Page 26 of How to Flirt with a Witch

“About that.” She picks up the psychology textbook I used as a weapon, looks at the cover, and places it back on my desk. “What, exactly, did you feel?”

I try to recall the sensations in my body when I saw the doll—the ones that strangely lined up with seeing Lucy at the shelter. “It’s like my heart jumps, and there’s a pull toward it, like I have to have it. I don’t know.” I try to find more words, but nothing comes. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Hm.” She picks up another textbook, and I clue in that she’s tidying up.

“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “I’ll clean up. Don’t worry about it.”

She gives me a look like, “Yeah, right,” and picks my lamp off the floor.

I hurry to help, going to the photos that fell off the shelf before she can get to them. She doesn’t need a tour of all the absurd selfies I’ve taken with Hazel and my sisters over the years.

We work in silence for a moment, the tension as thick as the dust settling over every surface. The idea of her picking up my personal belongings, touching the intimate pieces of my life, twists my stomach.

“Are you studying psychology because you’re good at reading people?” Natalie asks.

“Maybe. Friends have told me I’m good at listening. Good at empathizing.”

She sets the fallen candles on my desk. “Would you say you’re an empath?”

I lift a shoulder. I’ve used the word, but when a high school classmate once rolled her eyes at it, I stopped. “Maybe.”

She picks up one of the books that were in a neat stack beside the photos—a spicy romance novel with two women making out on the cover.

“I’ll—I’ll get those,” I splutter, snatching it out of her hand and stooping to collect the rest. My face is so hotI could cook an egg on it.

I feel her gaze on me for an unbearably long moment before she turns to fix my pillows.

And now she’s touching my bed.

Breathe, Katie.

“You say that word a lot,” Natalie says.

I fight to get my brain back on track. “What word?”

“Maybe. Like you’re afraid to commit to an answer.”

Oh, thank God, she’s moving on with the conversation without mentioning my smut pile.

“Well, I grew up with three opinionated sisters,” I say. “Life’s easier if I roll with things.”

She comes back to look at the photos I placed on the shelf, and there goes my plan to avoid that awkwardness. She moves close, the heat of her body tingling on my left side. There’s her scent again, comforting, almost woodsy, like cozying up in a cabin while it snows outside.

“Are you the eldest?” she asks, her voice rippling through me.

My mouth is dry. “Second-eldest.”

She studies a picture of my sisters and me with our arms over each other’s shoulders. It’s the least absurd photo, to my intense relief.

“That was at Alyssa’s bachelorette party last year. She’s the oldest.” I point to Alyssa in her white dress with the veil hairpiece. The rest of us are in little black dresses. As Natalie stares, I’m uncomfortably aware of how low-cut mine is. “Alyssa’s married now and trying to have a baby. Which is… soon, if you ask me. She’s twenty-three. But she’s been talking about babies for years, so…” I shrug. “And that’s Pearl—she’s finishing high school this year—and Nicky’s in Grade 10.”

Natalie’s eyes are soft and curious. “Who are you closest with?”

“Pearl and I were always a pair. Middle kids, I guess. But we all get along.”

My throat tightens as I talk about them. Pearl is the first person I tell about major life events. She was the first person I came out to in Grade 10.With her support and encouraging smile, I knew I’d be able to handle telling the rest of the family I was dating a girl.

As Natalie peers into my world, I’m hyper-aware of her—every fleck of dust clinging to her skin, the sheen of sweat on her neck, her slow, even breaths.