Page 39 of Brewing Up a Bad Boy

“Of course,” Poppy said, posing for a few photos for Solange. In the smallest way, she was a bit uneasy about how excited the other woman was to see her. She’d had no idea that there was anyone out there who was this into the WiCKed Sisters and the women behind it.

“My customers are all big fans of the three of you. We’ve started a small monthly group where we all do some moon rituals... Liberty sent me some guidance so I could lead them. We’ve all been using the manifesting journals, of course, and making seasonal teas. But that’s been the hardest to master. I’m not sure how you do it.”

“Which part?”

“Choosing which flavors will work best together.”

Poppy couldn’t really explain that there was a big part of blending that felt instinctive to her. She had the Kitchener journal, which she used as a reference each time she tried a new blend. Some of her earliest memories were being in the kitchen with her grandmother as she blended different teas, explaining to Poppy what she was doing the way her own grandmother had done, and every generation before her since Viola.

“Mostly it’s trial and error. Also, I make blends I like. In summer, I want something light and refreshing, so I’d probably try mint. I recommend going for classic combos that sound good to you,” Poppy said.

Solange’s fingers were moving rapidly over the keyboard on her phone as she took notes. “Great. I’m going to try mint and strawberry.”

“Nice. Let me know how it turns out.”

Poppy’s smartwatch vibrated, and she glanced down, then burst out laughing. Merle had sent the barfing emoji at her, winning their weekly competition.

“Sorry about that. Once you’re in the Tea Society, there will be a lot of experts who can give you tips. We have a seasonal challenge you can participate in. Honestly, those are really helpful and fun. Plus, you get the benefit of hearing from everyone else what worked and didn’t.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m always glad to meet someone else who loves making their own teas as much as I do.”

Poppy left a few minutes later. Alistair waited for her at a park near the middle of town. Her breath caught in her chest when she saw him. He’d taken his shirt off and was lying on his back in the sun.God.That man had a body that was hard to tear her eyes from.

A slow heat started low in her body and spread outward. Licking her lips, she was hungry for something that she knew she could only get from him.

Trying to be smart and safe wasn’t working. There was no way she was going to be able to keep her hands to herself much longer. All of her thoughts were on how his sun-heated body would feel on hers. If she lifted the skirt of her sundress and straddled him as he pulled her into his arms. She might spontaneously combust.

Spotting her, he lifted his hand and waved.

Fuck. Keep it cool.

Like that was going to happen.

Eleven

Glastonbury Tor was a conical hill of clay that rose from the Somerset Levels. Its sloping hills were terraced on either side of the path that led to the top. Archaeological excavations had revealed some aspects of the history there from as early as the Iron Age. The Church of St Michael was built on the site in the fourteenth century, but all that remained was a roofless tower.

It was clear that coming here was the right decision. Poppy kept up a steady stream of information as they climbed to the top of the Tor. “I know a lot of people come here at sunrise, but I’m more centered in moon magick. Watching the sun rise with you today as we drove from Kent to Somerset was magical enough.”

There was magic present, but he was pretty sure it was coming from her. The incline on the Glastonbury Tor was intense, but he was good in shape. Poppy was sweating a bit, and he offered her his water bottle as they stopped partway up the hill.

“Other than churches, what else makes this spot special?” he asked her. Anything to keep his mind off the way her butt looked in her leggings as she walked ahead of him.

“The Celtic name for it is Isle of Avalon, so that draws a lot of connection to the Arthurian legends.”

“Him, I know about. When I was twelve, I was obsessed with Thomas Malory’s stories. I even talked George into taking me to Winchester to see the round table that Henry VIII had made during his reign.”

“Really? How did I not know this about you?” she asked.

“I guess were both hiding parts of ourselves,” he said with a shrug. By the time he’d met Poppy, that boy who used to love legends and myths had been smothered under the weight of expectations and his own need to prove he wasn’t just the spare. Though there wasn’t a throne involved in their family hierarchy, taking over Lancaster-Spencer was a close second. He’d craved what was only George’s by an accident of birth.

“Maybe. Well, you’ll love this next bit... In 1191, two coffins were found that were labeled Arthur and Guinevere.”

“Seems a little sus,” he said.

“Yeah, but it’s fun. Another legend ties the Tor to the Holy Grail because the Nanteos Cup used to be in the monastery here.”

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