Page 5 of Love Spell (Witches of London #3)

“What’ll you have?” Timo asked, smiling, having passed Noah’s untouched beer down the bar, waiting eagerly for his return.

Timo should be with his team, now all settling at a table in the back, ordering food, all of it on Timo. He couldn’t be bothered to be the life of the party tonight, certainly couldn’t eat, not with these fire ants skipping across his skin.

He’d felt off all day after nightmares and failing to chase away the headache last night.

At least he’d slept, yet he didn’t feel like it.

Rattled and unfocused, thoughts circling back to Noah all day, ever since he’d run into his newest hire that morning.

What about Noah, though? It was as if he was trying to remember one of those dreams, something nagging, pressing, but what?

Now seeing him return to the bar, slide stiffly onto the barstool by Timo as if taking his place by a basket of snakes, inexplicably warmed Timo’s heart.

Not only warmed it; his heart was pounding to see Noah return to him.

No, only returning to the bar where Timo was, though it felt like returning to him, felt like Noah’s smile was just for him.

Wait, Noah hadn’t actually smiled. Timo couldn’t remember Noah ever smiling, though he must have at the interview.

Must be a beautiful smile too. Just look at those serious hazel-green eyes and pursed lips, brow creased with tension begging to be conquered; begging for the warm, humorous, clever Noah inside to break free.

Timo could be that freedom for him, his light, his protector, his family to share all: the older man with his newly awarded and cherished UK citizenship after years of fighting for it now perfectly placed to mentor another immigrant who reminded him of his past self.

Except that Noah didn’t remind Timo of himself.

Mere hours earlier Timo hadn’t even been able to remember his surname.

Should Timo even be here? Still off-colour, but what choice did he have? If Timo couldn’t get Noah drinking and drag personal information out of him, even walking away wouldn’t help because Timo would keep on wondering and these fire ants would burn him up.

Noah glanced at his smile and quickly away as if Timo had said something rude. Too much? But it was so good to see him after a ten-minute absence that felt like hours, Timo couldn’t help his own expression.

What the hell was going on?

“Um … Aperol spritz?” Noah made the drink request sound like asking permission.

What an idiot. Grow some, you little — Just look at him: strong but elegant, youthful but sharp, like the wolf of Timo’s surname’s sake. Perfectly natural for Noah to be uneasy about drinks with the boss. Intimidating people was one of Timo’s favourite hobbies. He need only switch it off for Noah.

“Great choice,” Timo said, consciously softening his smile for Noah, flicking his fingers for the barman. “I should have asked you before. Not a beer drinker? It’s not my top pick either.”

“Oh?” From staring at rows of sparkling glasses behind the bar, Noah glanced at him. “Yeah, I really don’t care for beer.”

“That’s fine. You can speak up, you know?” Timo gripped his own right wrist with his left hand to stop himself reaching out to run the backs of his fingers along Noah’s jaw. “I welcome all preferences.”

“Oh …”

“Aperol spritz, please. Two.”

The barman nodded and moved off.

“Even straights.” Timo rolled his eyes comically to the table with the rest of the team.

“Okay,” Noah said. “Look, uh, I’m sorry I wasn’t at my desk this morning when —”

“Noah, please …” Timo chuckled. “Think nothing of it. We’re not here to talk about work.”

“We’re not?”

“Well, if you like?” Timo opened his hands to show his own agreeability.

Noah shook his head like a rat trapped in a maze.

“Tell me about yourself,” Timo tried. “University in New York, right? Then study abroad in London? No family over here?”

Drinks arrived and Noah seized his for a grateful sip.

“Right, just me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be over here.

” He finally met Timo’s eyes for more than a second.

“I’m learning so much and I love it here.

I know Londoners couldn’t sleep at night if they didn’t get in a few digs about what a cesspit London is every day.

For me, though, it’s incredible. I can’t believe how the history and architecture are so taken for granted here by most people.

I really would like to stay on if, you know, if you think that could become possible with a long-term work visa? ”

“What do you like to do here?”

“Work? I hope I’m doing a good job for you.”

Was work all the kid could think about?

Timo took a drink and tried again. “What about friends? Seeing anyone? Do you have a partner here?”

“I don’t have time for that. I like my job, I like the challenge and learning —”

Christ, this guy had a one-track mind. Enthusiasm of youth?

“There must have been someone? You had a full year of university here, right? I bet you had plenty of your fellows chasing after you. Guys? Girls?” Gentle smile, doing his best to be light, swirl the drink, not too much staring.

“No, actually. I was a few years older than my classmates and I always felt like we had different priorities.”

Well, your priorities are sure as hell wearing me out.

Timo just wanted to know if Noah was gay or straight, while anything in between would be perfectly acceptable, but he was starting to bank on ace at this point — and wouldn’t that be a massive letdown for the world at large? Although mostly for Timo.

He cleared his throat. “What’s your favourite thing to do in London?”

“Museums, walking in the parks to clear my head, people-watching. Stumbling into arcane bits and bobs of the city that I’ve never seen before and spending hours down the rabbit hole of researching some random statue or hidden building that turns out to have a fascinating history.

” Noah trailed off and shrugged while Timo was still waiting, still hoping for more, for even a shred of common ground.

Museums were boring. Why would you walk when you could run? People were too stupid and annoying to sit around and watch. Who had time to research bloody statues?

More importantly, he hadn’t mentioned such items as, say, musical theatre, Fashion Week, retail therapy, night life, social life, or parades. Not that such things had to mean anything at all. But … yeah … Stereotypes sure were a time-saver.

After an uncomfortable pause, Noah asked tentatively, “How about you?”

“Me?”

“What do you … you know? Like to do to unwind?”

Ah, he was interested! He cared about Timo: Timo had him now, right where he wanted Noah.

Buoyed on a warm glow of satisfaction, Timo smiled at him.

Wedding or partnership? Open or closed? And did he want kids?

Ugh, Timo hoped he didn’t want kids. That seemed to be one of the “in” things these days, queers with kids, as if to prove a point.

Why anyone, anyone , would ever want a child attached to their lives forever was beyond Timo.

But if that was what Noah really wanted, well, one day?

No, he didn’t just … No.

What the fuck was happening? Forget food poisoning; was there a parasite burrowing in his brain?

A stroke? He’d heard people could have strokes and not know it.

He’d also heard a stroke could change your personality, that something could connect or disconnect in the brain and suddenly your friends and family didn’t recognise you.

Noah was waiting for him to answer, still tense, sipping his drink and glancing at Timo like someone unsure if the cat who’d climbed into his lap was a biter.

Museums and walks in the park? That was all? When Timo longed to know everything about this delicious specimen before him? Surely they could do better.

“Enough about me,” Timo said. “What part of the States are you from?”

Noah blinked, eyes tracking left and right. “You haven’t said anything about you.”

“Then we’re on the right track.” Timo laughed. “New York?”

“No …” Noah shifted in his seat. “I was in Brooklyn for college there before studying abroad. I’m from Alaska.”

“Really? The one we sold you lot?”

Another eye-darting moment; bewildered, seeking escape, Timo wasn’t sure. “Yeah … Although it was a bit before my time, you know, being 1867 when Russia sold Alaska.”

“For how much?”

“What?”

“You seem to know your history.” Timo grinned. “Just wondering.” He shrugged to show he was teasing, all light-hearted, no reason to look so terrified.

“Seven point two million dollars,” Noah said.

Timo cocked his head. “No shit?”

“Yeah. I thought you didn’t — never mind.” He finished his drink at a gulp.

Absently flicking his fingers for the barman again, Timo couldn’t take his eyes off the elegant profile.

Noah’s hair, always combed back neatly at work, was starting to tumble around his temples.

His ears, which Timo had never noticed before, were small enough that Timo could easily get his mouth around one.

He’d never had a thing for ears before. Still, the idea was intriguing.

“I didn’t what?” Timo asked after a mental ear nibble.

“Nothing.”

“Talk about Russia?”

Noah cast him a darting glance and away. He cleared his throat.

“What do they say about me? No, never mind. Changing the subject again. What do you read? Have a favourite novel?”

Noah choked, only for Timo to realise he was, in fact, laughing, though it was a rigid, unwilling laugh. He finished with coughs as the barman reached them.

“You like sweet cocktails?” Timo prompted his coughing companion.

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Noah wiped the corner of one streaming eye with a knuckle.

“Couple of hurricanes,” Timo told the barman while Noah shook his head.

“No, I’m not really —”

But the man was already gone.

“… much of a drinker,” Noah mumbled. “Kind of strong, aren’t they?”