Page 28 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

Maybe he hadn’t felt anything at all.

And wasn’tthatdepressing?

Elara released the dumpster’s lid and jumped when it clanked. The stupid sound was a death knell for her love life.

Again, depressing.

Cigarette smoke drifted to her as a perfectly rounded O, and she shifted to face theNever Too Manybookstore owner. Florence watched her through narrowed eyes as if trying to determine what was different about her lately.

Elara wanted to give her a fist bump and shout, “I kissed Tripp Nightshade,” but it was doubtful Old Flo would approve.

Usually, she’d ask, “Shouldn’t you give those things up, Flo?” But today, she didn’t have the heart. Instead, she stole the home-rolled cigarette from the older woman, placed it between her lips, and inhaled like a pro. The coughing fit caused her employer to cackle, but Elara got the last laugh by snuffing it out under her booted foot.

“Cancer sticks,” she snapped.

“Not for witches, gel,” Florence replied with a smile resembling fondness. Her shrewd eyes missed nothing as they passed over Elara’s face. “Want to talk about it?”

“It?” she asked, stalling for time.

“Yes.It. Your misery over that ridiculous demigod.”

“You know!” Why she was surprised, Elara couldn’t say. Flo’s network was vast, and she ferreted out everything before long. She was Witchmere’s version of the CIA, MI6, and Interpol combined.

“Pfft! The entire town is watching the two of you dance around your attraction. What’s not to know?”

Elara groaned in dismay. The desire to hide inside her apartment for the next thirty years was intense. “I need to move somewhere no one knows me. Like Siberia.”

“You speak Russian?”

“No, but I can learn.”

Florence produced another misshapen cigarette, noted Elara’s squint-eyed stare, and shrugged. “You think I don’t know it’s a nasty habit, gel? They calm my nerves.”

“You never seem to be upset,” Elara replied.

“Because I smoke.” After lighting her second cigarette, Florence inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. “You should protect yourself. Sleep with Enguerrand if you must, but don’t lose your heart to him.”

“Who is Enguerrand?”

With a laugh, her boss stubbed out the tip of the just-lit cigarette, shoved it into her cardigan, and turned to leave.

“Flo!”

She paused and glanced over her shoulder.

Elara held up her hands. “Who is Enguerrand? You’ve mentioned him twice.”

“It’s your man’s real name, gel. Enguerrand the Third of Messia.” She narrowed her eyes and tipped her head. “Perhaps you should learn more about a fella before you jump into bed with him, yeah?”

Having delivered those wise words, Florence abandoned Elara to her self-doubts and recriminations.

“Enguerrand the Third of Messia,” she murmured. “Tripp. Of course.”

“I’ve always hated the name Enguerrand,” he said softly.

Elara spun with a gasp, then immediately scowled. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to sneak up on unsuspecting females in dark alleys?” she snapped.

Deep grooves appeared on his cheeks as he grinned. “It’s actually in the demigod handbook. Dark alleys are the absolute best place to find unsuspecting females.”

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