Page 72 of The Witch is Back

A warm red seeped into Emma’s cheeks. “No. Well, maybe. I’m not sure.”

He opted to believe the first answer. “Great. We have dinner plans.”

“Oh?” One of her hands came up to her throat, fiddled with the necklace she wore.

“My mom invited us to come to dinner.”

Her hand dropped. “Oh.”

He rolled his shoulders, grimaced. “I know it’s a bit meet-the-family, but she said she wanted to know her daughter-in-law.”

Emma’s eyes got a bit rabbity. “Even though we’re not going to have a real marriage?”

“I mentioned that.”

“And?”

“She wants to meet her soon-to-be daughter-in-law,” he repeated with emphasis, taking a sip of his latte. “And to start planning the wedding.”

It was as if he’d said he’d decided to pursue a career as a second-rate charm purveyor, hawking trinkets to humans at hokey psychic shops.

He slumped. “I know, but she’s right. It has to be planned. Don’t women love that stuff?” He tried a hopeful smile. Got a squinty look back. “Okay, so we’ll both suffer through it. She gave me some names of witch wedding planners. All we need to do is pick one, take one meeting about what we want and then show up on the day.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“Let me have my delusions, Emma.”

She smiled at that. “A wedding.” It was as though the concept was foreign to her. “I guess I never thought about the actual, ah, wedding.” And the idea was apparently disturbing. The toast popped and she got it out, methodically buttering it from a tub she got from the fridge.

He looked at her in surprise when she handed him the plate.

“For the coffee,” she explained.

He accepted it with a thanks. “If it helps, think of it as a party.” He bit into the toast, chewed. Swallowed. “A really big one where we promise to be linked for eternity.”

“You know, Tia isn’t the only one who can work hex bags.”

A joke, he said internally as he forced his instantly tight muscles to unclench.

She pushed her hands through her hair before they dropped to her side. “A wedding. Planning a wedding.” She shook her head.

His hand grabbed hers from across the bar, squeezed. All by itself without permission. “One name, one meeting,” he repeated, resisting the urge to stroke the skin beneath his. “Show up on the day. And then I’ll leave you alone.” He forced a grin. “That’s what you want, right?”

“Right.” She licked her lips.

His gaze zeroed in. His body leaned...

He dropped her hand like it was on fire. “Okay, so it’s six o’clock. Tends to be fairly casual.” For some reason, he added, “My mom likes color.” He fingered the edge of her sweater. “Do you own anything besides black and gray?”

She swatted him away.

He dodged. “Should have used telekinesis,” he mock-lectured and then found himself on the painful end of an invisible forehead flick. He rubbed it with a wry grin. “Touché.”

“Six, then.” Her expression was resigned, arms hugging her stomach. “Am I meeting you there?”

Since he spent a lot of time in the day at home, it was a fair assumption. “I’ll swing back to grab you.” He fed the last of his toast to an ever-patient Chester, hiding his smile at Emma’s frown. “Have a good day, dear.”

On his way out the door, he stopped, and driven by the devil, swung back. “Hey, my mom also loves sexy lingerie, so if you could—” He ducked out the door with a wide grin before the take-out coffee cup made contact.

---