Page 8 of Bewitched By the Siren (The Bewitching Hour #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Hali

God, why did I say yes to Brendan when he asked to make dinner for us? Stupid decision. I’m supposed to be keeping my distance, and the little tour I gave him today was supposed to get him off my back.

Surprisingly, though, I actually had a nice time with him today. And he didn’t once mention contracts or possible record deals. Of course, that doesn’t really matter, does it?

I know what he’s doing.

He’s trying to butter me up. He wants to play the whole getting-to-know-you game to try to show me I can trust him. That he’s on my side. But it doesn’t matter how nice or sincere Brendan is. It could be history’s greatest record deal, and I still couldn’t take it. It’s just not going to happen.

So why waste his time? And mine?

I sigh as I continue to search my closet for something to wear.

I know why I said yes. Because despite my initial annoyance, I’m starting to like him.

He showed the proper amount of respect and affection for my hometown, he nearly lost his shit with excitement at the thought of touring the Sea Turtle Center–– which melted my heart, of course––and he’s actually pretty easy to talk to.

And in addition to all that, he’s cooking for me, making something I’ve always wanted to try but never had the chance to.

There’s no harm in going, right? For the tacos, of course. Nothing else.

I decide on a pair of dark jeans with a white flowy top. Casual, but not too casual. And it doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard. God, why is this so complicated? Brendan is a friend. No, that’s not right. Acquaintance? Hell, I don’t know exactly what he is to me at this point.

Maybe I should just make up some excuse to stay home.

“Hali? Are you going out?”

Mom’s voice rings out from her bedroom, and I take one last look in the mirror before sighing, grabbing my sandals, and shuffling toward her room to let her know what the plan is for tonight.

I can’t actually cancel at this point, anyway.

Brendan’s probably almost done making the food.

It would be extremely rude to bow out. And I really want to try those tacos.

“Oh, wow. You look incredible,” Mom says as soon as I enter her line of sight.

“It’s just jeans and a top, Mom,” I grumble, upset that maybe I do look like I tried too hard.

Ignoring my words, she cocks her head. “You have plans tonight?”

I blow out along breath and plop into the chair beside her bed so I can strap on my sandals while I explain. “The guy I told you about, the one renting the house next door?”

“Yeah,” she says slowly, her eyes searching mine. “You had a good time with him today, right?”

“Sure,” I say in a tone much more nonchalant than I’m actually feeling. “Well, he’s actually a talent agent. He wants to sign me. I told him I’m not interested in any contracts, but he wooed me with fish tacos, so I agreed to have dinner with him.”

“He’s cooking?”

“That’s all you have to say?” I counter, arching a brow.

She goes quiet for a moment, then gives me a small smile. “If you’re interested in taking a deal, you should go for it. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine. You’re so talented, Hals. You should share that talent with the world.”

“We both know why people love my music, Mom.”

My tone is impatient. This is an old argument. One she’ll never win.

“You’re selling yourself short. Even if you kept the necklace on, people would love you, honey,” she says.

Right on cue.

I sigh. “You have to say that because you’re my mom.”

“Of course, I do. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

I shake my head and push myself to my feet. I’m not getting into this with her again. Even if she’s right, and I could make it without using my siren gift, I’m never leaving her.

“I’d better get going. Don’t want to be late,” I say, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

“Have fun,” she says. “Text me if you’re going to stay the night.”

“Mom,” I chide, my cheeks heating, but she just laughs.

I shake my head at her, then give her a little wave before leaving the room.

Grabbing my phone and keys, I step out onto my porch and lock the door behind me.

There’s not really much crime on Circe Key, especially in the off-season, but I’m not taking any chances with Mom being here alone and unable to defend herself.

I take a couple of deep breaths, letting them out slowly to calm the jitters. I feel a bit ridiculous for being nervous. This isn’t a date, but if it were, it would be my first one in, well, forever. A couple of years, at least.

It’s hard to get close to people when you’re clinging tightly to a huge, life-altering secret.

I climb up the steps to Brendan’s porch, and the door opens before I even knock. He hits me with a wide smile that makes my breath catch in my throat, and I smile back to cover my reaction.

“Thank you for coming,” he says, stepping aside and stretching out an arm. “Come on in.”

Holy shit, it smells good in here. My stomach grumbles, and my mouth fills with saliva. I swallow quickly as I follow him into the small eat-in kitchen.

I take a seat at the table while Brendan opens two beers, pops a lime wedge into both, and coats the mouth of each bottle with salt.

He walks over and sets them on the table, and I pick mine up and take a long swig as he grabs two plates filled with tacos.

He sets one in front of me with a flourish, then takes his own seat and picks up his beer.

“This looks and smells amazing,” I say.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice humble. “I hope they taste as good as they smell.”

“Only one way to find out,” I say with a grin as I pick up one of the tacos from my plate.

He follows suit, holding his in the air while saying, “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” I repeat, then take a big bite.

Oh, my God. My eyes roll back in pleasure as the flavors burst on my tongue. This is no basic fish taco. This is…art. Pure, inspired art.

“Good?” Brendan asks with a chuckle when he finishes chewing his bite and swallows.

I nod. “I think you missed your calling, becoming a talent agent. You should’ve been a chef.”

“High praise, indeed,” he says, taking another drink of his beer. “I do love to cook, but doing what you love doesn’t always pay the bills.”

“Chefs can make good money,” I counter before shoving what’s left of the taco into my mouth.

“That’s true,” he says. “But I was already working as an agent when I discovered my love for cooking. It’s just a hobby, really.”

I just nod, deciding not to push it. He could argue that I love to sing, and I should be pursuing that career, and I really don’t want to argue with him right now. I’m enjoying some great food, good beer, and though I’m loathe to admit, excellent company. I don’t want to ruin that.

The beer and tacos loosen us both up, and when we finish eating, we decide to sit out on his back deck, listening to the waves as we chat about…everything. His life in L.A. Mine here. Our hobbies. Our pet peeves.

“So, what’s your family like?” he asks after finishing a hilarious story about his dad mowing his lawn in his underwear.

My body goes tense. I haven’t mentioned my mom to him. Not her illness. Certainly not the fact that I was “adopted.”

And I’m not ready to talk about her with him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“It’s getting late. I should probably go,” I say, rising out of the chair and offering him my empty beer bottle.

I don’t give him a chance to argue. With a wave and one final thanks for dinner, I jog down the steps and march toward my house. I don’t look back. I don’t want to see his confusion or his disappointment.

We had a surprisingly wonderful time together, and if I just ruined it all, I don’t want to know.

And if my suddenly cold shoulder makes him realize he doesn’t have a shot with me, either personally or professionally, that’s a good thing, right?

He can just grab a flight back home and forget he’s ever even heard of me.

Yeah. It’s a good thing. Definitely.