Page 20 of The Witch & the Hound
I had approximately forty-eight hours to figure out how to look like a woman who went on dates to fancy restaurants, and my wardrobe consisted entirely of soap-making clothes, more yoga pants, and one funeral dress I'd worn to my great-aunt's service six years ago.
I did what any rational woman would do.
I called my sister.
She picked up on the second ring. "What's wrong?"
"Why do you assume something's wrong?"
"Because you only call me during work hours when you're panicking. Did the barghest ghost you?"
"No. Worse." I took a breath. "He asked me on a date. To The Captain's Table. Friday night."
Silence. Then: "OH MY GOD."
"Don't—"
"He's COURTING you!" She was shrieking now, and I had to pull the phone away from my ear. "This is amazing! This is… wait. Why do you sound like someone died?"
"Because I have nothing to wear."
Another beat of silence. Then, with the gravity of a war general: "You need to go shopping."
"I can't just—"
"Maggie. You have a date with a hot barghest who can tie you to a bed with his—"
"Do NOT finish that sentence."
"—and you're going to The Captain's Table, which means everyone in Seaview is going to see you two together. This is your debut as a couple. You need to look devastating."
I pressed my palm to my forehead. "I make soap. In my backyard. I haven't been to a nice restaurant in... I don't even know. And I definitely don't own anything I can wear to a fancy restaurant."
"Then you're going shopping tomorrow. No arguments."
"I can't—"
"Maggie." Her voice softened. "You like him. Really like him."
My throat tightened. "Yeah. I really like him."
"Then make sure he swallows his tongue when he sees you."
By Wednesday morning, I told myself I was just going into town for supplies. Maybe some new molds. Possibly a dress, if I happened to pass the boutique.
I happened to pass the boutique.
Mrs. Carroll's shop sat between the bakery and the salon, its window display a chaotic mix of tourist-bait witchy tees and genuinely nice clothing tucked in the back. I'd bought exactly three things here in five years: a winter coat, a scarf, and a pair of jeans that actually fit.
The bell chimed when I pushed through the door.
Mrs. Carroll looked up from the register, and her entire face lit up. "Maggie! Perfect timing. I just got a shipment of fall dresses that would look gorgeous on you."
I blinked. "How did you—"
"Small town, honey." She was already moving toward the back, pulling hangers with the efficiency of a woman on a mission. "Plus, Bram called yesterday to make reservations at The Captain's Table for Friday night. Table for two. Seven o'clock."
Heat flooded my face. "Of course he did."
