Page 47 of The Witch is Back

“Okay.” He swung himself up in one easy, athletic motion. Rumpled looked good on him. While she probably looked like she’d traveled fifteen thousand miles with only the clothes on her back. Equality, her butt. “I’ll make breakfast. Pancakes?”

She still couldn’t get past the fact that he cooked. He who’d grown up with a cook and maids and a myriad of servants to all but cut his food for him. She nodded shyly and whipped off with Chester to get that fresh air.

When she returned thirty minutes later, he had the plates all ready to go on the breakfast bar under a warming spell. She excused herself to wash up and dress in new clothes, putting on mascara and then taking it off because she didn’t want it to seem like she was making an effort, before joining him.

“I could get used to this.” The scent of warm, buttery pancake made her salivate. “I mostly eat takeout.” Well, that or Sloane offered to cook, and how embarrassing was it that a thirteen-year-old could do better than her? Something the girl never failed to crow over.

“I could teach you?” he offered.

An automatic no was on her lips before she clamped them together. Try, she reminded herself. “Nothing too complicated?”

“I’ll go easy on you.” The light words did something funny to her. He didn’t seem to notice, spearing a forkful of pancake dripping with enough maple syrup to fund Canada for a year. “Got plans today?”

It was Sunday, which meant she was hanging with Sloane at the shelter. She opted for a half-truth and avoided looking directly at him. “I’m volunteering at the shelter.”

“The one you got Chester from?”

Her familiar wagged his butt on the floor from where he sat by Bastian, eyes big and wide and pleading for pancake.

She nodded.

“Is it a big operation?”

“Fairly. They get a lot of rescues.”

“I’m surprised you don’t come home with them all.” Her surprise must have shown. “I remember how you used to act around animals. You loved them.”

Animals never judged. Well, she amended silently, most didn’t, though some could be as snobby as Higher witches.

“Not practical,” she said instead, focusing on cutting her pancakes into neat squares.

“And you always do the practical thing?”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” he murmured. “Maybe I could meet you and we could get some lunch?”

Her eyes shot up. “No!”

He blinked. “No?”

“I mean, ah...” Heat crept into her face. “I...already have plans. With my mother.”

“You’re hanging with your mother?”

She studiously dragged a piece of pancake through syrup. “With the Divining and all, she wants to...go over stuff. Everything. And the contract.”

There was silence. When he spoke, his voice was measured. “Contract?”

“Yeah.”

“What about it?”

Emma’s mind blanked. Goddess, she was such a terrible liar, but she couldn’t have Bastian coming to the shelter. She plowed ahead, little grace, all determination. “Um. You know. Legally binding clauses and parties of the third part.” Wow. Convincing. She swallowed more pancake. “Boring stuff, I won’t...bore you with.”

The weight of his gaze was hard not to shift under but she fixed an easy smile to her face.

“Want me to come?” he asked lightly. “I might be able to help.”

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