Page 13 of Witch You Would

Not only was I partnered with Leandro “Spell Disaster” Presto, I was supposed to flirt with him, too. How was this my life?

Before we’d met, the idea of faking feels for him would have been ridiculous. Even now, the whole situation gave me stress

giggles and stomach acid. My brain was popping out catastrophes faster than his spell had made candy hearts. But talking with

him had helped; the more I got to know him, the easier it would hopefully be.

Back at our hotel, I ran upstairs to get my backpack full of random stuff I might need: tools, change of clothes, hand sanitizer,

breath mints, tissues... mom purse stuff. Today’s work apron went inside, too.

Breakfast was served in the restaurant-slash-bar, which was rainforest chic like the rest of the hotel.

Fake branches and palm fronds hung from the ceiling, with slowly spinning fans that felt decorative since the AC was doing all the work.

A mirrored wall of bottles sat behind the bar counter—why did every bar do this?

—and a dozen square tables full of people were crammed together, too close to be ADA compliant.

Two long tables at the other end of the room held covered serving dishes, tiers of sliced fruit and pastelitos, rows of roll-sized Cuban bread, and a bunch of other stuff.

Hurricane Film Crew had trashed most of it.

I shoved three pieces of cheese directly into my mouth, then wrapped a couple of pastelitos and bread in a napkin to take

with me. Hopefully there would be more snacks in the greenroom.

Leandro wandered up. “The next van is coming in about ten minutes.”

His shirt today was, as always, an experience. The lavender fabric looked silky, with a button-down front and collar, and

long sleeves he’d rolled up to show off his surprisingly muscular forearms. Profiles of large yellow and black long-stemmed

flowers were interspersed with swirls of smaller black leaves and floral patterns, plus random yellow buds and blossoms.

As soon as I saw it earlier, I’d known what apron I’d wear today. I could have gone out of my way not to coordinate, but that

felt petty. We were a team. And we had a vibe to put out, apparently.

We sat in the lobby to wait. Leandro watched me stuff food in my face while fiddling with the zippers on his backpack. Zip,

unzip. Zip, unzip. Was he nervous? I guess he wasn’t used to being on a big TV show, either. Especially not a competition.

Or maybe it was the flirting thing?

I wanted to say something comforting, but I had nothing. Nada. The more I ate, the sicker I felt.

Leandro left and came back with two travel cups of coffee, putting one on the table in front of me. He hadn’t asked how I

wanted it, and I didn’t want to risk opening it to check. I smiled on the outside and armored up inside before taking a sip.

It was perfect. Milky and with enough sugar to give me instant cavities. What? How?

My face must have done something weird because Leandro asked, “Sorry, is it okay? I can—”

“It’s good. Great. Thank you.” Mm, sweet caffeine.

He relaxed and drank his own coffee. The silence got uncomfortable.

“Do you like sugar?” I asked, pointing at his cup.

“Nah, I got used to drinking it black in grad school.”

The idea of Leandro Presto going to college would never have occurred to me in a million years. I’d assumed he was mostly

self-taught, like me.

I yeeted my feelings of educational inadequacy into the sun. “Where did you go to school? What did you study?”

He cupped a hand around his mouth and whispered, “I could tell you, but then I’d have to curse you.”

Paranoid much? “Sorry, I didn’t know it was a secret.”

“It’s fine, I just try to keep stuff private.”

“Don’t want fangirls showing up at your house?”

Leandro winced and looked down at the table. “You’d be surprised how weird some people can get.”

“Really?”

“The first time someone handed me her underwear, I dropped them like they were on fire.”

“It’s happened more than once?”

His mustache twitched as he made a stinky-smell face. “Three times. At least cookies I can share.”

Poor little popular boy, such a hard life. Okay, I needed to stop having bitch-eating-crackers reactions to him. Positive

Penelope mode, on!

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I promise I won’t be weird. I mean, I’ll be normal weird. Cool weird.”

“Flaming-llama-hearts weird?”

“Exactly! Here, look.” I pulled out today’s apron. This one was purple, covered in cartoony black cats with yellow eyes doing

cute magic things. Some peeked out of cauldrons, others played with wisps of magic, and some hung from the handles of broomsticks

like the kitten in that inspirational poster. I’d worn a black shirt, figuring it was neutral enough to make wardrobe happy,

so the apron wouldn’t clash.

Leandro looked at his shirt, looked at my apron, and smiled at me like I’d given him a present. My face warmed up as I smiled

back. I wasn’t going to give him my underwear anytime soon, but I could admit he was cute. To myself. Privately.

“That is definitely cool weird.” His smile faded, and he moved to sit next to me, lowering his voice. “Before we start today,

should we, um, set boundaries? So we don’t cross any lines and make each other uncomfortable.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure.” He sipped his coffee. “No wedgies? No whipped cream fights? No sharing a plate of spaghetti and slurping up

the same noodle?”

“Definitely none of those things,” I said. “Honestly, what even is flirting? I’m trying to think of how it usually works in

movies and TV shows, and my brain is empty.”

“No real-life experience to use?” Leandro asked. “Not trying to be chismoso, just wondering.”

“I don’t really date.” I stared down at my sneakers. “Sometimes I go out dancing with friends, or have a few drinks at karaoke

night, but the rest of the time I’m working, or, um . . .” My face felt warm.

“‘Um’?”

“Don’t judge me. I read, mostly books on magic theory, whatever I can get at the library. I watch documentaries, and Cast Judgment , obviously.” Did I want to tell him about my abuela’s spellbook? Not yet. Too personal. “There’s also this blog I like that

gives spell advice and recipes, a local guy runs it. It’s pretty cool.”

Leandro choked on his coffee and started coughing. I put down my drink and slapped him on the back a few times, until he waved

at me to stop.

“I’m good,” he wheezed. “Went down the wrong way.”

“That happens to me a lot.” Also I sometimes missed my mouth and spilled water down my shirt. Like a boss.

“So you don’t have mad flirt skills,” he said finally. “Me either. Maybe we should practice?”

I’d known he was probably faking being a himbo, but every time he said something reasonable, it still surprised me.

“Practice is good,” I said. “We need to get comfortable, like... looking flirty? Touching each other? Not inappropriately,

just, you know, being in each other’s personal space?” I was suddenly extremely aware of how close we were sitting, the smell

of his... aftershave? Cologne? Deodorant? I had a good nose—helpful for a spell technician—and I could pick out apples

and lavender and something woodsy.

“I can hit you with some extremely bad pickup lines?” he suggested. “My friend Sam collects them.”

I could never. “Okay.”

“Be warned, these are really bad.” He gave me an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle. “Hey, girl, I lost my phone number. Can I have

yours?”

I covered my mouth. “Oh my god. Bro.”

“What about . . .” He narrowed his eyes, like he was trying for a smolder. “Are you from Tennessee? ’Cause you’re the only ten I see.”

“I do not believe a human being has ever said that unironically. No way.”

“Damn, girl, you look like trash. Want me to take you out?”

I snort-laughed. “How does anyone come up with these? They’re fake. Tell me they’re fake.”

“I don’t know, but Sam has a million of them.” Leandro grinned. “I should probably save some for later.”

“Smart.”

“Vans are back!” someone yelled from the doorway. “Let’s get talent to the lobby!”

As I put my apron away, Leandro’s smile faded again. He looked like a kid who’d dropped his ice cream and was trying to be

a big boy about it. Thinking about fangirls? Worrying about the round, or how to be flirty?

Whatever it was, I sort of hated it. He always seemed cheerful, even when his spells went wrong. Like he knew he was a clown,

that the joke was on him, but he liked to make people laugh and he could laugh at himself, too. Maybe this was Leandro when

his mask slipped. He’d smiled at my apron, though, and his funny-awful pickup lines. I wanted to get that back.

“We need a secret handshake,” I blurted out.

Leandro blinked at me like I’d slapped him with his rubber chicken. “A secret handshake?”

“Or not, I mean, if you don’t want to—”

“No, I love it!” His face lit up again. “We could... Do you know how to dance? Salsa?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Unlike my sister. I just didn’t get out much because of work. And after last night, I already knew he had

moves.

“How about this.” He held out his right hand.

I took it, then he put out his other hand above it without letting go.

I grabbed that one, so our arms were crossed, one hand on top of the other.

He brought my left arm up and over my head slowly as he turned me around so I was facing away from him, then raised my right arm and kept turning me until I faced him with our arms crossed again, but reversed from how we’d started.

We stared at each other for a few seconds, and I wondered what he was thinking, because I was kinda wishing we could actually dance together. With music. And less stress.

Was he looking at my mouth? No way, not after that lecture about fangirls and underwear. Get it together, Penelope.

“Then what?” I asked.

“And then we can, hmm, blow it up?” He tossed my hands up and made an explosion sound while he wiggled his fingers in the

air.

I laughed. “Okay, I think I can remember that.”

“Let’s try it faster?” he suggested. “To practice.”