Page 35 of The Witch is Back

The only time he’d got short with her was on the second night, when she’d told him she was going out. She’d never been the best liar, so when he’d asked her why, she’d mumbled that it wasn’t his business and fled. From then on, she’d made sure to make plans with Sloane in the day. She really didn’t need to give him anything to be suspicious about.

The truth was, she couldn’t relax with him. Her skin felt tight, fizzy, her stomach taut with nerves and bitterness. She hated that he seemed so relaxed, so easy when she felt this way and ended up making passive-aggressive comments like she was Sloane’s age.

He didn’t even call her on it—he just accepted the role of punching bag. And so she felt on edge and unsatisfied and petty. And suspicious herself because nobody was that nice. What was his game? Why on the Goddess’s green earth was he taking this without a fight?

“I think that spot’s clean.”

Emma looked up from the bar into Leah’s amused face. She dabbed once more out of principle, before tossing the cloth aside. “Thought you had a date?”

Leah screwed up her nose. “He didn’t like dogs. What does that say about him?”

“Some people don’t.”

“Would you trust someone who didn’t like dogs?”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

Leah laughed as if that was a joke, then shrugged. “He also didn’t open my door for me or pull out my chair. And I don’t care what they say—yes, I can open my own damn door, yes, I can pull out my own damn chair, but is chivalry dead? Is it too much to ask for a dog-loving gentleman to sweep me off my feet?”

“Probably.”

“Don’t you know any—” she wiggled her eyebrows “—that would be right for me?”

Emma tipped her chin in warning toward Bastian who, admittedly, was at the other end of the bar. And seeing that it was ten p.m. on a Saturday, the volume level was cranked up to call-the-cops loud.

Still, Leah was suitably chastened. “Sorry. Forgot he was here.”

“You’re too nice for that world.” Emma meant it. If you got a pat on the back, you should check for a knife. “And they’re all snobs.”

Leah leaned her elbows on the bar, plopped her chin in her hands. “Fine. Let me die alone.”

“You have three dogs and two cats.”

“So not the point.” But she laughed. “In lieu of a hot night with an accountant, I’ll take a Hex on the Beach, heavy on the Hex.”

“I’ll make that.” Bastian’s words in her ear.

Emma jerked, cracking her elbow on the bar. Pain shot up her arm in an arc of fire and she yelped. “Damn it.”

He watched her, wide-eyed. “Sorry. Thought you’d heard me.”

“With my latent ninja-hearing skills?” she said bad-temperedly. “My ability to hear a pin drop? Or maybe you think every woman in here is watching you.”

Leah raised her eyebrows at that.

Bastian’s gaze was shuttered, but maintaining the polite, easy smile of the past week, he said, “No, I just thought... I’ll make that drink.”

“I can make the damn drink.” Emma made an effort to be calm, her heart still thumping hard. “That woman is waiting.”

He nodded, strode off to the customer, sliding on his charm.

Leah raised her hand. “Uh, what was that?”

“What?” Emma avoided her gaze and set about making Leah’s drink.

“You bit his head off—though you need to work on your insults. ‘Ninja-hearing skills’?” She shook her head. “Work with Tia. She’s got a mind for them. Once said to someone that they were more disappointing than an unsalted pretzel.”

Emma worked up a faint smile.

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