Page 31 of A Witch in Notting Hill

Willow

I was awake before my alarm, which made me think I hadn’t really slept in the first place. Maybe because I was nervous about today. Or maybe because I couldn’t stop thinking about Oliver. At all. For even a minute. No matter how hard I tried.

The sun wasn’t even contemplating rising yet, and Vera and I were headed to the Heath for the Ritualistic Restoration Cleansing.

Which I’d since learned needed to be completed in the dark and with as little clothing as possible.

Nudity was preferred, but not required. For maximum contact with the water.

.. or something like that. Because of course.

What would my life be if anything was ever normal?

We opted for early in the morning instead of late at night to reduce the likelihood of being arrested for swimming in the ponds outside of guarded hours, and early morning in London in October was... freezing.

Bone-chillingly cold even on dry land with a coat on. It did not bode well for being in the pond in what felt like the world’s tiniest swimsuit. Though Oliver assured me people swam in the ponds year-round, and so long as I had the proper recovery plan when I got out, I’d be just fine.

At the exact moment I thought of him, my phone buzzed with a text.

Oliver: See everyone at the Heath in 30. Do we have everything we need?

Lola: towels: check.

Minho: Hot tea ??

Oliver: Grand. And I’ve got a couple heavy sweaters. Willow, you ready?

Me: Hardly. Have you been outside yet today?

Oliver: We’ll have you warmed up in no time.

Little did he know, he’d been warming me up since the first time I set foot in the shop. At least now I’d have something else to blame my flushed cheeks on.

At this hour, Hampstead Heath was quiet. Tranquil. The swimming ponds and the changing meadows were empty, and a haunting wind curled through the trees.

“This would be creepy if it wasn’t so chic,” Vera said, climbing out of the carrier as I set her down. “But I have to admit, I do see why women have been bathing in these ponds for generations. Very Victorian. High class. Women in LA would eat this up.”

“Easy for you to say when you aren’t the one who actually has to get in there,” I said.

“Have you forgotten I couldn’t speak for a few days? Nothing’s easy for me to say. I’m a cat, Willow.”

“And yet, you seem to be yapping just fine.”

“Just wait until Oliver gets here. If you think this is yapping...”

“Thank god he can’t hear you,” I said.

“I’d give him quite an earful if he could.”

“My point exactly.”

“I’m going to stretch my legs. I’ll be back when it’s time for the ritual.”

“How will you know?”

“I can hear twice as well now, remember? And you’re the only people in the whole park. I’ll know.” And with that, she scampered off beyond the tree line, leaving me alone in the cool quiet of the morning.

While it might have been nice to have been alone for a moment, I needed the distraction of Vera more than anything else.

This felt like part of the quest I could have done without the others, and the more I thought about it, the more nervous I was for them to show up.

Did they really need to watch me take a freezing swim in a tiny bikini?

Maybe they’d occupy themselves with something else until I was done. Like Vera. Or like a sunrise walk in the park.

Either way, as I stood there looking at my reflection in the darkness of the water, I realized how much I’d changed.

Not a stitch of makeup, natural hair tumbling down my shoulders, unassuming black puffer coat. I could have been anybody. And it felt good.

For a second, it felt like that anybody could have been someone who lived here.

Away from the hustle of Hollywood, away from the never-ending social calendar and the constant demands and the toxicity of the industry.

Someone who took morning swims in the Heath, who wandered the streets of Notting Hill in the fall, who had friends and plans and a life. A normal life.

Someone who had a relationship.

The kind that worked. The real kind.

My reverie was cut short by the sound of voices, familiar voices, cutting through the silence. Light bickering, low laughter, chattering teeth.

“Willow, is that you?” Lola whispered as they rounded a corner, squinting her eyes and leaning in a little.

“No, it’s another insane person getting ready for a freezing cold swim at the crack of dawn. Of course it’s me.” The other two came into view, as did Vera, and I held my breath.

“Holy shit.” Lola jumped when she clocked Vera at her feet. “Is that a black cat? That’s bad luck, isn’t it?”

“It’s not bad luck,” I said. “It’s just... Vera.”

“Vera?”

“My manager. The one who . . . uh . . . used to be a person.”

Silence. Wide-eyed looks. Raised eyebrows. More silence.

“Someone please say something before I jump into the water and never come out,” I said, but immediately changed my mind. “You know what, actually, nobody say anything at all. Just pretend she isn’t here.” Vera shot me a look I chose to ignore. “It’s fine, just... forget I said anything.”

“No, no,” Min said, finally springing to life. “It’s, er, it’s nice to meet you, Vera.” He looked down at her, and she looked up at him, both of them wearing matching bewildered expressions. Oliver cleared his throat, and I tried to ignore that, too.

“Does she speak?” Lola asked, cocking her head to the side.

“I . . . uh . . . I’m the only one who can understand her,” I said.

“Bummer,” Lola said. “She’s gorgeous, by the way.”

If cats could blush.

I looked up at Oliver, watching as he kicked a pebble into the pond and followed its path with his gaze, looking anywhere but at the scene unfolding in front of him.

Another reminder he’d never believe in any of this, which should have been reason enough to stay away.

But when he pushed a stray curl behind his ear and finally turned to face me, I forgot every reason entirely.

“What d’you say, Willow? Time for a ritual?”

To say the water was cold would be an understatement. To say it was freezing, even, wouldn’t cut it. To say it felt like a million tiny knives cutting into my skin and stealing every ounce of air from my lungs... that was more like it.

“I can’t do this,” I said, stepping back up on the ladder and pulling my body out. “I can’t. It’s too cold.”

“Isn’t everyone in LA doing a cold plunge right now?” Lola asked. “I just watched a TikTok about it.”

“In a spa,” I said, teeth clacking. “With a sauna and a green juice and they only go in for a minute. I have to do a whole ritual in there!”

“Do you have a choice?” Minho asked. “I don’t mean to be tough, but you kind of have to do it, right?”

Right. But that didn’t make it any easier.

“Yeah, but what good am I if I die of hypothermia?”

“No one’s dying,” Oliver said, springing into action.

“Min, Lo, give us a minute, will you?” What was he doing?

The last thing I needed when I was trying to steady my breathing was Oliver Hadley in my space.

But Min and Lo immediately backed off, retreating to a clearing under the trees with Vera, leaving me and Oliver alone at the edge of the pond.

“Breathe,” he said, voice level.

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” I managed a few shaky inhales and exhales, but my lower body wasn’t adjusting to the temperature.

If anything, it was getting colder. “With me.” He grabbed my face in both hands, locking our gazes.

“Inhale,” he said, making a show of taking a deep breath.

“And exhale.” My lungs emptied in one fast whoosh , and his lips curled into a slow smile. “Again.”

I followed his instructions, syncing our breathing and trying not to crumble under the weight of his touch. “You can do this, Willow.”

I shook my head, terrified to put the rest of my body back in the water.

“All right,” he said, standing from where he was crouched and grabbing the hem of his sweater.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting in with you.”

“Oliver, wh—”

“Don’t argue.”

Fortunately, watching him pull his sweater over his head to reveal his bare chest left me speechless, anyway.

I studied the cut of the muscles that carved neat lines across his body, the gold Star of David pendant twinkling on the end of a thin chain, the smattering of dark hair that covered otherwise smooth skin, trailing down his stomach and into his jeans, which were. .. also coming off.

“Oliver,” I said again.

“Willow.” He slid off his boots, then his jeans, standing in front of me in only a pair of boxer briefs. “Move over.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because that would mean I’d have to put my whole body in.”

“Sometimes the best thing to do is just go for it,” he said, stretching his long arms above his head.

“Why do I get the feeling you aren’t talking about swimming?”

“Because I’m not.”

He splashed in beside me before I had a chance to respond. A perfect dive. When he resurfaced, he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me under.

My scream was muffled by the water, turning to a steady stream of bubbles as I came up for air.

I turned in a frantic half circle to look for him, equally relieved and panicked to find him so close.

A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed my suspicions: Minho and Lola were still giving us privacy, talking quietly with their heads bent together, far from where we were.

“Right, then.” He smiled, pushing a soaking-wet lock of hair from my eyes and letting his hand linger on my jaw. “Are we ready to do the ritual?”

“Who’s we?”

“ We is you and me. I’m going to do the ritual with you.”

“But you don’t believe in it.”

“I’m not the one who has to believe in it.

” He floated closer, and cold as I was, I could still feel the warmth of his body.

He wasn’t shivering at all. No chattering teeth.

No pale lips. Just flushed cheeks and droplets of water sitting on his long lashes like diamonds.

“Come on, Willow. We’re freezing. And we have to just go for it, remember? ”