“I’m not sure why I’m nervous. We’ve hung out before.”
“We were kissing less than twenty-four hours ago. I’ve had your tongue in my mouth,” she blurts out.
The words hang over us for a few beats. A server and a busboy pause to look at us.
“Please tell me I didn’t say that loud enough for everyone to hear me.”
My laughter releases more of the awkwardness. “I think only the busboy and maybe the family of four sitting directly behind you.”
She spins to make sure she’s not shouting about tongue kissing in front of children. “I wish only the random busboy heard.”
“Why? I was there. He wasn’t.”
“I remember,” she whispers. While my anxiety has all but disappeared, hers seems to be increasing. I can’t tell if she is embarrassed over her outburst or the idea of kissing me. I need more data.
“I have an idea,” I whisper.
She meets my eyes. Candlelight from the small votive on the table warms the chocolate brown.
I’m not much of a tell kind of guy, so I lean over the small table and brush my lips against hers to show her I remember last night, too. I’m about to deepen the kiss when someone politely coughs to my right.
The loitering busboy is holding a basket of bread and a pitcher of water. I think we could’ve survived without passing out from starvation for another minute … or five.
Smiling, Madison thanks him. “I’m starving.”
I settle back in my chair and bite into a chunk of the warm bread, letting the salty butter coat my tongue. Madison licks a drop from her finger.
I lean forward again. “This is going to sound potentially weird and I probably shouldn’t even say anything, but I missed you today.”
I cringe at how desperate I sound. For me, I’ve lived with these feelings for two years, but for her, we’ve known each other a couple of months. The worst thing I can do is scare her away.
My typical setting around women is neutral. They intrigue me, but don’t fluster me the same way Madison does. No one has ever affected me like she can with a single look or word. Nothing to do with any prediction or magic. She’s an old-fashioned kind of beautiful with a delicate nose and strong chin. With her wide dark eyes set in pale skin framed by dark hair, she’s a classic beauty as my godfather would say. Her delicate appearance hides her fire and intelligence.
She’s extraordinary.
Our waiter returns for our order. I say I want whatever Madison is having, earning a funny look from her.
I laugh when our twin salads arrive.
“Seriously? You’re only going to eat a salad? You said you were starving. Aren’t you hungry?” I stab a piece of romaine. “Wait, you’re not doing the girl who only eats a salad on a date thing are you? Please tell me that’s not why.”
“I like salad.” She pokes a crouton with her fork. “They make the best homemade Caesar dressing here. With garlic and real …”
I can’t hear the rest because she’s covered her mouth with her hand.
“Is everything okay?”
She’s not speaking and I’m worried she’s choking. I’m about two seconds from shoving out of my chair to give her the Heimlich when she moves her hand.
“I’m terrible at dating.”
“Why?”
“I’ve ordered the worst thing on the menu for a date. Smelly garlic dressing. I’m cursed.”
“Well, when you put it that way.” I take a huge bite. “It’s a good thing we’re both having the salad.”
Tentatively she takes another bite. “Next time you should order for both of us.”
“Very old-fashioned of you. I figured you for a modern girl. Insisting on splitting the check to the penny.” I give her a shy grin, hoping she realizes I’m teasing. I’m too busy focusing on my stupid joke that it takes me a moment for my brain to process her words. “Next time, I’ll be paying, too. I’m old school when it comes to dates.”
I love the way her smile starts small before her faces lights up with it. Amusement sparks in her eyes.
We spend the rest of the meal chatting about the party and classes at Hawthorne, our favorite writers, food, movies, and growing up in Massachusetts.
“My parents still live on their farm in Hardwick.”
“I didn’t figure you for a farm girl. Sam looks more like the farm-raised, all American ideal.” I bring up Madison’s roommate because the two of them could not be more opposite. While Madison is petite and dark, Sam resembles a corn stalk with her height and blond hair. Perhaps not the most flattering description, but not inaccurate either.
“She’s wholesome on the outside, but don’t let the perfect smile fool you. There’s a heart of darkness beneath the blond braids.”
“What lies beneath your dark beauty? Rainbows and kittens?”
She tilts her head back and laughs. “Yes, I’m ninety-seven percent rainbow filling.”
“You have the best laugh. You should do it more often.”
“I could say the same about your smile. I see you’re back to your disguise.” She points at my glasses and brown contacts. The two combine to help me be unremarkable. “I miss your real eye color. I think I prefer the blue.”
“Good to know. It’s easier this way, but when we’re alone, you’ll always get the real me.”
Her smile returns.
“I think we need dessert to balance out the salad. Agree?” I ask.
“Something chocolate.”
“Definitely.”
I don’t want the date to end, but when we finish dessert, I glance around the empty restaurant. In the front room, chairs are resting upside down on the bare wood tables. Our waiter and the busboy are sitting at the bar, talking with the bartender while the late news plays.
“Where did everyone go?”
“They disappeared like magic.” She presses her lips together to suppress her smile. It’s adorable.
“Poof!”
“Can you do that?” Her face is serious.
“Make a room full of people disappear? I’m not a magician or illusionist who does tricks.”
“Sorry. This is all new to me.” She tucks her hair behind one ear.
“Surely Sam and her Wicca fascination have explained a few elements.” I touch her hand to reassure her. Sam is a regular customer at my mother’s shop and attends the public coven gatherings.
“Other than smudging me with burning sage and making me smell like a Thanksgiving dinner, I don’t really ask her about witchcraft. She teases me about being descended from the Salem witches, but I’m not magical. I think I’d know.”
“You can always ask me anything. There are a few coven rules about sharing knowledge with the uninitiated, but otherwise, I’m an open book.”
“You’re in a coven?”
“Sure. Isn’t everyone?” I smile at her. “It’s mostly a group of my mother’s friends. Think knitting circle or book club.”
“Sam said they had apple cobbler after the Mabon ceremony she went to in September.”
“The coven loves a good pot luck. Martha always brings the cobblers.”
“Martha? She’s a witch?”
I nod. I don’t think Martha would be mad I’ve outed her. Since Madison’s first visit, she always asks about my girlfriend. No pressure or anything.
“Anyone else I know?” she asks.
“Several, but that’s for another time.”
She doesn’t argue with me over the bill and I pay in cash, leaving a generous tip for taking up the table all evening.
A light rain falls as we step outside. Too soft to ping off the car rooftops, but more than a mist, it carries the briny scent of the harbor behind us.
“Crap. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”
I grin. “Want me to take care of it?”
“Are we talking about you holding your jacket over both our heads? Or something else?”
“The latter.”
“Show me.” She sounds eager to see more af
ter I revealed my fire-starting skills last night.
Concentrating on the sky, I focus on each drop of rain as it falls until I can shift them back into the clouds. “It won’t last long, so we might want to hurry home.” I hold out my hand for her to take.
With our fingers interlinked, we pick up our pace, laughing and imitating Olympic speed-walkers with our fast walking. When we get to the intersection near the memorial, I glance over to the wall, no black cat. I do see a shadow in the corner that could be a man, but I don’t pause long enough to confirm. It’s probably nothing more than the streetlight shining behind a tree.
We return to where we began the evening. Madison pauses, looking uncertain about the odds of a good night kiss. If only she knew I’d wanted to spend the night kissing her. Garlic won’t keep me away. I’m not a vampire.
I don’t give her more opportunity to spin into doubt.
Using the tip of my finger, I lift her chin and brush my lips from the corner of her jaw to the shadow below her full bottom lip. She sighs against my cheek as I kiss the edge of her mouth and then lightly press my lips against hers.
As the kiss intensifies, our bodies move closer together. Her arms sneak behind my back. I cup her cheek with one hand and the other rests between her shoulder blades. Cursing the layers between us, I pull her scarf away to touch her neck. I tower over her, but our bodies fit together perfectly. Like we were made for each other.
If I believe in my mother’s prophecy, maybe we are.
Three
Monday morning my phone buzzes with a call. Glancing down as I walk across campus, I see my father’s name. I think about sending the call to voicemail, but it will only delay the inevitable.
“Andrew.” He answers like I’m bothering him although he’s the one who called me.
“Hello, Father.”
“Good,” he replies like I’ve asked him how he’s doing, “and you?”
“Fine. I’m on my way to the lab. Do you need something specific?”
“No, can’t I call my son and catch up?”
He’s never called to chat. Ever.
“How’s the dating life?”
This conversation is speeding toward bizarre. We don’t talk about my social life. Other than grades and graduate programs, we don’t talk about me. Or much at all. Occasionally he’ll summon me back to Boston for dinner. I’ll take the train and spend more time in transit than bonding with him. I always leave feeling like he’s keeping tabs on me and my mother rather than genuinely curious about my life or interests.
Feeling defensive, I decide to be honest. “I had a date last night in fact.”
His sharp inhale surprises me. “Good, good. Is she from Salem?”
“No, Central Mass. Small town.” I resist telling him more about Madison. His sudden interest in my life doesn’t sit right with me.
“Wonderful. She sounds like a nice girl.”
Based on the location of her hometown? “She is.”
“Excellent. Bring her to Boston for dinner sometime. I’m late for a meeting. Nice catching up with you. Keep out of trouble.”
The meaning between his words is to keep away from magic. He’s drilled his warnings into my head for years. “Okay. You too—”
The call ends. I stare at my phone in disbelief as I climb the stairs in the middle of the quad. “Asshole.”
Because I’m not looking where I’m going, I run into someone.
“Whoa, who you calling an asshole?”
Hamilton.
“Sorry. I didn’t see you,” I mumble
He does the head-bob hello. “Wildes. How’s it going, dude?”
On the list of all the people in the world I don’t want to speak to this morning Luke Hamilton only trails behind my father. Unlike the famous Broadway musical, no one wants to see this Hamilton. The two of them have shattered the happy haze I’ve been walking around in since last night’s date with Madison. We’d probably still be kissing outside her dorm if the rain hadn’t returned and soaked us. Turns out, I’m not very good at multi-tasking and focusing on a spell while kissing Madison. Things to work on. We’ll have to practice next time it rains.
“Hamilton.” I attempt to move around him, but he doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even do the sidestep most people would do. He’s the worst kind of guy on campus. Arrogant and cocky, he’s so full of himself he usually sucks the air out of any room he occupies while simultaneously lowering the collective IQ. He’s a walking black hole of testosterone filled dudeness. He’s a guyhole. I’m not even sure what he’s doing at this small college. He seems better suited for running in large packs of similar guys at big state schools. Or so I imagine.
Instead of moving along, he stops right in front of me, blocking my path on the stairs.
He’s still speaking. “Hey man. Wicked cool Halloween party.”
“Um, thanks? You should tell Tate. His house, his party.”
“Oh, I will. So many sweet Betties there.” He nods and slaps my shoulder as if I’ve agreed with him.
I assume “Betties” is some cool slang I don’t know. I don’t bother asking.
He’s doing nothing for my bad mood after speaking with my father.
“Something I can do for you?” I’m about to walk away from this fascinating exchange when something red on his wrist catches my eye. Reaching out to grab his sleeve, I point at the exposed skin. “Where did you get that?”
He lifts his hand and pulls at the red ribbon, twisting it to show me the familiar silver heart. “Madison gave it to me.”
I arch my left eyebrow. “Oh really?”
“Yeah.”
“She handed it to you and told you it was a present? From her to you?”
“No.” He manages to look more confused than usual. “She pulled a total Cinderella move. Dropped it and disappeared. At least it’s not her shoe. I’m not one of those weirdo guys who are into wearing girls’ shoes.”
His fairy tale logic surprises me. I’ve never pegged him for a princess fan. Or a guy with a foot fetish. Then again, I’ve never given him much thought at all.
“Right. Does she know you have it?”
“She told me to keep it.” He flattens his tongue inside his lower lip. It makes him look like a frog, a lying frog.
“How’d you explain it to your girlfriend?”
“No chain on these balls.” He unnecessarily gestures to his crotch. “Between us, after Halloween I realized that Madison is the one for me.”
“No she isn’t. Most definitely not.” I realize I’ve taken a step forward into his personal space.
“Not really for you to say, is it? She gave me her heart.” He shakes his wrist in my face.
I want to rip off the ribbon and then punch him with his own fist.
I swear I’m not a violent guy, but right now I’m seeing nothing but the red of Hamilton’s blood.
Of course the knot could untie itself and slip from his wrist with a little help from me. Then what? The cheap, fake silver heart and penny’s worth of ribbon aren’t the issue.
Hamilton believes she’s choosing him. He thinks she wants him again.
Wrong.
She’s mine now.
My Madison.
The word mine begins to loop through my mind like a caveman.
“Dude, you’re kind of invading my Luke Zone right now. Can you step back?”
I’m inches from his face. I don’t remember moving.
Still thinking about punching him, I step away and mumble, “Sorry.”
“You’re acting weird, Wildes. I mean, weirder than usual.” He pulls his jacket sleeve over his wrist.
I brush my hair off my forehead. “I don’t think she’s interested in you.”
“Who?”
“Madison.”
“My wrist says otherwise.”
“It’s been days since Halloween. Have you spoken with her?” My stomach clenches at the idea. I know she’s not interested in Hamilton. When would she have time to go out
with him?
“No need to rush these things. She gave me the sign and now I’m playing it cool.”
Idiot.
At least I have the advantage of common sense over my rival.
The fact that I’m even considering Luke to be a rival startles me.
I’m not the jealous, possessive sort. Never have been.
My life is structured around logic, hypotheses, research, problems, and solutions. Jealousy and anger have little value in my life. Pointless emotions.
Then why am I feeling them now and aimed at this doofus?
I wish he were sitting in a chair I could knock out from under him.
Something harmless, but embarrassing for him and amusing for me.
Like him tripping over his own feet.
That’ll work.
“It’s been fascinating. I’m late for lab. May the best man win the girl.” As I move past him, I bump his shoulder with mine. Okay, it’s more of a shove, enough to tilt his balance a little.
When he overcorrects, I imagine his feet near the edge of the step.
Without turning around, the squawk and sound of shoes slapping on concrete tell me the vision in my head is playing out behind me.
With a loud grunt, he lands on his ass. “What the fu—”
“Mr. Wildes?” Professor Philips steps in front of my path.
I know from his expression he witnessed my encounter and Hamilton’s fall. “Hello, sir.”
“Perhaps you could visit during my office hours this week. I think we’re long overdue for a chat.”
I know I’m not failing his seminar. In fact, he’s told me I should be his TA, despite being a chemistry major in an upper level literature class. “I’ll make sure to come by.”
“Bring Miss Bradbury with you.” He continues walking down the stairs where Hamilton still sits cursing and complaining. “Mister Luke, pick yourself up before someone mistakes you for a vagrant.”
I chuckle at the professorial version of a burn as I cross campus to make my lab.
Four
“It’s an act of mercy to smash pumpkins after Halloween. Saves them from the long, slow death of rotting from the inside out.” I glare at a slumping pile of jack-o’-lanterns outside an otherwise respectable colonial-style house. Other than leaving decaying vegetables on their porch, I’m sure the people who live there are perfectly nice.
Spellbound: A magical sequel to Bewitched Page 2
