Page 53 of Enchanted to Meet You

“Sorry,” she said, putting her phone away again. “Nothing important, just a friend. Do you like vinaigrette? I was going to whip one up to go with the salad.”

“You really don’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”

“Oh, it’s not for you. It’s for me.” She smiled again, and bounced away to the turntable to flip the record over.

He pretended not to notice that she was also quietly answering the text.

“Are these your parents?” he asked. He’d got a fire started, and had begun scanning her bookshelves as she busied herself in the kitchen. Now he held up a framed photo as, on the record player, a woman crooned about how much she loved her man.

“Yes,” Jessica said, glancing over from the kitchen. “That’s my mom and dad’s wedding photo.”

He squinted down at the photo. It showed a deliriously happy-looking dark-haired couple in formal wear, standing under a Jewish wedding canopy. “Do they know?”

“Know what?”

“About you being a witch.”

“Oh, God, no. Do yours?”

“Yes,” he said shortly. He wasn’t going to discussthat. Better to keep her on the subject of her own family. “Why haven’t you told yours? Would they be upset?”

Jessica had come over from the kitchen to gaze down at the photo in his hand. “Upset? No. Concerned? Yes. My ancestors did a lot of running because of their beliefs—from the Cossacks, Nazis, Mussolini. You name it. So I guess I’d rather spare my parents from any news that might make them feel like I’m going to have to run someday, too, like our ancestors had to. What about your parents? Are they—what did you call it? Magically inclined?”

“More or less.” It was dangerous to talk about himself, so heturned his attention back to the photos on the bookshelf to distract her—and himself. She was standing so close to him that he could smell the grapefruit-scented shampoo she’d used on her hair. He reached quickly for a photo of an awkwardly tall boy wearing a graduation gown. “Is this your brother? Does he know?”

“I never told him, but I think he suspects...something.” His strategy wasn’t working, because she came even closer, grinning down at the photo and enveloping him with the scent of citrus and a feeling of longing. “What about you? Any siblings?”

He didn’t like talking about his past. But because it was her, he grudgingly admitted, “Half-siblings. We weren’t raised together.”

“So you were basically an only child. That makes a lot of sense.”

He glanced at her as he put the photo of her brother back where he’d found it. But glancing at her was a mistake, since it only caused him to notice, once again, how kissable her lips looked. “Why?”

“Only children often have to mediate between their parents, smooth things over, make things nice, take care of them. That’s what you do.”

He was astonished by this description of himself. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” Her laughter tinkled like the piano keys in the music she’d put on. She seemed to find his response very amusing. “What about when you rushed off to save Esther from that wolf? Or what you did when Rosalie attacked me, and I hurt my knee this afternoon?”

“That’s—” What was she even talking about? It’s true that he’d never learned to handle compliments well—possibly because his father had hardly ever given them, and his mother had rarely been around. But this was ridiculous. “Anyone would have done that.”

“No, they wouldn’t.” She smiled up at him with those shininglips. “You said every witch is a healer—or has the capacity to be, anyway. Well, you’re something more. I think you’re a caretaker.”

“No, I’m not.”

What was happening? This conversation had gotten way off track. He desperately needed to steer the subject away from himself.

He also needed her to move away from him, since she was standing far, far too close to him. Just to be on the safe side, he set his wineglass on the mantel and reached for the fireplace poker, keeping his hands away from the temptation of reaching for her.

“Do you think the food is ready?” he asked, stirring up the flames. Yes. This was good. Steer the conversation back to dinner. “It smells great.”

“I have the timer on,” she said. “It will ding when it’s ready. So, is there anyone you’re currently caring for?”

He paused in poking the fire, not certain he understood her. “What?”

“Besides me. Back at home. Do you have anyone special waiting for you back home?”

“Not currently, no.” He kept his attention resolutely on the fire... which was difficult, since she’d taken a step closer to him in order to set her wineglass on the mantel alongside his.