Page 6 of How to Flirt with a Witch

“Miss Alexander?”

I meet her eyes, and my heart does a backflip. “H-hi. Yes. Hi.”

“I’m Doctor Zacharias.” Her voice is a low purr, rumbling through me and down to my toes.

This woman… is going to make everything better.

This woman is also making my brain stall.

She oozes confidence, turning my knees to jelly as I look up at her. It’s hard to breathe as I take in her features—her light, freckled skin, arched eyebrows, straight nose, and God help me, her heart-shaped lips. Behind copper eyeshadow, her dark brown eyes seem to glow, pinning me in place, warning me to answer every question she asks. Her thick brown hair is swept deeply to one side, all the volume and length cascading over her left shoulder. A few small braids peek through the locks, woven with strands of green and yellow. I never thought side-swept hair would be my downfall, but that was before I met this woman side-sweeps were made for.

She turns to close the door, giving me half a second to compose myself.

Despite the maturity in her eyes, she must be only a couple of years older than me, maybe in her early twenties. How does a person become a vet so young? Shouldn’t she still be in school? Personally, I’m expecting to be in university for seven years before I can start my career as a psychologist.

I perch forward in the chair, suddenly invested in her life story. But as she looks at the kennel, I shake myself back to reality, remembering why I’m here.

“Thank you for waiting,” she murmurs.

“No problem.” My voice is muffled through the balaclava.

Oh God,I’m still wearing the balaclava and ski jacket in front of this gorgeous woman.

She leans down to peer into the crate. Lucy yowls and hisses, and the whole thing shakes as she lunges at the door. Her paw swipes through the grate, claws extended.

Doctor Zacharias doesn’t flinch. She just studies the kitten with a neutral expression. Either she’s seen this before or she’s really good at pretending this isn’t alarming. “Tell me what you’ve been experiencing since getting the cat.”

Interesting wording. Not “tell me the cat’s symptoms,” but rather, “tell me what you’ve been experiencing.” I think I’ve found the right person.

“It started when I adopted her four days ago…”

She lays the clipboard on the examination table, and with deft fingers, grabs the penlight from her breast pocket and shines it into the kennel. Lucy hisses.

Considering they called this roomquarantine, she’s dressed casually. No mask, no gloves. It’s comforting—like maybe I panicked too much.

Then Lucy makes a low, threatening growl, and that cold fear returns.

“Go on,” the vet says, her dark gaze flicking to me. The look both reassures me it’s safe to continue while giving me no choice.

“She’s been acting rabid, but it’s more than that.” It’s hard to look at someone so effortlessly gorgeous while I’m at my lowest, so I relay everything that’s happened to the tile floor, scorpion in my slipper and all.

I expect her to recoil or gasp, but her demeanor doesn’t change. “I see.”

Should I be reassured or annoyed by how calm she is? “Have… have you seen this before?”

“Maybe.” She clicks off the light and straightens up, facing me with crossed arms. “Where did you get her?”

I furrow my brow at her non-answer. “The shelter. Someone found her abandoned in a box outside an apartment building and brought her in.”

“Alone or with a litter?”

“Alone.”

“And out of all the cats at the shelter, why did you adopt this one?”

Another interesting question. “I… thought she was cute?”

“But what attracted you to her? Why did you get this cat in particular?”