Page 12 of De-Witched

Seriously. Worst taste in men ever.

“All I’m saying is, who wants a gray bridesmaid dress?” Tia’s gorgeous face set in mutinous lines. “Why do you punish me?”

“It’s my wedding and it’s a very pretty dress.”

Tia’s lips went sulky. “Fine. But at my wedding, I’m making you wear bright red and you’ll like it.”

“You picked the bridesmaid dresses?” Grinning, Leah jiggled her wet sneakers on the stool’s rung. “What do they look like? Will we be matching?”

Emma’s smile faltered as Tia’s expression melted into sympathy.

And Leah got a reality check.

Masking the sharp ache of disappointment, Leah reassured her distressed friend that she was totally fine about missing out, provided someone record the ceremony. It was Emma’s day and she refused to take any shine from her friend’s smile.

Even if it did sometimes feel like she was a kid pressing her hand to the glass window, forever on the outside, forever waiting to be let in.

They’d hit the lull hour, the moment when everyone was one breath from leaving the office, so Leah volunteered to cover restocking. She had the time. Her three dogs were at day care for another hour, a new arrangement since they usually spent their days either with Peggy, who rented a room in Leah’s house, or with Leah’s mom. But Peggy was on a wild weekend with friends and Leah’s mom was traveling with her new husband on their extended honeymoon, so it was the delights of doggy day care for the foreseeable future.

Carrying the last bottles of rosé up from the cellar, Leah walked in from the hall as Tia’s voice rose with agitation.

“...can’t believe he even asked.” Her foot tapped a hard beat on the wooden floor.

“Apparently, he’s still bugging Henry and Bastian. I wouldn’t put it past him to just show up.” Emma bent to stroke her constant companion and witch familiar, Chester, a cute-ugly basset hound mix. “We need to—” She cut off, spotting Leah.

Who glanced between the pair as she placed the box on the bar top. “O-kay,” she said. “Color me curious. What’re you two talking about?”

Tia’s sharp gaze tracked the space, making sure they were alone before she said, “A warlock’s been asking for a job at the bar.”

Leah swallowed the delighted yip before it made it out. Get real, Turner. “You said no.”

“Hell, yeah.” Tia pointed at her. “You can’t lie for shit.”

“Can, too.”

“Emma.”

Emma smiled weakly. “Bastian figured you out in weeks.”

“He’s shrewd,” Leah argued, then waved a hand. “Whatever, you guys already ban witches from this place. I don’t expect you to suddenly change your tune.” Despite how many times she’d argued she could handle it. Didn’t she handle it when the Cubs’ second baseman had strolled in for a drink? Did she tear open her shirt and ask him to sign her boob? No. She’d only made him pose for three photos, sign her Cubs cap and joked about giving him a child. He’d taken it well. Not that they’d ever seen him again.

Emma fiddled with one of the paper napkins. “You know it’s asking for trouble, having witches in here.”

“Yeah, and Gabriel Goodnight would definitely be adding gasoline to the fire.”

Leah’s heart kicked. “Gabriel Goodnight?”

Memories invaded of a darkened balcony, green eyes, soft lips.

Thank you for being a stranger with me.

Oblivious, Tia ripped the tape off the box of rosé with a curl of her lip. “The Warlock of Contempt himself.” When Emma frowned, Tia held up a hand. “You know it’s not just me that calls him that.”

“Still feels like bullying.” Something she’d felt herself from witch society.

Tia began to stack the bottles on the counter. “It’s true, though. I’ve never seen the man smile or laugh or show anything other than contempt.”

“Bastian says Henry likes him.”

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