Page 112 of De-Witched

Leah stared at Sonny across his cluttered desk, dropping into the padded chair opposite. The plant she’d bought him with the inscription, Dog dad, plant papa, drooped in its corner. She knew how it felt.

She’d known. As soon as he’d said he wanted to talk to her, she’d known.

“You have an offer,” she repeated dully. Her head throbbed.

Sonny nodded, hands restlessly organizing his papers into a pile. He avoided her gaze. “Someone from the charity gala. They came by for a visit, really took to the place.”

“That’s good, but...” She gripped her thighs so she wouldn’t leap up. “You can’t seriously be thinking of accepting.”

His shoulders slumped and he bent to his chair, his weight making the old furniture squeak. “You know it’s been tight. And I’m tired.”

“But the gala raised all that money,” she began.

“It’s a good offer,” he interrupted. Lines streaked around his eyes, making him look every one of his years. He fiddled with a pen, turning it over and over. “And they haven’t ruled out me staying on in some capacity. If I want.”

“But it’s your place.” Mine.

“I know.” And the look he shot her told her he did. He rubbed tiredly at his forehead. “Part of me thinks Mabel would come down from heaven itself to scold me for even thinking of giving it up.”

The mention of his wife almost made her smile. “She loved this place.”

“So do I.” He pressed his lips together. “But the love has to be balanced with the practical. And the truth is, running everything is becoming too much for me. What with the recent vandalism, the police. And the expense—”

“So, I’ll help out more,” Leah said with a tinge of desperation. Her hands curled into her jeans, picking at the rip over her knee. “I’ll put in more hours.”

“And what about your bar?”

“I’ll manage. There’s twenty-four hours in a day, right?” She’d always believed that, never truly felt right sitting around doing nothing. Okay, she didn’t have much free time, but she could make it work.

“Leah, I don’t want to hurt you.” He grimaced, squeezed the pen. “I just...thought you should know. I’m considering.”

Leah sat back, struggling to breathe past the fear or panic or whatever it was blocking her throat. She gazed at Sonny, the familiar face that had been there for her since she’d been fifteen. Except now she really looked.

The line that carved through his brow had become permanent this past year. Worry had made him pale, almost haggard. He was at retirement age. He should be enjoying life.

I can’t lose this place, she wanted to cry like a child.

But she didn’t. Instead, she fixed a smile to her face. It was like a poorly-made table—rough, wobbly—but it held.

“Don’t worry about me.” She stood, leaning to cover his hand where it lay on the desk. “Us. We’ll be fine, no matter what you decide. Just do what’s best for you.”

She made it to Chuck’s kennel before she broke. Tears slid down her cheeks as she sank to sit by the enclosure. She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her head, warmed by the Labrador as he nosed as best he could against her.

“Leah?” Gabriel’s voice was sharp. He was beside her the next moment. He dropped, ignoring Chuck when the dog started a series of happy barks. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Hurt?”

He had her standing the next minute, patting her down. An overly warm sensation bloomed beneath her skin.

Recognizing it, she batted at his hands. “Don’t use magic,” she said thickly, sniffling. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

He trapped her hands in his. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

He gave her a bland stare, then cut a look at Chuck. “Enough.”

The Labrador relented after one more woof, sitting and sweeping his thick tail across the ground.

Gabriel’s hands warmed hers. “Talk to me.”

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