Page 12 of The Trouble With Spells
He turned back to face me and took a shallow breath, then lowered his voice to just slightly above a whisper. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. But then, I can’t believe half the bullshit that has happened the last two days.”
When I just stared at him silently, he must have realized he was basically talking to himself and hadn’t asked me a question yet. “I read on your website you sell spells. Or spelled candles. I saw those, but I didn’t see exactly what I was looking for.”
Scraping my teeth along my bottom lip, I asked, “And what are you looking for?”
He glanced back over his shoulder, scanning the store again. It was still as empty as it had been when he’d stepped over the threshold. “Are we alone?”
I shrugged, “Just me, Hex, and the ghosts, of course.”
His blue eyes widened comically, and he visibly swallowed. His eyes darted from side to side, like he was looking for a spirit to pop up at him. “Are there ghosts here?”
“Not that I’ve seen and I’ve lived here my entire life.”
His lips quirked, but didn’t break into his trademark smile. “Do you fuck with all your customers.”
“Only the really cute ones.” Where had those words come from? Had I just been possessed? Because what in the actual fuck was I even saying right now? I could feel the heat creeping up my neck to my face. If Gran heard me talking to any customer like that she would smack me on the back of my head.
Possession. It was the only explanation. I had been possessed.
Playing it cool, like I hadn’t just told him I found himcute–what the fuck, Callum!–I stared at him unblinking, ignoring the way my cheeks burned.
Michael stared back at me, and I fought the urge to not squirm under his gaze. His eyes traveled over my face, down my chest, then back up when the counter blocked the rest of me essentially from view. His lips quirked, but his eyes held…interest? Surely not. Not for me.
Wait a minute…wasMichael…gay?
In the two years we had shared a school, there had been no indication that he was gay. He’d had the same girlfriend his junior and senior years. Not that that meant anything. But he certainly hadn’t been out in high school. Was he bi? A late bloomer?
Whatever his situation, it wasn’t my business. Except, yeah, there was definite interest in those pretty eyes of his, I was sure of it. For me.
This day just kept getting weirder and weirder.
“That was wildly inappropriate of me,” I finally said by way of an apology. “I’m not even sure why I said it. Can we just forget the last five minutes happened?”
“If my life wasn’t an absolute train wreck right now, I would probably tell you I find you cute too and maybe ask you for coffee or something. As it is, I just really need to see if you can help me. Then maybe we can circle back to cute and coffee.”
I was back to being tongue-tied and speechless.
And convinced I was having some wild dream, and I was going to wake up completely disappointed, and go back to my boring life. Where Michael Endicott didn’t blow into my shop, looking like sex on a stick, tell me I was cute and maybe ask me for coffee.
Yeah, none of that seemed like it would ever happen in my real-life world.
Dreaming for the win.
Okay, back to the problem at hand. “What are you looking for? Or need help with?”
“I think I’m looking for a spell? More specifically, something to break a bad luck spell. That someone might have placed on someone else. If that really happened in real life. Hypothetically speaking. Because you would have to believe in witchcraft, and I don’t. Believe. But maybe I’m starting to? A tiny bit. I can’t believe this is my life.”
You and me both, dude.
“Look I googled Salem and spells, and The Witch’s Brew was at the top of the search bar. And I think I recognized the woman in some of the pictures on the website. Daphne. She was a friend of mine in school.”
Scrunching my nose at his lie, I arched one black brow, giving my head a small shake. “No, she wasn’t.”
His face fell, and he sighed audibly, placing his hands flat on the glass. “Okay, we weren’t exactly friends. We were in the same class, and I knew of her.” He glanced around the store once more. It was still empty, nothing new for a Tuesday afternoon. His voice dropped back to that sexy whisper of his again, as he leaned close enough to me that I could smell his soap–lemony or something citrus–and his natural musk. “It was rumored she was a witch.”
Frowning, I pushed my glasses back up my nose, because Daphne had likely started that rumor herself, knowing her. She’d always thought it was funny to announce to people that she was a witch, just for the responses it wouldgarner. Especially with our family owning an occult shop, though in Salem they were a dime a dozen.
Michael shook his head, the short drying locks of sandy brown ruffling with the movement. “Wait, didn’t Daphne have a younger brother? I almost forgot about him. Super skinny kid, with crazy black hair and glasses he was always pushing up his nose–”
