Page 68 of Enchanted to Meet You

He cut me off. “No. Never. Not like that.”

“Well.” I was hugging myself, but I wasn’t certain if it was because of the chill of the wind coming off the Sound—or fear. “That bodes well for us, doesn’t it? She’s on our side, so if she’s the most powerful witch you’ve ever seen, that must mean we can’t lose.”

He stopped walking and looked down at me in the amber light from the streetlamp. The nearly full moon was hidden behind swiftly moving dark clouds. A mist was beginning to roll in from the sea, and I could smell its briny scent, like shucked oysters—only these oysters smelled as if they’d sat out a bit too long in the sun.

“We can most definitely lose,” he said, his gaze hooded and unreadable in the half-light. “And more than just this town’s ranking as a cute stop for leaf peepers. We could lose our lives. She nearly brought the ceiling of your shop down on our heads.”

“Oh, come on,” I scoffed. “Esther would never—”

“Of course she wouldn’t—not on purpose. But she’s a kid. And like most kids, she doesn’t know her own strength. If she gets emotional, there’s no telling what kind of damage she could do.” He nodded toward my bag. “What does her letter to the mayor say?”

I grasped my tote. “Are you kidding me? We can’t read her letter. That’s private.”

He frowned. “The fate of your town might rest on what that kid has written in that letter, and you’re not going to take a peek?”

“No. I would never!”

Then, just as I’d begun to worry that I’d put all my trust into someone who would open letters that weren’t addressed to him, he snaked out an arm, pulled me close to him, and buried his lips in my neck.

“That’s why you’re the Chosen One,” he murmured, and the feel of his skin against mine sent shivers of a completely different—and entirely pleasurable—kind through me.

“Get a room, you two!”

Derrick and I broke apart as a car swerved up close to the sidewalk where we stood. I looked over to see Dina leering at me from the passenger seat, while Mark sat behind the wheel.

“Hey, lovebirds,” she called through the window she’d put down. “Headed our way?”

I hoped the light was dim enough that neither of them would notice my flaming cheeks.

“Oh, hi,” I said. “I don’t know. Where you headed?”

“You know where we’re headed, byotch.” I heard the rear passenger door closest to us pop as she unlocked it. “Get in, losers!”

I smirked and reached for the door handle, until I noticed Derrick’s hesitation to follow me—and his confused look. “Oh,” I said to him, remembering his upbringing, and that he’d probably never seenMean Girls. “That’s a line from a movie Dina and I liked as kids.”

“Oh.” He didn’t look particularly comforted—especially when he followed me into the car only to hear Mark cry, only half sarcastically, “Dude! How’s it hanging?”

But I’m not sure anything could have prepared Derrick for the shock of the fact that Get In, Losers was our trivia team’s name, and was shining down from all the flat-screen TVs (ofwhich there were dozens) in the Brewport, along with our team stats (which weren’t great).

A large family-style restaurant built on a deck right over the Sound, with a dock leading from it, the Brewport offered everything from craft beers and burgers to a video game arcade guaranteed to keep the kids occupied while their parents watched their favorite sports team (or played Trivia). Packed with beachgoers in the summertime, business was no less slow in the golden glow of autumn. The beginning of hockey and end of baseball season always left the place slammed, right on through to the Superbowl and basketball playoffs.

But everything stopped for Tuesday Night Trivia.

Esther’s parents’ team, the Brewport Bruisers, included their friends as well as waitstaff and bartenders from the restaurant. They won nearly every week.

But that never stopped Dina and Yasmin—who were both competitive by nature—from strategizing over how Get In, Losers might steal the Bruisers’ crown.

Dina was quizzing Derrick as Mark and her brother, Sal, were up at the bar, securing beer and wine for our high top.

“So what are your areas of expertise?” Dina asked Derrick.

Cunnilingus, I thought.

But Derrick only said, “I don’t know. I’ve never played trivia before.”

“Never played trivia before?” Yasmin echoed. She had been at the restaurant for an hour already with Sal and the kids—who, having finished their burgers, were off in the video arcade section, happily assassinating digital aliens with their friends—and was on her third glass of pinot grigio. “Not even Trivial Pursuit?”

“No.” Derrick smiled at her, definitely giving the appearance of paying attention to their conversation.