Page 32 of The Witch is Back

“I like bakeries,” he contradicted, irritated that she was taking everything the wrong way. “I don’t think they’re boring.”

“Maybe I like bars.” Her chin went up and he didn’t think he’d ever seen such a contrary expression on Emmaline’s face.

“Okay.” He focused down again because looking at her was proving difficult. He finished the chorizo. “What else don’t I know?”

Silence again.

“You know me.” He almost missed the low words.

“Not really.” He stared at the chopping board. “I knew Emmaline. Or I thought I did.” He opened his mouth, but the silencing hex stabbed into his throat, crackling up it like Pop Rocks. Only with more discomfort.

As he struggled, her heard her say, “I thought I knew you, too. Apparently we were both wrong.”

Pain bloomed in his chest now as well. He surrendered to both and put down the knife. “Maybe we’re moving too fast. I’ll go out to dinner.”

He expected her to hand him his coat. Instead, he heard a sigh.

“I still like cupcakes,” she said in a soft voice. “My favorite color is still yellow. I still prefer to read a book than dance at a ball.”

It was a small offering, but it was enough. He cleared the remaining discomfort from his throat. “That’s good to know.” He continued prepping for the next couple of minutes as she watched.

“I like your place,” he said, searching for something neutral to talk about.

“Right.”

“I do,” he protested on a surprised laugh.

“It’s small.”

“So are mini-muffins but that doesn’t mean I don’t like them.”

Her lips pushed into a hesitant smile and a pang shot through him. She glanced around. “It suits me and Chester.”

“I thought you might have used a TARDIS spell when I saw the outside,” he commented, referring to the spell that made spaces bigger once you pushed past the curtain of glamour.

“I could have, but I wanted to live like they do.”

“They? Humans?”

She tensed. Assuming he was being derogatory? He knew the extreme sticklers in witch society looked down on humans, but he’d never subscribed to that. Probably thanks to his parents, who had always blazed their own trail. They were lucky their family name held so much power or the society sharks would’ve ripped the sheer niceness out of them decades ago.

“I don’t know about you,” he said, conjuring his own beer. Needing it. “But I like how free they are.”

Surprise reflected back at him. “Yes. Exactly.” She pursed her mouth and added, “And this place is completely opposite to my mother’s mansion.”

He supposed that would be a selling point. Better a tiny warm home than a giant icy prison.

“After a while...” She shrugged. “There didn’t seem a need to expand.”

“Well, I like it. It suits you.”

“Because it’s small and artless?”

The sly humor from her was unexpected. He liked it. “Technically I still live at my parents’ house.”

Her fingers toyed with the wet label draped around her beer bottle. “You never settled anywhere?”

He hesitated, feeling like they were moving into dangerous territory. “I liked—like—Egypt a lot. Even considered getting a home there, but I like being able to pick up and find the next dig.”

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