Page 8 of A Witch in Notting Hill

“Well, Oliver Hadley,” I started, and he turned to face me at the sound of his name. “It’s on the website,” I said with a shrug. “Can I trust you?”

“To be fair, would I say no if you couldn’t?”

“Do you want me to answer honestly?”

“I thought I made that obvious.”

Okay, so he was infuriating. Maybe I could get away with a half-truth. He didn’t know me, and I was literally an actor for a living. I could sell a half-truth better than anyone.

“I’m looking for something for my grandmother,” I said. “She’s turned her home nurse into a cat. And now she needs to figure out how to reverse the spell and turn her back.” Not bad.

Or so I thought, until what felt like an eternity went by and Oliver hadn’t so much as blinked.

“Hello?” I asked, reaching up and waving a hand in front of his eyes. “Anybody home?”

“You can’t be serious,” he said. Still no blinking.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your grandmother,” he said, so slowly it sounded like he was talking to a toddler, “turned her nurse... into a cat?”

“Is that not what I just said?”

“Willow, you can not be serious.”

“Did we not just establish I was serious? What’s happening here, exactly?”

He shook his head, and now it was my turn not to blink. “I just... I didn’t realize you believed in all this stuff.”

“This stuff ?” I asked. He gestured around the shop. “You mean the stuff your entire shop is built for? You don’t believe in it?”

“You do?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I said. “In case you’ve forgotten, this is only our second conversation, so you’re the only one to blame for whatever assumptions you’ve made about me.”

“You just don’t seem like the type.”

“Do you generalize all your customers?” I asked. “Or just the famous American ones?”

He ran a hand through his hair, and I tried to focus on being glad he was frustrated instead of being distracted by how good he looked. But with his hair on end like that, it was hard to ignore.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” he said, taking a step back. “Apologies.”

If he was backing down, I supposed it wouldn’t kill me to lower the guns, too. “You really don’t believe in it?”

“Nah, not a bit, if I’m honest. At least not anymore.”

“Then how’d you end up with the shop?”

“Dead uncle. How does anyone end up with a shop like this?”

His wry smile gave me permission to laugh, but that was the beginning and the end of my relief.

“But the website says you help people find books and things.”

“I don’t have to believe in witchcraft to read titles, Willow.”

“But you don’t believe in anything you’re selling.”

“That’s business, isn’t it?”

How could someone so cynical run a shop so charming? It must all have been his uncle’s doing, and he just kept the lights on. Still, if he had any connections that might be useful to me, I wasn’t ready to burn this bridge just yet.

“So are you going to help me or not?”

“I thought I was going to close up while you had a look around.”

“I’d be out of your hair faster if you gave me a hand.”

“Maybe I like you in my hair.”

I took a step back as harsh wind whipped the windows, rattling the candles perched in the sills and breaking our eye contact. Eye contact that was charged in a way I felt all the way to my toes. Tingling, warm, unfamiliar.

“Suit yourself.” I sighed, turning toward the stacks and trying to keep a level head. The cider swam in my veins, making it harder to ignore his presence. The fact he hadn’t moved, was tracking me with his eyes as I roamed the shop.

It didn’t take long to find Anthropomorphism tucked in between Zoomorphism and Chremamorphism, naturally, and I got to work exploring titles and tables of contents trying to find something about talking cats.

Without the other customers, it should have been easier to focus, but being alone with Oliver was arguably worse than being approached by fans.

“That’s popular,” he said after a while, nodding to the book I was holding called Alchemy of Anthropomorphism . “Have to restock it quite a bit.”

I turned it over in my hands, studying the back and the author’s promise to teach basic anthro spells to bring any household pet to life. Seemed as good a try as any. One thing I could check off my list, at least.

“What else does your grandmother need?” he asked, propping a broom up against a wall and crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t forget, we had a deal.”

“Three books, one question, I know,” I said. “Except you already knew the answer to the first question. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“If only,” he said, and smiled. Crooked, lazy. Irresistible. “Come on, then. I’ll give you that hand. Wesley can sweep when he gets in in the morning.”

“I’m sure he loves having you as a boss.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

My deep breath wasn’t enough to quell the electricity building in my chest, and when he leaned back and crossed his legs at the ankles, I fought to look away.

I felt the chilling spell coming back. I watched in horror as frost began its slow creep across the windows behind him, its freezing fingers reaching toward the frame. Shit.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he said, whether at my silence or the look on my face, I couldn’t tell.

Icicles began to drip from the brass curtain rods, leaving me scrambling to distract him before things got any worse and we had a full Elsa in the ice palace on our hands.

“All right, if you’re going to give me a hand, let’s do it, then.” I motioned for him to follow me into the stacks, hoping the ice would disappear in the time it took me to pick out a few books and get the hell out of there.

“Right.” He sighed. “Well, it looks like you’ve found how to make the cat talk, at least. Now what? We need to find something for your grandmother to be able to turn her back into a nurse?”

“Precisely.”

“Very well. Follow me.”

Instead of leading me to Reversals, Retractions, and Revocations, where I’d expected, he guided me toward his computer at the front desk.

“Don’t bother googling it,” I said. “I’ve already tried.”

“I’m not googling it,” he said, like I’d just told him not to bother flying to the moon. The audacity. “I’m searching our database.”