Page 79 of Enchanted to Meet You

“Where do you think?” I showed him Rosalie’s card.

He raised an eyebrow while reading it, then took a swig from the battered metal water bottle he carried when he ran. “How unexpectedly generous of her.”

“Isn’t it?” I glanced back at my neighbors, all of whom were still watching us with rapt attention.

But when they saw my gaze swing their way, they pretended to be busy doing something else, now that Derrick was around. Val went back to raking, and Annalise suddenly had an important text in her phone that needed her attention.

“Maybe,” I said, “we should talk about this inside.”

“Yeah.” Derrick gave the car an appreciative sweep with his hand, admiring its smooth curves. “Let’s do that.”

“See you later,” I said to my neighbors, who all called cheerful goodbyes back to me and returned to their pretend yard work.

No sooner had I shut the door behind us and spun around totell Derrick what a duplicitous piece of garbage Rosalie was—because I didn’t for a second believe that her gift hadn’t come with some kind of strings attached, or at least faulty brake lines— than I found that he’d stripped off his shirt and was headed for my washer/dryer, which were located in the mudroom.

“What...” It was difficult for me to concentrate on my outrage over Rosalie’s blatant attempt to manipulate me when there was a half-naked man striding through my living room.

“Yes?” He paused to sit on one of my dining room chairs to pull off his running shoes.

“I mean, it’s not like she can just give me a car and think I’m going to forgive her.”

“Of course not.” His socks came off next.

“It’s probably booby-trapped in some way. Like when I go down a hill, the transmission will burst into flames and I’ll crash into the Sound and drown.”

He cocked his head thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. Because number one, that isn’t how transmissions work, and number two, that would reflect badly on Hopkins Motors. And if Rosalie is anything, it’s proud of her family name.”

“Okay, but—I can’t just accept it. With my history with Billy, it wouldn’t be right.”

“After the way Rosalie has treated you,” he said, standing up, “I think it’s more than right. I think you not only can’t turn it down, you deserve it.”

Then he pulled his joggers down. Beneath them he was only wearing a pair of briefs. A very tight pair of briefs, which he casually peeled off as he spoke and tossed into the washer.

“Why don’t we take a shower together,” he suggested, “then get changed and take the car for a test-drive over to Wake Up West Harbor for breakfast? Then you can decide.”

What magic was this? I wondered, as I found myself noddingand then heading toward the stairs with him, as if he were a lighthouse and I was some storm-tossed vessel, allowing him to lead me to the safety of shore?

But of course the witch in me knew it wasn’t magic at all. It was him.

And that might have been more frightening—and yet exciting—than any enchantment.

Derrick

A True Witch keeps the existence of magic and witchcraft a secret from the non-magical, knowing that their minds are too fragile to handle the truth.

Rule Number Eight of the Nine Rules

*World Council of Witches*

Derrick was in trouble. He’d known it when the server at Wake Up West Harbor looked at him as soon as he and Jessica sat down and said, “Cheese Danish and an Americano, black. Am I right?”

But he’d had an inkling even earlier, when he’d been on his run and someone living blocks away from Jessica opened their front door to pick up the newspaper, saw him, waved, and called out, “Congratulations on the win last night!”

At first he hadn’t understood what she was talking about. Then he’d remembered: Tuesday Night Trivia.

They knew him. The people of West Harbor were beginning to recognize him on sight.

Not just recognize him, but smile and wave to him, and recall his favorite breakfast order.