Page 23 of The Witch & the Hound
"That's fine. You just need them for tomorrow." She smiled.
By the time I left, the sun was starting to set, painting Seaview's harbor in shades of orange and pink. I walked back to my house with my hair bouncing, my nails glossy, feeling like a stranger in my own skin.
A stranger who was going on a date.
A real one.
Friday arrived with all the subtlety of a freight train.
I woke up early, couldn't eat breakfast, and spent an hour making soap just to calm my nerves. The workshop smelled like rosemary and anxiety. My hands shook while I poured molds.
At five PM, I forced myself to stop working and go inside.
At five-thirty, I showered and shaved my legs, which I realized halfway through I hadn't done in two weeks. Did he care? Did I care? Why was I overthinking leg hair?
At six, I started on makeup. I didn't usually wear much, some mascara, maybe lip gloss if I remembered. But tonight felt different. Tonight required effort.
Foundation to even out my freckles. Wait, no—I liked my freckles. Just a little, then. Mascara that made my lashes looklonger. Eyeliner that I smudged twice and had to redo. Lipstick in a berry shade that felt bold but not ridiculous.
By six-fifteen, I was staring at myself in the mirror, half-dressed in my bra and the yoga pants I'd worn all day, trying to work up the courage to put on the dress.
The green dress hung on the back of my bathroom door, perfect and terrifying.
What if I was trying too hard? What if he expected yoga-pants Maggie, not dress-up Maggie? What if I looked like I was going to prom instead of dinner?
My phone buzzed on the counter.
On my way. See you soon.
My stomach flipped.
No more time for second-guessing.
I pulled on the dress. It slid over my hips like it had been made for me, settling into place with a whisper of fabric. I zipped up the side, adjusted the neckline, and smoothed the skirt.
Then I looked in the mirror.
The woman staring back was me, but also not me. My curls framed my face the way Mrs. Kelvin had styled them, bouncing and glossy. My skin glowed under the subtle makeup. The dress hugged every curve I usually tried to hide under oversized sweatshirts.
I looked... good.
Better than good.
I looked like a woman who deserved to be taken to dinner at The Captain's Table.
The doorbell rang at exactly 6:45.
I took a breath. Another. Smoothed the dress one more time. Grabbed a small purse I'd borrowed from my sister because I didn't own anything that wasn't a canvas tote bag.
I walked to the door.
Opened it.
Bram stood on my porch in a dark button-down shirt and slacks, his horns catching the early evening light. His tail was tucked neatly behind him, and he held a small pot of basil.
He looked... nervous. And impossibly handsome.
His eyes met mine.
