Page 12 of A Witch in Notting Hill

“You run a bookshop. You, of all people, should care about semantics.”

“And you shouldn’t if you want me to let you in.” He raised an eyebrow back, and I realized he had a point.

“I’ll answer one question,” I said.

“That wasn’t the deal.”

“Ever heard of a compromise?”

“The British don’t do compromises”

“Pick a question,” I said. “I’m not answering both, but I might be prepared to give you some decent business, so I suggest youfind it in yourself to go against your customs for the sake of your shop.”

“What kind of business are we talking?”

“Ah, so that’s how to get you to compromise.”

“One question, five books.”

“Three books.”

“Nothing on sale. And you answer honestly. None of that talking in circles you Americans love so much.”

“Done,” I said, hoping he picked question number two but relieved he didn’t want to do a lot of talking either way.

“What are you looking for?”Thank god.

I was about to confess, but the look in his eyes gave me pause. There was a certain depth behind the gray that hadn’t been there a minute ago. An arrogant, challenging shade that made me dizzy.

“You’re asking because you already know the answer behind door number one, don’t you?”

“Just wanted to hear you say it,” he said over his shoulder as he motioned for me to follow him farther into the store.What the hell?“Willow James, yeah?”

“Have you known this whole time?”

“Not when you made a mess of my Fables and Folklore room, no. But after the selfie incident, my friends may have, er, confirmed your identity. But only because I wanted to be made aware of what was going on in my shop. I didn’t like the way people were looking at you”—he coughed into his fist—“and I wanted to have all the information. Just in case.”

He didn’t seem like the kind of person who ever talked that much at once, and I had a feeling it was only because his back was to me. “Just in case what?”

“In case I had to, I don’t know, intervene.” He waved his hand like it didn’t matter. “Which leaves us with door number two. What are you looking for, Willow James?”

That’s it? He had nothing else to say about who I was? Usually, when people identified me in public, even if they weren’t fans, they still had more to offer on the subject. Had I met their favorite actor? Who was I dating? Did I know who did so-and-so’s hair at the Met Gala?Something. But apparently not Oliver.

Okay, then. Door number two.

“Well, Oliver Hadley,” I started, and he turned to face me at the sound of his name. “It’s on the website,” I said with a shrug. “Can I trust you?”

“To be fair, would I say no if you couldn’t?”

“Do you want me to answer honestly?”

“I thought I made that obvious.”

Okay, so he was infuriating. Maybe I could get away with a half-truth. He didn’t know me, and I was literally an actor for a living. I could sell a half-truth better than anyone.

“I’m looking for something for my grandmother,” I said. “She’s turned her home nurse into a cat. And now she needs to figure out how to reverse the spell and turn her back.” Not bad.

Or so I thought, until what felt like an eternity went by and Oliver hadn’t so much as blinked.