Page 23 of Hexed Up

For two people who have been banned from physical intimacy, you’d think the easiest way to follow that instruction would be to stay as far away from one another as possible – or at least in our own respective flats.

It’s not just the prospect of making the potion harder to reverse, it’s the witching authorities too. If they learn I’ve been brewing love potions illegally, if they learn I’ve bewitched my hot neighbour, if they learn I’ve been sleeping with him too … I shudder at the thought.

And so, after Damien’s somewhat dramatic departure, I send Horatio back to his own flat and, after making myself a cheese sandwich, collapse on my sofa, seeking cuddles and snuggles from my pet dog and not the six-foot-five man-god I’ve spent the morning with.

However, less than twenty minutes later, my door is buzzing once again.

This time it really could be the delivery man. I still haven’t received my parcel.

It’s not. Once again, it’s Horatio.

This time, his arms are full of newspapers.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“Sorry, the separation thing isn’t working.”

“It’s for the best,” I remind him. “You really don’t want to end up loving me for the rest of your life.” And I really don’t want to end up bankrupt or in witching jail.

“The effects of the potion are making it too hard to be away from you.”

“What exactly are these effects?” I ask, but once again he’s already inside my flat, spreading the papers across my coffee table and making himself comfortable in my armchair.

“It’s okay,” he says, “I’m not going to try anything. I just thought we could hang out.”

He picks up the financial section of one of the papers, arranges it on his lap and starts to read.

McGruff looks up at me from the sofa like he’s waiting for me to eject this interloper, but I simply shrug, find the entertainment section of the paper and settle back down with my dog.

“I don’t usually read the papers,” I confess, scanning the page for a suitable article.

“Then how do you know what’s going on in the world?” he asks me.

“I’d rather not know. It’s all too depressing.”

“The cartoons are at the back of that section,” he says without looking up from his article. I stick my tongue out at him and he smiles.

A minute later, I’m chuckling to myself. Then I’m reading out a quote from some ridiculous article about a man who’s been playing jazz music to his hens to get them to lay bigger eggs, before I snort at some ridiculous statement by the leader of the main opposition party.

“Are you always so noisy when you read the paper?” Mr Hottie asks when I interrupt him for the fourth time.

“I can’t help it. I like my reading to be an inclusive experience.”

Mr Hottie chuckles, looking up from his paper and meeting my gaze.

“You really are ridiculously cute, do you know that?”Beautiful and cute?Did he hit his head yesterday as well as inhaling my potion? His blue eyes darken. “And I really want to kiss you.”

I swallow, my blood seeming to heat under the weight of his gaze.

“You heard the demon, you risk being permanently in love with a dysfunctional witch.”

“I heard him.”

“Physical intimacy will make the reversal of the potion more difficult.”

“But not impossible,” he points out.

I swallow a second time. “No, not impossible.”