Page 2 of Enchanted to Meet You

So now when I go down on someone, I expect to be gone down upon in return.

I strongly suspect, however, that Billy Walker has no idea how to orally pleasure a woman.

This isn’t his fault, of course. Sexual education in this country is a disgrace.

But that’s okay. I don’t actually mind that I might have to spend many hours teaching Billy—slowly and carefully—how to properly satisfy a woman.

Which reminds me: another reason it has to be today is that tonight is the full moon. According to Goody Fletcher’s book, love spells are the most powerful when conducted under a moon that’s growing fuller (so that “his love for thee will grow apace”).

So I’ve only got about twelve hours to get this done, or I’ll have to wait a whole month, by which time Rosalie will definitely have already gotten her lips all over Billy.

Fortunately we had all the ingredients—or the most important ones, anyway, according to the book—in the fridge. So last night, while Mom and Dad were at Ethan’s soccer game, I visualized my own attractiveness and lovability while chopping them up and cooking them together.

The only problem is that the ink Goody Fletcher used is so faded (and, to be honest, her cursive so spidery and hard to decipher in places), I couldn’t always read the words.

I’m pretty sure this doesn’t matter, however, since magic isn’t about your tools, but your intentions. Which is good since I have only the best intentions toward Billy and, according to Goody Fletcher, I’m supposed to “rub garlic round a wooden bowl, then eat the pottage from it” in front of the person I’m hoping to attract.

But I’m not about to stand in front of Billy Walker in the cafeteria and eat pottage stew out of a wooden bowl rubbed ingarlic. As Dina rightfully pointed out, in all the years we’ve gone to school together, Billy and I have never eaten at the same lunch table. He’s always sat with the jocks, and I’ve always sat with Dina and the rest of the emos and goths. It’s going to look weird enough when I casually stroll over to his table, eating stew out of a wooden bowl from home instead of pizza off a paper plate from the hot food line.

Also, I have Chem class with him right after lunch. I want to entice him, not disgust him with my garlic breath.

So it’s a no-garlic pottage stew out of Tupperware for me.

I really hope my intentions prove strong and pure enough for this spell to work. I don’t know how much longer I can go on being Billy’s lab partner and nothing more, when all these years I’ve loved him. And he and Rosalie would be so wrong for each other, it’s actually gross.

Jessica

Keep out unwelcome guests (from evil spirits to garden slugs) by sprinkling a little salt across thy threshold.

Goody Fletcher,Book of Useful Household Tips

I should have known. I should have put it together right away, what with all the signs the universe was practically hurling at me: Floods. Fire. The return of neon.

But as usual, I was clueless. So clueless that when the tall guy dressed all in black wandered in off the sidewalk during my annual “Fall into Fall Apparel” sale, I didn’t think twice.

Why would I? I mean, yes, the sign outside my shop has the wordsEnchantments: A Women’s Clothing Boutiquecarved into it in broad hand calligraphy (then painted in gold leaf for maximum impact).

But I get male customers all the time. So I didn’t even catch on when, instead of glancing around at all the extremely tasteful (if I do say so myself) racks of dresses, blouses, leggings, jackets, scarves, and jewelry, this guy simply stood there in the doorway and stared.

Atme.

We get all kinds during leaf peeping season, so this didn’t strike me as odd. It was kind of flattering, in fact, because this guy was sexy looking, and apparently alone. There wasn’t a ring on his wedding finger, either.Nice, I thought.

“Well, Mrs. Dunleavy,” I said, turning to the mayor’s wife—and my best customer. We were standing in front of the full-length mirror beside the dressing room doors. I wasn’t trying to hurry her, but sexy single guys don’t walk into my shop and stare at me every day. “How do you feel in this one?”

Margo Dunleavy, as always, sighed uncertainly at her reflection. “I just don’t know, Jess. Do you think it’s a little...” She lowered her voice so that the hot guy in the doorway, clearly eavesdropping on us in a low-key kind of way, wouldn’t overhear. “...risqué?”

“Absolutely not.” I straightened the hem of the close-fitting—and slightly revealing—burgundy silk gown. “It’s the West Harbor Tricentennial Ball. When will there ever be another occasion like this? Not for three hundred more years.”

I tried to ignore the fact that my reflection in the mirror wasn’t nearly as flattering at the moment as that of the mayor’s wife. For one thing, I wasn’t wearing a practically bespoke evening gown. And for another, I’d been working hard since early morning getting things ready for the blow-out sale, so my dark curls were secured to the top of my head with a plastic claw clip, my cheeks were pink and damp with sweat, and I was wearing a jumpsuit—inneon yellow.

That’s because jumpsuits for women my size—five foot nine and two hundred pounds—sell out in minutes in all the good colors. I have to save all the best colors (black, obviously) for my customers.

At least I’d remembered to tie one of the cute silk scarves from our new floral print line around my neck. But still, I lookedlike what I felt: a sleep-deprived, slightly cranky, full-figured thirtysomething witch in a neon yellow jumpsuit.

But maybe those were all the things Hot Doorway Guy looked for in a girl? It had been so long since anyone at all had been interested in me, I’d take a guy who liked neon, so long as he was gainfully employed and chewed with his mouth closed.

“And this dress fits you like a glove,” I pointed out to Mrs. Dunleavy. “It’s like it wasmadefor you.”