Page 5 of A Witch in Notting Hill

Willow

L ife as an actor and a witch was unpredictable.

I’d gotten used to that. I learned never to settle, never to get too comfortable, never to think life couldn’t turn around and shock me at any moment.

So you’d think I’d have been prepared for the man working at Coven & Codex to be so gorgeous that I exploded a damn lightbulb just by being in his shop, but alas. Somehow, I was still surprised.

I mean, seriously, what the hell happened in there?

Had it really been so long since I’d been with anyone that just the sight of an attractive man had me short-circuiting the electricity and slamming doors, for god’s sake?

Though I wasn’t even sure “attractive” did him justice.

Heart-stopping, more like. Jaw-dropping.

The kind of good-looking that made you wonder if you were dreaming, or hallucinating, or if that tingle low in your stomach was real, and if so, it was highly inappropriate for a bookshop at this hour.

Had I not caused a scene almost immediately after I walked in, I probably could have done a better job searching the place.

Instead, I panicked that I was going to be recognized, then panicked at the sight of the man—his rolled sleeves, his corded forearms—then panicked at the explosion and my embarrassment and the undeniable electricity racing through my veins, then ran out of the shop before I could make things worse. Crushed it, honestly.

When I woke up this morning, his deep voice was still rumbling in my chest, and his dark curls and the freckles high on his cheeks made me almost forget the reason I had been in the shop in the first place.

They weren’t quite enough to soften the blow of not having found a single thing about accidental spells that turned people into cats, but they did slightly soften the blow of having to go back and try again.

Only this time, I hoped to be less embarrassing. And I hoped to actually find what I’d been looking for.

Maybe I hadn’t had any luck the first time because I didn’t have a clear head.

I’d gone straight from a transatlantic flight to a bookshop in a foreign country recommended by my late grandmother, so it wasn’t surprising I didn’t find anything.

I barely had any idea what I was looking for.

No plan, no ideas, just vibes. And not even good ones.

Tomorrow, I’d have a plan.

Which meant today I had to make said plan. And clear my head. And not necessarily in that order.

At home in California, I always did my best thinking outside.

The sun was always shining, the temperature comfortably in the seventies, the light breeze from the ocean just enough to cut through the humidity and ruffle my hair in a way that made me grateful to be alive.

Like most of the population of SoCal, I subscribed to the belief system that the answers to most of life’s questions could be found in the fresh air.

“All right, Vera. Time to seize the day.” I nestled her into her carrier, tossed the essentials into a canvas tote, slipped on my standard-issue Hollywood actor sunglasses, and left the hotel room in favor of Hyde Park.

What we were met with the second we stepped out of the hotel, however, was not the fresh air I’d been so desperately hoping for. It was a wall of rain. Sideways, lashing rain that instantly soaked you through to the bone.

Having been living in California for so long, I’d forgotten the importance of checking the Weather app before leaving the house. A fact that now made me feel painfully naive, in addition to disappointed. So much for my thinking.

“Forgetting something, are you?” the doorman asked, watching me watch the rain and holding out a flimsy umbrella. “Proper bucketing down out there.”

“I was hoping to spend the day in Hyde Park,” I said with a laugh, though it wasn’t really funny. “Should have checked the forecast.”

“Ah, yes, won’t be enjoying much of a park day, I’m afraid. Won’t be needing those, either.” He tapped the arm of my sunglasses, and I tried not to be mortified at how stupid I probably looked. It was doubtful this older English gentleman would recognize me, but I couldn’t be too careful.

“Old habits,” I said, knowing it didn’t actually mean anything and hoping he didn’t press it.

“Well, if you need a recommendation for a plan B, might I suggest the Princeton Arms down the road, there? Quite a short walk and the tea is lovely. Would be a nice place to hide out from the weather.”

I stared down the road, considering his suggestion.

I didn’t have a plan B, and hiding out in a pub did sound nice.

It wasn’t exactly soaking in the sun, but I was in London, so it was time to adjust my expectations.

People had been doing some of their best thinking in pubs since the dawn of time—weren’t all the best poets and writers doing all their work in places like these?

“That sounds perfect,” I said, trying not to sound resigned. “Thank you.”

“Right, then. Off you go.” He smiled, handing me the umbrella and ushering me into the elements before I could change my mind. Which was for the best, since I definitely would have had I watched the rain a second longer.

I hustled down the cobbled sidewalk, trying to keep both Vera and myself under the cheap umbrella and out of the direct path of the screaming wind. Fortunately, the Adams Arms really was only a short walk away, and we were stumbling through the door and into the warmth before I knew it.

“Oi, hello there,” the bartender said, likely shocked by the force with which we crashed through the door.

“Hello, hi, sorry for all of that,” I said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of my entrance.

“That’s quite all right.” She offered a warm smile. “What can I do for you... two?” She peered over the bar and into Vera’s carrier, cocking her head to the side. “Who do we have here?”

“Oh, that’s Vera,” I said. “Is that okay that she’s here? Sorry, she’s my, uh, emotional support cat. But I can—”

“Nonsense,” she said. “Welcome in, Vera. Nice name for a cat, that. Bit regal, isn’t it?”

That would be because it’s a name for a person.

“And you are?” she continued.

“Willow,” I said without thinking. “Willow Jones.” Terrible save.

“Well, welcome in to you, too, Willow Jones. Do make yourself at home.” Another weird look at the sunglasses. “Have a browse at our menu here and let me know what you’d like. I’m Gloria.”

“Thank you, Gloria.”

I looked around the pub as she busied herself cleaning glassware.

It seemed to be a safe place to shed my disguise.

Or at the very least the ridiculous sunglasses.

I’d colored my hair a deeper shade of red in the hotel bathroom as soon as we arrived in a desperate attempt to further hide my identity, and I could only hope it would work the way I’d imagined it would when I was elbow deep in the drugstore dye I’d grabbed on the way to the hotel

The only other patrons were an elderly man and a young couple, but they were far too busy feeding each other fries and sharing a pint they likely weren’t old enough to drink to pay attention to the soggy American at the bar.

After storing my sunglasses in my bag, I opened the menu in front of my face and tried to keep my gaze low, but I was relieved to be able to finally see.

The pub was dimly lit in a way that was cozy instead of depressing, with sconces lining the walls and candles flickering on the high-top tables.

The pattern on the carpet clashed with that of the wallpaper so badly it somehow circled back to charming, and it made me think of my grandmother.

She would have loved it here. Hell, maybe she’d even been here.

After all, it wasn’t far from Coven & Codex, and she did love a good pint.

“What’ll it be, love?”

“A cheese toastie, please. And an English breakfast tea,” I said, closing the menu and glancing down at Vera. “And a small piece of fish? If that’s possible. Just one is fine, whatever you have.”

“Coming right up.” She smiled and collected the menu, leaving me to my afternoon.

I unpacked my journal and my iPad from my tote, determined to search the virtual stacks before I searched the physical ones so that I wouldn’t be so lost when I mustered the courage to go back.

The only problem was I hardly knew where to begin.

I tried vague phrases like “shape-shifting reversal” and “how to undo a shape-shifting spell,” bookmarking tabs for books titled The Challenging Art of Changing Forms and There and Back Again.

Though if they were anything like my initial internet search, they would more than likely tell me I would need to know how I did the spell in the first place in order to reverse it.

There was a tab on the Coven & Codex website titled Special Requests, and a quick scan of the page informed me that the owner, Oliver Hadley, would help customers “locate and procure unique titles, antique volumes, and any additional curiosities.”

Oliver Hadley. Did he count as additional curiosities?

Before I could dive any deeper down that dangerous, highly unnecessary rabbit hole, the bartender returned with the most beautiful, gluttonous sandwich I’d ever seen.

Cheese oozed from all sides of the thick-cut bread, and a pile of French fries— chips —overtook every spare inch of the plate.

Yes. This was perfect. What better than melted cheese and greasy fries to get my mind off a man?

And since Vera was a cat at the moment, that meant she couldn’t give me a hard time about not eating enough protein. So far, it was the only upside to this whole debacle, and I felt guilty for even thinking it. But I thought it nonetheless.

As she delicately tore through a flaky piece of white fish from the comfort of her carrier, I continued scrolling my iPad with greasy fingers, studying the sections of the bookshop, the featured titles, and the bottomless depths of the internet for guidance, before finding the first thing that actually seemed to hold some promise: a section on Coven & Codex’s website called Reversals, Retractions, and Revocations.

Maybe there was hope after all.

I wiped my hands clean, prepared to do a deep dive of the section’s contents in the hope of not having to do it in the store. The less time I spent in there the better, for more reasons than one.

Only my research was quickly interrupted by the sound of the bells over the door, followed by a low voice with a posh English accent I was certain I’d heard before.

“All right, Gloria?”

“Ah, Oliver, dear. A pleasant surprise. Do come in.” Gloria gestured to a seat beside me at the bar, and the last bite of my toastie lodged itself in my throat. This couldn’t be happening.

“I’ll just be a minute there,” he said. “Going to pop ’round back and find Greg for a smoke.”

She nodded, and I thanked whatever higher power was out there for granting me a few precious minutes to get myself together and get the hell out before he saw me.

Why does this matter so much to me? Perhaps because I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself.

Perhaps because I had grease dripping down my wrists and bags under my eyes the size of Texas.

Perhaps because the last time I saw him I exploded a lightbulb and I wasn’t exactly keen on making another scene.

It didn’t matter. What did matter was that I knew I wasn’t ready for another run-in. It was time to go.

Once he was safely out of earshot, I dropped more pounds than were necessary on the bar, thanked Gloria, assured her I didn’t need the change, and headed for the door.

“Have you been in before, love?” she asked before I was safely over the threshold. Damn it. “Sorry to stop you there, it’s just you seem so familiar, and I hadn’t noticed it before.”

She’d been so kind, I hated to lie, but I wasn’t interested in being recognized by anyone else, especially with Oliver headed back into the pub any minute, so I did what I always did in these scenarios: kept it vague and extricated myself, pronto.

“I get that a lot.” I smiled. “Must just have one of those faces. Thanks again.” I didn’t leave her time to say anything else, though I could tell she wanted to.

If I was almost outed by the bartender in a hole-in-the-wall pub, I feared removing my disguise at all was going to be even harder than I thought.

Despite the unexpected intrusion, I’d still managed to mark a few titles and to learn a little more about Coven & Codex and its services, not to mention the impossibly delicious sandwich and the fish for Vera, so this was still a productive afternoon.

And when I went back into Coven & Codex tomorrow, I would do it with a little more optimism and refreshed resolve.