Page 49 of A Witch in Notting Hill

“Good morning, sunshine,” she said as I slid into the booth across from her. “Are the sunglasses part of the disguise, or are you too hungover for overhead lighting?”

“Both?” I laughed, wincing only slightly as I pushed them onto my head.

“Those pale ales will get ya,” she said. “You don’t do a lot of drinking in the Hollywood party circuit? I thought those parties were all about booze.”

“Trust me, they are. I’m just more of a two-cocktails-only kind of girl.”

“You’re a four-pints kind of girl now,” she said.

“I hope I wasn’t embarrassing? Please say I wasn’t embarrassing.”

“Hardly. Unless you count being impossibly charming and picking up two rounds even when it wasn’t your turn embarrassing, which we definitely do not.”

Relief washed over me like warm water. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Nonsense.” She waved her hand. “You don’t owe us a thing.”

“I have a feeling once this quest starts you might change your minds.”

“Well, we’re about to find out.” She smiled, waving Oliver and Minho over to our table. “Because we start today.”

They were right about the full English. In order to enjoy a massive plate of eggs, bacon, sausages, baked beans, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, toast, and who even knew what else, one definitely needed a pair of pants three sizes too big and a hangover to match. I could practically feel the food soaking up the booze and restoring my will to live.

Which I needed desperately, because when we got down to business, the nerves came back full force.

“Now that we’re stuffed to the brim and grease is oozing from our pores, are we ready for a road trip?” Minho asked, signaling the server for the bill.

“Not when you say it like that,” Lola groaned. She was clutching her stomach and leaning against the back of the booth, rolling her head side to side.

“Grow up, Lo,” Oliver said. “Get the gluten-free toast or stop complaining.”

“That crumbly shite? Never.”

I dug in my bag for the digestive enzyme I used for award shows, handing one over and instructing her to take it with a full glass of water.

“Saint Willow,” she said, and sighed. “We’re keeping you around forever.”

It was no secret I’d be going back to LA as soon as we finished the quest and reversed the spell, but the reminder that I wouldn’t actually be here forever, going out for pints and brunch and being treated like the girl next door, stung more than I’d expected it to. For a fleeting, agonizing second, I allowed myself to wonder if it could always be like this.

“What’s the plan, then?” I asked, eager to change the subject before I went too far down that rabbit hole.

“We’re headed down to the Isle of Wight,” Oliver said, clapping his big hands together. “A little earlier than we’d planned, but it’s now or never. Minho will drive, and if we leavenow, we should be there around half one. There’s a farm in town that does a proper market of hundreds of locally grown herbs, so we’re certain to find your calamint there.”

It sounded almost too good to be true. All we had to do was drive there and buy the herb? In my circumstances, however, I wasn’t exactly prepared to jinx it, so I kept my mouth shut. Maybe I’d actually be in for a streak of good luck. Maybe it really could be this easy.

“At the very least, let me pay for gas,” I said.

“It’s called petrol, and we’ll see,” Oliver said.

“This is fun for us, too,” Lola said. “I’ve been dying to get down there this time of year. You already know I want to have a lie on the beach.”

“And Min and I want to try their seafood,” Oliver said. “So we’ll make a proper day of it.”

“You really don’t have to—”

“Willow, respectfully, are you going to do this every time we make plans?” Lola said, and I snapped my mouth shut. “We’re locked in. That’s all there is to it. You aren’t forcing us to do anything. We’re excited. Now, are we ready to go?”

I was grateful she hadn’t given me much of a chance to respond, because I wasn’t sure what more there was to say other than “Thank you.”