Page 62 of Charmed, I'm Sure
“Stand up,” I whisper-shout at him, trying and failing to make the smile disappear off my face.
“Doth must take thy cupcake as a sign of my affection,” he declares.
“You’re kidding me right now,” I hiss.
He doesn’t say a word, only continues to hold the cupcake like it’s a golden egg he found after traveling to a foreign land. He doesn’t even look up, and now people are stopping to stare at what is happening. I can feel my cheeks warming, but this time from embarrassment instead of anger. This isn’t good.
Snatching the cupcake from his hands, I can only pray that the shenanigans will end here, but knowing him, this is only the beginning of the longest night of my life.
He stands, a smile almost splitting his face, his eyes twinkling. I think I made his day, maybe his year. “The princess has accepted my prize,” he proclaims and people are cheering…my head swivels around and we are surrounded. People aren’t looking at me like I might hex them into an early grave. Instead they are staring with variations of adoration and love. What is happening?
Before I even have a chance to sling a hex or an insult, a group of fae children shriek with laughter as a pie at the contest table explodes into glitter. People cheer and someone sneezes glitter for what looks like an eternity.
“Guess the hexed pie,” Miles reads off the banner, eyes alight. “I want in on that.”
“Of course you do,” I sigh.
He grabs me by the arm and pulls me along. But for once, I don’t stop him.
He pushes us through the crowd, his excitement is vibrating through him, and I can feel it seeping into my skin. A small smile spreads across my face, one that thankfully he can’t see. When he reaches the front of the crowd, hemoves straight for the person taking sign-ups. No, we willnotbe doing this.
He eyes the table, full of excitement. He pulls me under his arm, as I lean away from him. The vampire running the eating contest flicks her eyes between the two of us, clearly questioning what is happening. “I’ll take two tickets for the next round.”
I shake my head. “No, you will not.”
He looks down at me, smile still permanently on his face. “Come on Trouble, don’t you want to guess which pie is fruit and which one is well…not?”
“Yeah, I’m good. I’ll watch you though.”
The contestants clear from the table and just like the dog he is, he bounds over, sliding down into the center chair like a child about to have a spaghetti dinner. He wraps the ugly, massive plastic bib around his neck as he licks his lips. The witches disperse the new rounds of pies on the table. They are far too gleeful for there to be any regular pies in this batch. If I had to put money on it, I would say they are all hexed to some degree.
Miles dives into the first pie in front of him, chewing excitedly as he ponders which pie it is. “This one’s got pecans. Pecan pie shouldn’t glitter. Rookie move.” He scoops another bite, as if he’s the judge on some dessert show and he has to make sure his selection is right.
I cross my arms, but my lip twitches as I hold back my smile. “You know you’re supposed to guess which pie is hexed, not demolish the pie like a starved wolf.”
“Gotta use all your senses, you know,” he replies. “Sight, smell, touch, taste, and…” he pauses dramatically, tapping his temple as he pulls the pumpkin pie towards him, “…pure instinct.”
Nyx sighs audibly as he walks over from wherever he’s been. With Miles deep into his pumpkin pie, Nyx says, “Your boyfriend’s instincts are telling him to eat pies without hesitation. He’s like a lost puppy.”
“He’s not my boyfriend, but that last part is accurate,” I mutter back, too fast and too defensively, because Mileschooses that moment to look at me. Dimples on full display as he winks at me.
The crowd’s watching him with interest, half-cheering him on as he makes his way down the line. He doesn’t care that there’s glitter on his chin, or that he has powdered sugar on his ruffled sleeve. He’s glowing. Radiant. Ridiculous. But what I hate more than anything, is that I can’t seem to look away.
I should be walking around checking the wards or at the very minimum checking for rowdy teens performing rituals. But no. I’m stuck here watching the most adorable wolf shove forkfuls of pie into his mouth like the world’s happiest idiot.
“Bellamy!” Miles exclaims suddenly, holding up a cherry pie like he solved a murder mystery. “This is it. This pie is hexed.”
I arch a brow. “And your expert reasoning is…”
He leans across the table, cupping his hand around his mouth, and says, “It tastes like love.”
The crowd swoons, literally swoons, and I want the ground to swallow me whole.
Nyx is cackling in my head. Lady Bandit chitters like she’s actually cheering him on. And me? I hate myself just a little because I’m smiling too.
Miles takes another triumphant bite, ripping the fork from his mouth with a flourish. His chest is puffed out, like the proud peacock he is. He opens his mouth, ready to proclaim his victory when there’s a boom.
The pie erupts into a spectacular burst of rainbow glitter. But not the chunky, easy to brush off kind, oh no. This is the ultra-fine, sticks-to-your-soul, will-still-be-there-when-you-die kind.