Page 3 of Witch Please

Even while she verbally took me to task, her finger remained cemented in place on the book she was reading. As if it were the trigger to a world ending nuclear bomb, and not fear of losing her place in whatever tome had earned her attention that morning.

“And when they arrive, I can scoot in, and all enjoy breakfast together.” I signaled the waitress as she breezed past, menus in hand, hoping she saw my signal for a cup of coffee.

Imogen crossed her arms across her chest in a frustrated huff, glaring at me from where she sat. Her hair, still damp, I’m assuming from a morning shower, was drying in the most beautiful ringlets around her shoulders. I tried to remember if in all the years knowing her if I’d ever seen her with her hair down. It was quite fetching—especially the way the sun coming from the window captured the subtle differences from flaxen to caramel.

“Not everyone exists on this earth as entertainment fodder for Sebastian Doyle. And just because you didn’t want to stand in line and wait for a table like every other person in Hanover, shouldn’t mean I’m inconvenienced.”

Given that she had books spread out all over the table, my hunch was there was no friend coming, but I’d play along. Other than wanting her to casually and without prodding bring up the play on her own, I had no reason for pushing myself into her space. I couldn’t come up with an explanation as to why it suddenly was so important to me.

“I’ll tell you what. When your friend arrives, I’ll leave. I’ll sit here and keep you company over a cup of coffee and perhaps a danish so as to allay any concerns I’ll overstay my welcome.”

Chapter 3

There wasn’t anyone coming. I don’t even know why I’d said that. Panic made me do it. Sebastian was everywhere this semester. First, he’d paraded his first years through the stacks showing them where our relics and rare books were located—not that any of them would ever need those. Then I’d seen him pumping gas into his Panamera at the gas station. How an English professor can afford a boujie German car is beyond me. Then he’d practically followed me to work pulling in at exactly the same time I did, despite him not having his first class until eleven. I’ve never gathered all of my things and dashed to the library faster than I did that morning.

He never issued any kind of apology for taking a swipe at me on Monday. If I actually had malicious intent I guess I would understand. I didn’t care about his position as director and to be honest it still boiled me he even thought that. I would never stab anyone in the back, especially not him.

“You know, if you were a student, you’d already have an email from me voicing my displeasure with an ignored deadline.”

He smiled at me while pouring cream into his coffee. He wore an oversized fisherman’s sweater with a pair of tailored jeans. It wasalmostcasual enough to pass for typical weekend wear. Instead, he leaned more towards European fashion model stepping off pages of Paris Vogue with his pouty scowl and well-heeled wardrobe.

“Seeing as I’m neither a student nor beholden to you, perhaps the best course of action would have been to shoot me an email and ask me my thoughts. I’m sure given it’s the beginning of term, you are equally as busy as I am with students and projects. We all have sidelined tasks in need of attention while everyone settles into their groove.”

When the waitress came, instead of ordering the danish he promised to order—he ordered as close to a full English breakfast as he could considering we were in America.

“I’ve been here for nearly half an hour and still your friend has not shown. Perhaps she got her signals crossed.”

He flippantly rolled his wrist, signaling the empty booth surrounding him. I could feel heat behind my eyeballs. I’m sure his comment was in response to the murderous look I imagined I possessed.

It burned me he assumed I was pretend meeting a friend and not a boyfriend. Like he even knew me well enough to assume I wasn’t involved. I guess there could only be one campus whore. Given he was with a blonde on Saturday night for drinks at Murphy’s, and a red head the next Saturday when attending a lecture at the Rocky, the role was clearly filled.

“As a matter of facthejust texted me his apologies. His Saturday class went late. First session of the semester and all. He won’t be able to make it here in time.”

His eyes shot up in surprise. “A colleague then?”

“Boyfriend.”

My lips just kept spinning tales of the finest bullshit. Yet, I couldn’t stop. Why did just having Sebastian in my presence bring out every bad instinct and habit I had?

“And he’s a professor?”

I took a sip of my coffee in place of an answer. He didn’t need insight into my personal life. Even if it was all pretend.

“In regard to your original reason for sitting in my booth. If you had questions on my opinions you could have easily emailed me just as you have for the last seven years we’ve known one another. Since you’re here…”

I closed the book I had been enjoying before he joined me, tucking it into my bag so he couldn’t see the cover. It wasn’t that I was embarrassed about the regency romances I devoured like candy. If it was anyone other than Sebastian, I’d proudly display my literary interest.Hedidn’t need any more fodder about rakes, the ton, or ripping bodices in general.

“I think that what you put forward is really unconventional but in a very avant garde way. I like that it has this social critique of modern society and the collective worship of social media.”

“It feels like there is a but coming.” He smiled at the waitress who placed our food down, reserving his scowl and assessing gaze just for me, apparently.

I’d only gotten as far as the end of Act One. The week had been absolute insanity. Between my responsibilities with the library archives and the literary festival, I typically don’t pick up more than a single class each semester. However, the English department had offered me both the undergraduate and graduate seminars, and I never pass up an opportunity to discuss British literature—in any of its forms. That’s all to say I was booked to capacity. So, a brief skim of his work was good enough in my opinion. It wasn’t like I wouldn’t be reading and re-reading the script a million times between now and the opening curtain.

“I think it will resonate with our alumnus—but I worry that the subtleties may be lost on the students.”

He caressed his jaw silently, while he contemplated what I said. Even though we spent time as colleagues for years, I can’t remember if we’d ever shared a space together just the two of us. It was the first time I’d noticed what unusual eyes he had. They were a deep blue—almost sapphire—with a ring of splintered gold—like a bolt of lightning bounced around his iris infinitely.

“As much as it would thrill me as an educator for every single student to pick up on the subtleties of anything—we know that is a pipe dream. If, however, it gets people talking and the alumni are happy about it, the dean will be happy. His happiness means we get to keep hosting the festival, so it’s a win all around.”

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