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EIGHTEEN

Thorn Scarhart, thirty-nine years old.

That was all the speed-dating organizers needed to know. And Thorn had made the cutoff age for women for this speed-dating lunch by the skin of her teeth.

“It’s infuriating that the cutoff age for men is fifty,” Meg said as she curled Thorn’s eyelashes.

It was day two of the makeover, and late that morning, Meg had stopped by the cottage after dropping her daughter off at art class.

“We’re in the twenty-first century! I have a mind to complain to the organizer— Thorn, stop moving or you’ll have your own eye for a potion ingredient—but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.

There are very few speed-dating groups for singles older than thirty.

Besides, this one’s meeting this afternoon, there are no Covenstead tours today, and the café they’re hosting it at is only a twenty-minute walk from here. There you go. You’re ready.”

Thorn looked at herself in her cell phone’s selfie camera and liked what she saw.

With dyed black hair and makeup, she did look more beautiful.

She could certainly pass for thirty-nine in this century, maybe even thirty-five.

Now, if at least one speed-dater who wasn’t a dick-pic-sender, nor a liar like Noah, nor a dine-and-dasher like Brad just ticked YES next to her name, the past two days of prodding and plucking and primping would be worth it.

Five minutes per man. Fifteen men. Fifteen chances for Thorn to make a good enough impression to secure a second date. The push-up bra that dug into her ribs gave her every right to count the five-minute chat as a first date.

Man number one was charming. He was forty-eight, a high school teacher, and he played the guitar.

Thorn was about to ask him if he liked ornery cats when the bell rang and he moved on to the next table and the next woman.

Thorn took the thirty-second interval before the next five-minute date began to tick YES next to his name on the paper with the list of male speed-daters.

By the third man, Thorn was quite tired of hearing herself ask, “So what do you do?,” tired of being asked the same question, and tired of repeating the answers that she had rehearsed with Meg.

“I’m a character performer specializing in role-playing witches.

Like zombies at horror houses or cartoon characters at theme parks.

” Thorn tried to sound as if it were her first time that day saying it.

And as if she weren’t totally perturbed that modern people liked to pretend to resurrect the dead and strap themselves into runaway train cars, yet frowned upon a bit of light soul-stealing.

By the fourth man, Thorn had completely forgotten the names, ages, and professions of the first three. And she forgot the fourth’s ten seconds after he told her. Her mind was like a beehive, buzzing and buzzing. But she held on to her smile for dear life and swatted away the bees.

“I like older women,” the fourth man said even though he looked to have also just made the cutoff age for men. He sipped his complimentary cappuccino. “They know what they want, they don’t play games, and they’re more experienced.”

Thorn supposed some of those statements were true, but she wasn’t very experienced in the romance department. “Well, I do know I want a man, I do say what I mean, and I am very experienced in tea making, potion brewing, and shoe curling.”

“And you’ve got a great sense of humor! Listen, I know the rule is that we’re supposed to wait until this is over and let the organizer text us to reveal if we’ve matched with any of our yeses, but would you like to come to my place for coffee afterward?”

Thorn looked down at her two empty cups. “But we’re already having coffee.”

The man laughed, but then realized she wasn’t joking.

“Do you really not know what I mean? I thought you were experienced. Well, then.” Without bothering to hide it from Thorn, he slid his form with the women’s names onto the table and wrote a big X next to Thorn Scarhart.

Then he moved on with their conversation.

It took thirty seconds for Thorn to recall that Meg had mentioned that having coffee or drinks had two meanings.

If it was an invitation between friends and colleagues and a place that served coffee or drinks was proposed, it was really just caffeine or alcohol.

If it was at the inviter’s home between two people who could be interested in each other, it was most likely coitus.

Thorn spent the next minute and thirty seconds reprimanding herself for her reaction, not wanting to look her date in the eye. Then the bell rang and the next man sat down in front of her.

Among the next eleven men, zero others volunteered that they appreciated older women. And zero asked her out for coffee afterward. But minus the not-really-coffee-lover who had X-ed her out, she still had fourteen chances left, and she ticked YES for all of them.

Later that afternoon, as Thorn trudged home, she was weary but hopeful and proud of her five-minute dates.

She had remembered to smile often, not curse even once, and engage in small talk.

At one point, she’d even covered her mouth while giggling.

And the makeover had made her quite beautiful, something she rarely said about herself.

“My derriere does look great in Jean’s dark blue pants,” she said as she passed by a reflective window.

As she was crossing the road back to the park, she received a text from the organizer. She read it and shrieked, stopping in the middle of the crosswalk. Cars honked at her.

“Hey, lady! The light’s turned!” a driver screamed.

She screamed back at him, “Three! THREE men said yes to me! Three!”

“Get off the road!”

She was so happy she didn’t even retort with a hex. Instead, she bounced merrily to the other side of the road. Waiting there for her was Bandit and a good dose of judgment.

Humans are the ones who need extra lives.

She scooped him up into her arms and twirled her way toward the cottage. “Don’t tell Madam Maude, but she’s right about not using potions to find true love!”

I’m going to barf.

“You’ll have a dad soon— Eww!”

I warned you.

Even a little cat puke on her new, fashionable pale-yellow blouse couldn’t dampen her spirits. As she made her way home, she couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear.

As the cottage came into view, she once again pictured coming home to lights in the windows.

Opening the door to someone saying, “Welcome home.” They’d have tea at the table and laugh as they talked into the night.

Of course, in her mind, this man’s face was a blank canvas.

Perhaps she’d soon be able to paint that canvas with the face of one of the three men from the speed date.

But another man was here before her in the flesh.

“Walls?”

He was kneeling on the porch, Pumpkin and Pepper at his feet and gobbling from cans. “Hey.”

At the sight of Bandit, Pepper fled around the side of the house. Pumpkin continued eating but kept his eye on the territorial cat. Then Bandit hissed, and Pumpkin dashed off.

Thorn sighed. “It’s two against one, Bandit. You’re lucky they’re not fighters.”

He leaped out of her arms and shamelessly purred as he rubbed himself against Walls’s legs.

“How lucky to be a cat,” Thorn said.

“I don’t know if you’d enjoy the tuna and beef liver.”

She stammered before making sense. “Right, right. Are you here for the TNR traps?”

“No. The group is setting those up elsewhere, and I thought I’d feed these two since I’m dropping by.”

Her phone rang. “Excuse me. Hello?”

“Hi, Thorn,” the man on the other line said. “It’s Brad.”

“Brad?” Forty-five-year-old marketing manager, no interest in being anything but a cat dad Brad?

“I’m sorry about how our date ended. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I was hoping you’d give me another chance.”

“But you ran off without even saying anything.”

“I had just never met anyone like you. And I’m not the most in touch with my own feelings. But this will be a funny story to tell our cats someday. How about you let me take you out on another date tonight?”

“We can’t go back to that same restaurant.”

“I understand. It must have been humiliating.”

“Yes, that. But also, I didn’t pay the bill.”

“I’ll make reservations somewhere else and text you the details.”

Once she hung up, she broke into a wide grin.

Witch, stop that. You’ll frighten him.

“I take it that was good news?” Walls asked.

“I got a second date! Well, it’s actually a one-and-a-half date, but it’s the furthest I’ve gotten on Darling. And three men at the speed dating said yes to me! Perhaps there’s hope.”

Careful. That happy jig might resurrect the dead.

She stilled her limbs. “Wait, Walls. You said you thought to feed the stray cats since you were already dropping by. Are you here for another reason?”

“Yes.” He stood, and Thorn nearly did a double take. She thought she had never seen a man so fine. “You.”

Thorn choked out, “Me?”

“I need you.”