Page 52 of The Witch is Back

Nothing was right. Nothing.

She’d tried on everything in her closet and conjured more besides. Every piece sent the wrong message. Either it was too formal or too baggy or too date-like. She wanted an outfit that said, I know we’re just friends even if we’re about to be legally encouraged to jump each other’s bones.

A chill, casual outfit. One that still made her look halfway attractive.

Not that she wanted Bastian to be attracted to her, but she did have some female pride even after living with her mother for twenty-one years. And considering Bastian looked like he’d been touched by Adonis as a baby (legend, never certified), she didn’t want everybody in the restaurant to think he was on a pity date. Not that it was a date.

With a strangled scream at her own thoughts, Emma burrowed into the clothes.

She felt a wet nose touch her hand seconds later.

“It’s too late,” she told Chester, speaking through a cashmere sweater. “I’ve made a nest.”

He yipped.

“Nope. Only room for one.”

Another nudge. A pulse of reassuring love came down their bond.

Despite herself, Emma’s lips curved. “Fine.” It was uttered in a reluctant tone she only half had to fake.

She heaved herself out of the clothes, blinking at the rush of bright light. She could do this. The trick was to not think about it. What would she wear to go to dinner with Sloane, or Leah and Tia?

Half an hour later, she examined herself in the mirror, turning to glance at her familiar. “What do you think?”

He barked once.

“I hope you’re right.” She passed a critical eye over the simple teal dress that Leah had bought her last Christmas. It was a ribbed knit jersey and flowed over Emma’s body like water. She’d never have picked anything like this herself. Her go-to style was muted with the odd bright color for contrast. This was beautiful, but it did pop like a bauble on a Christmas tree.

But as she’d been pulling a Sabrina in the mirror, turning in circles to try on outfits, her temperature rising as she got more and more frustrated with herself, it had caught her eye. It was just above the knee with a polo-neck and long sleeves, giving the right balance of skin on show. It was a day dress you could wear for night. And a warlock would appreciate color. Not that she cared.

She’d thrown on some tan ankle boots with a chunky heel and had even let herself add some mascara and nude lipstick.

It didn’t scream date to her. Did it?

Maybe the silver studs were too much.

“Emmaline?”

Bastian’s voice made her heart sputter like a speedboat trying to get the motor started.

Not a date. Why be nervous?

“Coming.” She grabbed for her cell, her purse and a reality check, and headed out of her bedroom, Chester padding at her heels.

Bastian stood to one side, looking at her framed picture of the Egyptian pyramids. She took in his smart trousers and gray sweater in mute appreciation. His body made the items into sinful poetry, each swathe of fabric a line composed to his...well, his raw appeal.

She hated that she could still feel such a powerful attraction when her mind knew it was stupid. Surely her brain should be strong enough to govern her body?

She made a conscious decision to put her eyes back in her head and put on a bright, unaffected voice. “I haven’t eaten since lunch so dibs on garlic bread.”

His eyes were smiling as he turned. They blinked, darkened as he ran his gaze over her. She supposed he hadn’t seen her in bright colors since Clarissa used to pick out her clothes, and they’d never flattered.

“Emmaline Bluewater, is that you?” His tone joked, but he was staring. A lot.

To say it was unnerving was like saying the Nile was a stream.

The dishes in the sink rattled in warning.

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