Page 45 of A Witch in Notting Hill

“I don’t,” I said. “This is just something that happens to be serious.”

“Everything is serious with you.”

“That’s not true.” Was it? Did I take things too seriously? I mean, I was no comedian, that was for sure, but wasn’t that part of my charm? The whole grumpy British bookshop owner, quiet, reserved, contemplative. It was an archetype. People loved an archetype.

“Unfortunately it is,” Lola said. “But that’s quite all right. Now’s the perfect time to try out a little spontaneity. Take out your phone.”

“Absolutely not.”

“D’you want to be a killjoy your whole life, or d’you want to have some fun?”

“Wewerehaving fun,” I said. “Before all this. When we were just walking and talking and eating ice cream. That was fun, wasn’t it?”

“That is a Thursday,” she said. “We do this all the time. Let’s get you out of your comfort zone.”

“You’ve been doing that since uni. Can’t I have five minutes to just enjoy my comfort zone?”

“Not when you’re racing against the clock. She’s going to be gone before you know it. Or properly dating that tosser, and then we’re really going to be screwed.”

“You know, if you didn’t make everything such a ‘we’ situation, you wouldn’t have to be stressed about all of this.”

“I’m a masochist,” she said with a shrug. “What can I say? Your phone, please.” She held out her hand, wiggling herfingers. We both knew I had no choice but to hand it over, so it was better I didn’t fight it. I slapped it into her hand, and she rolled her eyes, using my face to unlock it before she opened WhatsApp.

“The fact that you even have bloody Willow James’s number is mental,” she said. “D’you know how many people would kill for that?”

“I don’t, and I’m not interested in finding out. Please don’t make it a big deal.”

“You’re not giving me enough credit. I haven’t even asked for it yet. Haven’t forced you to make a group chat or anything, either. The Lola of Two Years Ago would have already driven the poor woman straight back to Los Angeles. I’m making progress.”

Thinking about the Lola of Two Years Ago made me smile. She was right. She was only slightly insane now, compared to fully unhinged like she was when we were younger. And Iwasn’tgiving her enough credit.

“You’re right,” I said, holding my hands up in surrender. “Do your worst.”

“Careful what you wish for, Hadley.”

Three hours later we were sat at a pub on the water, packed into a snug and waiting for the arrival of one Willow James. As much as I took the piss out of Lola, she did know what she was doing. As soon as she convinced Willow this was another unknown pub and we could hide out in the back, promised her we wouldn’t talk quest if she didn’t want to, we just wanted to check in on how she was adjusting to the city and buy her a pint, she was sold.

Pints on me, though,she’d said. Lola had happily obliged.

“Do you think she’s offering to buy a round because she’s rich and she feels sorry for us?” Lola asked when we slid into the booth.

“I think she’s offering to buy us a round because she’s a decent human being,” Min said. “And you have your own two-bedroom flat in the center of Notting Hill, Lo. You aren’t exactly struggling.”

“Fair play,” she said.

Before any of us could say anything else idiotic, I caught sight of Willow slipping through the front door, careful not to let it slam behind her. Her hair was in one long braid over her shoulder, a few wispy strands in front obscuring her face. It was the first time I’d seen her without a hat since she first came into the shop, and I was paralyzed.

Even with the wisps of hair obscuring her eyes, there was a certain clarity to her expression that had been shadowed by her hat this whole time. Out from under the brim, she was practically glowing. Her auburn waves and her peachy complexion were nearly the same color, giving her a kind of otherworldly appearance that made it easy to understand why she was the star of every red carpet, or whatever Lola said.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. As she made her way to our table at the back of the pub, nearly every set of eyes turned to follow her path. Either she didn’t notice or was really good at pretending she didn’t notice, because she just kept walking, but I noticed, and I couldn’t cope with the way people were gawking at her.

I was out of the booth before I could think better of it, cutting a path through the pub to meet her halfway.

“Gemma, great to see you,” I announced loudly as I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her in the direction of our snug. “I’m so glad you’re back from South Africa.”

“What are you doing?” she whispered, trying not to laugh.

“Dispelling suspicions,” I said. “People were starting to notice you. Now they just think you’re a doppelganger.”