Page 20 of The Heartbreak Hex

Then I’m alone with Gertrude. Tentatively, I put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Gertrude. Bridget means well, she’s just very blunt.”

Gertrude turns toward me for the first time since Bridget came into the room, her face in a deep green flush.

“Do you think that she’s right?” the witch asks hesitantly. “That this string means that we’re supposed to be together?”

She looks up at me from under her eyelashes, obviously shy and a little uncomfortable. My stomach is in knots looking at her. Is it time? Should I confess? I can’t tell if Gertrude would be happy about it or not. Just days ago she called us friends and I don’t want to screw that up. But . . . if we are supposed to be together and wearesoul mates and we miss our shot athappiness because I’m being a coward, I would never forgive myself.

“Come with me to the Ball,” I blurt out.

“What?” she asks, obviously not following me.

“Come to the Ball with me. Tonight.” I clarify needlessly.Great Vlad, what other Ball is there? You sound like an idiot.

“I have to,” Gertrude says, holding up her left wrist. “Remember? Unless we can break this curse before then.”

“No,” I say. “Come with me as my date. Not just because we’re tied together, but because we want to see what we really are to each other. Because I want to stop pretending that all I want is to be your friend, when what I want is so much more.”

“Really?” Gertrude smiles at me, something like hope in her eyes. Dear gods, I am an idiot. Have I been keeping my feelings to myself this whole time for no damn reason?

“Let me show you,” I growl, stepping toward her, “how much more I want.”

Her breath hitches, her head craning back. Her verdant lips beckon me and I’m about to finally,finallykiss her the way she deserves to be kissed, when there’s a knock at the office door. That breaks the spell and Gertrude jumps away from me, putting distance between us.

“What?” I bite out, my usually charming mayor persona nowhere to be seen. I wassoclose to happiness I could almost taste it. Whoever is interrupting me now is going permanently on my shit list.

The door to my office swings open, revealing a beleaguered-looking Bridget and one of my least favorite people in Holiday Village: Old Nick.

“Vlad, my boy,” the jolly white-haired Christmas elf chuckles, “you missed our meeting yesterday and your secretary kept putting me off. It wasalmostlike you were avoiding me, butI said to myself, there’s no way that my good friend Vlad would do a thing like that, would he?”

Pasting on my polite politician’s smile, I reply, “Of course not, Nick. Things have just been busy. It’s my holiday week, after all.”

“Oh, yes, Halloween. Such a quaint little holiday. Such fun. It’s no Christmas, mind you, but a good holiday nonetheless.”

My smile strains for a moment, but I keep it up, even if I want to snap at the pompous old windbag. I hear that he wasn’t so bad when he was younger, before he took the Santa Claus mantle, but now the position and popularity of Christmas has gone straight to his head.

Before I can craft a suitably diplomatic reply to his condescending garbage, Old Nick turns from me and catches sight of Gertrude. “Gretchen! Dear girl, how are you? How’s the candy business?”

“Dad, that’s Gertrude,” comes a voice from behind Old Nick. A tall red-haired elf walks into view around his dad. It’s his son and protege, Young Nick. Or Junior, as Old Nick calls him.

“Hm?” Old Nick says, squinting at Gertrude. “Are you sure, Junior? She looks like Gretchen to me.”

“I get that a lot, sir,” Gertrude says gamely, reaching out a hand to shake his. “We’re identical twins, a lot of people mix us up.”

“I can always tell you apart,” Young Nick and I say at the same time. We give each other assessing looks after, sizing each other up. I haven’t interacted a lot with Young Nick before, but I get the feeling that Gretchen is as important to him as Gertrude is to me. Is it in the same way, I wonder or just friendship?

“Well, sure,” Gertrude replies lightly, not noticing Young Nick and I staring each other down. “Our friends can tell us apart, but those that don't know us well get confused. Don’t worry about it, Santa.”

“Well,” Old Nick says, taking Gertrude’s outstretched hand and giving it a hardy shake, “aren’t you a polite young witch?”

Pulling back on Gertrude's shoulder lightly to extricate her from the elf, I ask, “Well, Nick, what did you want to meet about?”

“Well, I wanted to speak to you, mayor to mayor. Should we adjourn without others present?”

The last person in Holiday Village I want to know about the hex is Old Nick. He’s as gossipy as an old washerwoman. The story would be through all the neighborhoods before the day is out if we took him into our confidence.

“Gertrude can stay,” I state firmly. “She’s shadowing me as part of a leadership outreach program. We can count on her discretion.”

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