Page 53 of Witch You Would
surrounded by lights, where someone was setting up for a show. Gil kept one arm around my waist as he led me through the crowd
to the bar and got us both drinks. I sipped my mudslide and snuggled up on him, mellow and happy and wondering what else he
had planned.
“Oh, selfie,” I said, pulling my phone out.
We held up our drinks and made duck faces, then took a nice smiling one. I posted both to the private Jive server we’d made
for us and the other contestants from the show—except Felicia, who’d ignored the invite. Quentin almost immediately reacted
with a heart-eyes emoji and asked, “Where are you? What are you drinking?” I told him, he awwed, and I put my phone away to
focus on cuddling.
Since our season didn’t air, none of us had gotten any of that magical exposure we’d been promised as a perk of the show, but we’d done okay.
I got a dream job, obviously. Amy had almost finished recording a solo album of piano songs she hoped she could license for commercials and stuff, plus one of her recipes would be appearing in a spellbook Jaya was releasing at the end of the year.
Quentin had started a side hustle making cute magical automatons, and was quietly working with Tanner to sell them through the Spell Rehab store in Chicago and online.
Zeke was mentoring Dylan through the process of setting up his own magical baking business, though he had to start smaller than he would have if he’d gotten the prize money.
Felicia, according to some light internet detective work, was still designing stuff and selling houses, but she had gotten engaged to her personal assistant, who I assumed loves sarcasm and K-dramas and being stepped on by statuesque blondes.
Our dreams hadn’t died, they’d just changed. Así es la vida, as my abuela always said.
Since I hadn’t eaten, I got tipsy fast, which made the show even better. We were seeing an illusionist-singer who called herself
Belle Nocturne—nobody famous, but hey, that was Miami. Full of talented people trying to catch a break.
She was really good. Started slow: changing her own appearance, creating mirror images of herself mimicking her movements,
then dancing independently and even singing backup. By a few songs in, the entire stage was changing as she sang, and even
parts of the room, becoming dark bedrooms and neon-bright city streets, moonlit castle ruins and caves filled with gemstones
and luminescent moss, complete with sounds and smells and the feel of each place on our skin. Gil held me the whole time,
sometimes swaying with me, sometimes resting his chin on my shoulder. Finally she sang a capella standing on an ocean of stars
with the Milky Way overhead, and it was so beautiful I had tears coming down my face when she finished.
I fished some tissues out of my purse and blotted the mess, hoping my mascara hadn’t run. “Wow, that was great.”
“Right?” Gil said. “Can’t see the illusions on video, but I heard a song of hers online and thought you’d like it.”
“I did. Thank you. Super great surprise.” I couldn’t wait to tell the people at work.
Gil nuzzled my ear and ran his hand up and down my hip. “So, I was planning to take you to this gyro place Ed recommended, or . . .”
“Or?”
“We could go home early, order a pizza, and get to dessert faster.”
I grinned at him. “Sir, are you offering me a pocket banana? Perhaps attempting to put out a vibe?”
“I certainly am. Are you picking it up?”
Instead of answering, I turned around in his arms and kissed him. He gave a cute little growl and grabbed my butt, pulling
me indecently close.
“I’ll get the tab,” he said.
We made out in the car long enough to get both of us extremely ready for dessert. Traffic leaving the beach wasn’t as bad,
but I still had to get my car from the studio. By the time we made it to my apartment, I was nearly feral and coming up with
ideas for rapid clothing removal spells.
I parked in my assigned spot while Gil circled the lot, looking for an empty space. Maybe I could be waiting for him naked
on the couch? He’d given me a fun surprise, so it was only fair. I jogged up the stairs to the second floor as fast as high
heels would let me, power walked toward my front door, and... stopped when I realized someone was sitting cross-legged
on my “Casa del Carajo” doormat.
It was Emelia. I hadn’t seen my sister in over a year because we lived in different states and were both so busy working,
even though we texted almost every day. Her brown hair was straighter than mine, her eyes closer to hazel, her skin a shade
lighter like our mom’s, but anyone who saw us together would know we were related. Especially when we started talking.
Right now, she looked like shit. Her hair was greasy, the bags under her eyes were industrial-sized, and her clothes were wrinkled like she’d slept in them. Two huge suitcases leaned against the wall next to the door.
“Eme?” I said. “Oh my god, what happened?”
Emelia smiled up at me. “Not much. I lost my job and broke up with my boyfriend. Can I sleep in your bathtub?”