Page 50 of A Witch in Notting Hill

Oliver

T he summer solstice was right around the corner, and every inch of London was alive.

The parks were green, filled with families on picnic blankets and lovers under trees and dogs running off lead; the pubs were overflowing long before the workday was over, and the sun beat down between bouts of lashing rain.

And Willow was still here.

Six months later—and probably even six minutes later—I could admit it might have been premature telling Willow I loved her.

I could have blamed it on the heat of the moment, the adrenaline, how badly I wanted her to stay, but the truth was, she made me brave.

Watching her open herself up to me, to the possibility of something more, watching her relearn the limits of her magic, do things she was afraid of, try and try again, it gave me the courage I needed to tell her how I felt, even if too soon.

It was true, and that was all that mattered.

And when she said it back, well, that didn’t hurt, either.

It took some time for her to work out what came next for her career, a lot of phone calls and emails and tears of all kinds, but after she confessed to feeling the same way, I had a bottomless well of patience. I’d have waited years, lifetimes, for her, and I knew how spoiled I was when she stayed.

She wasn’t ending her acting career, but she seemed impossibly relieved to be taking a much-needed hiatus. A break to sort herself out, focus on her magic, give herself time to grow in other ways.

Human Vera—who was lovely, if utterly terrifying—ended up taking on a smaller client part-time, allowing her some of the freedom she’d grown to love in her months as a cat.

Willow seemed happy for her about that decision, so I imagined it was the right one.

And the less guilt Willow had about the break in her career, the better.

“Ol, are you almost ready?” she asked, stumbling as she slid her shoe onto her foot in the doorway. “Lola is going to kill us if we’re late.”

“Lola’s always late,” I said, catching her and pulling her in for a kiss. She smiled against my lips before melting into me, moaning gently into my mouth when I wrapped her ponytail around my wrist.

“Oliver,” she protested, but the way she said my name only made me want her more. “The full moon festival waits for no one,” she said.

“It goes all night,” I mumbled against her. “It waits for everyone.”

“Keep arguing and—”

“And what?” I teased. “You’ll turn me into a cat?” She froze, mouth open in mock horror. “Too soon?”

“Too soon is your specialty.” She smiled, and it lit up her whole face. Hell, it lit up the whole flat. The full moon couldn’t hold a candle to her.

“You’re right,” I said. “And in that case, we better get our arses to the festival before I do something crazy like ask you to move in with me.”

She gasped. “Oliver—” she started, but her mouth turned from an O to a smile before I could say another word.

“Come on.” I pulled her by the hand toward the door, letting the question tag along for the night like a welcome third wheel. Maybe with enough moon water she’d say yes. “The full moon festival waits for no one.”