admire her handiwork, I couldn’t imagine the hole she’d leave behind when she left.

“You’re a natural,” I said.

“Runs in the family.” Her soft smile hid the edges of something that looked dangerously like embarrassment, and it cut through me like a dull knife in my shoulder blades.

I didn’t have to believe in witchcraft for it to be real for her.

And it seemed like my disbelief was starting to make her feel bad about it, and that was the last thing I wanted.

“Tell me about them,” I said.

“My family?”

“Mm-hmm.”

We both busied ourselves untangling another string of lights, undoubtedly trying to keep from looking at each other while we had this conversation. I wanted to know, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t nervous for whatever came next.

“It’s just us girls,” she said. “My grandmother before she died, obviously, then my mother, my sister, Ivy, and me.”

“All witches?”

“All witches.”

I risked a glance at her and clocked a raised eyebrow. A challenge. “Do you, er, do you learn a lot from them?”

“I do,” she said. “But apparently not enough. They’re both much more talented than I am, and though they try not to show it, I know it frustrates them, having to constantly help me clean up my messes.

I try not to burden them anymore, especially since I’ve moved out of the house, but even when they’re annoyed, they still usually know the right thing to do.

Neither of them would have ever found themselves in this position. ”

“Seems like you’re doing okay, all things considered,” I ventured. “You’ve done everything you’ve set out to do since you’ve been here, no?”

She sighed, and the sound burrowed under my skin. “I suppose so. Though I wouldn’t be here in the first place if it wasn’t for the disaster back at home, so.”

“How’d it happen?” I asked. What the hell am I doing? Entertaining this conversation was so far out of my wheelhouse, but the more she spoke, the harder it was to stop myself. I wanted to know everything there was to know about her. Even if it wasn’t real.

“You really want to know?” she asked, lowering the string of lights and looking right at me.

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

“Even though you don’t think it’s true?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is what’s true for you. And I’d like to hear the story, if you don’t mind.”

I, too, dropped the lights so that I could look at her properly. So I could make sure she saw I was earnest.

“It was humiliating,” she started. “Vera and I were having an argument in my trailer because I didn’t want to entertain the idea of doing a romance film instead of a drama, and in the heat of the moment she just.

.. turned into a cat. And I know how it sounds.

You don’t have to say anything. But I don’t know how else to explain it.

One minute she was Vera, and the next she was a cat. ”

“Why didn’t you want to do the romance?”

“What?”

“The romance. Why’d you say no?” There was so much to digest in what she’d said, but I couldn’t move past this part. Maybe I was clinging to something familiar. Something that wasn’t witchcraft. Or maybe I was clinging to the idea of Willow and romance in the same sentence. Hard to say.

“Oh, it’s just, uh... it’s not my thing.”

“Romance movies or romance in general?”

“Both?” She laughed. “I mean, even the conversation about doing a romance turned my manager into a cat. So, doesn’t bode well for filming the actual movie, does it?”

“What about this guy you’re seeing? That’s surely a romance, yeah?” Was I a masochist? Was that a new development in my personality at thirty-two years old?

She went back to the lights, and I wondered if I’d said the wrong thing. Or maybe the right thing, because every time we talked about him she seemed less and less invested.

“It’s fine,” she said, chewing on her lower lip. I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. It’s fine. That’s it? Her relationship was in early days and it was just fine ? Maybe this guy really was a dick. “What about you?” she asked. “No romance?”

I watched as she staggered a few small pumpkins, then lit a votive with a decorative match from a glass case.

She shook the match out, and smoke drifted from her hand into the space between us, at once heavy and light and making me wish there wasn’t space between us at all.

Was she asking because she was making polite conversation, or was she asking because she wanted to know?

“No romance,” I confirmed, taking the match from her hand and dropping it into my back pocket to throw out later.

“What about that ex Lola mentioned?”

“Fuckin’ Lola.” I laughed, raking both hands through my hair. “She’s digging, honestly. That ex is ancient history. I mentioned her once when I was drunk last year and Lola hasn’t let it go.”

“Why’d you break up?” she asked. I let out a whistle, not quite expecting that question and trying to figure out how to answer.

“Difference in beliefs, mostly,” I said eventually, settling on the truth and trying not to cringe at her hard exhale.

“She thought being in a relationship meant we should be together every second of every day. Same friends, same plans, same hobbies. You lose yourself pretty quickly like that, you know? Started to feel a bit suffocating after a while, but she wasn’t interested in talking about it, so there wasn’t much left to do but part ways. ”

“That must have been hard,” she said, her brown eyes warm and soft in the morning light. “Dating in the industry is the exact opposite. No one ever sees each other, never has the same plans or is even in the same city. You get to keep yourself, but you lose the relationship.”

“There’s got to be a happy medium somewhere, don’t you think?”

“In a perfect world.”

“But not this one?”

“Remains to be seen.” For a second, her smile was enough to convince me this might be a perfect world after all.

“Willow,” I said, clenching my jaw while I mustered the courage to get the rest of the sentence out of my mouth. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but I have to ask. Is it serious with this bloke? The one you’re seeing?”