Page 43 of A Witch in Notting Hill

“My grandmother used to make tea with calamint,” Minho said. “Used to complain it was harder to find in the UK than it was in Korea. Which was fine by me, because I never liked it.”

“Love that,” I said, “given I have to find it, grown locally, and consume it.”

Minho shuddered. “We’ll help you with the search, but you’re on your own with the consumption. I haven’t seen my grandmother in years, and I’ve no interest in reliving the calamint tea of my childhood.”

“Lucky for you, you’re not the one who has to cast the spell,” Lola said, slapping him on the back. “So you’re all set there.” Herolled his eyes, and I envied him. I wished I wasn’t the one who had to cast the spell.

“It says here it flourishes in late August on the Isle of Wight,” Oliver said, scrolling through an article on his phone.

“Late August?” That was nearly six weeks away. So much for getting a jump on things.

“That a problem?” he asked. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re stuck here until December, so it’s not like we’re in a rush, are we?”

“Would have been nice to get started,” I said, and sighed. “But you’re right. What the hell are we going to do until then?”

“What everyone does in London in the summer,” Minho said. “Enjoy the city.”

Chapter 18

Oliver

The summer passed by much the same as it always did. Long, slow days in the shop, endless pints outside pubs with other patrons spilling into the streets. Longing for a holiday but refusing to close Coven & Codex and miss out on the business when tourists were infiltrating Notting Hill looking to spend their money.

Only this summer, we had the addition of Willow.

After our first meeting at the park, she kept to herself for a few weeks. Moved into a flat nearby, said she was settling into the city, arranging to have some of her stuff sent from LA, adjusting to the idea of living in London for a whole lot longer than she’d anticipated. We gave her space, getting on with our routines like we didn’t even know she was here.

Only we did know she was here.Iknew she was here. And I couldn’t stop thinking about her being here. I no longer read on the Tube, but instead kept my head on a swivel looking for even the slightest trace of her auburn hair. Every short, curvy woman waiting to cross every street bore a passing resemblance, untilI got a closer look and was reminded no one could even hold a candle.

“Why don’t you just invite her out already?” Lo asked one night as we wandered down the Regent’s Canal in Little Venice, eating ice cream and kicking rocks off the path.

“What?”

“Willow,” she said. “I know you’re thinking about her. You’ve been checking your phone incessantly for the past few weeks, and you never check your phone. Why don’t you invite her out with us?”

Having perceptive friends was starting to feel like more of a curse than a blessing.

“Am I being that obvious?”

“Only to me,” she said. “And to Min.”

“You’ve talked about it? Should I just jump into the river right now?”

“Since when are you one for drama?” she asked. “We haven’ttalked about ittalked about it. We’ve just noticed it seems like you’re distracted, that’s all. And since she’s the only thing in your life that’s changed in quite a while, it adds up.”

“Not sure it matters, though, does it? What with the guy she’s seeing and all that shite about ‘early days.’”

“That’s just something people say after they’ve been on like, one date,” she said.

“Is one date enough for the bloke to be her phone background?”

Lola stopped in her tracks, but I kept walking.

“She’s got a bloke set as her phone background?”

I nodded. “Saw it that night in the park. Before she slipped it into her pocket. You don’t reckon she has a brother or anything, do you?”

“I wish I could say yes, but I think only a sister. What did he look like?”