Page 52 of A Witch in Notting Hill

“See what I mean?” I said.

“I can’t even make fun. I really did feel like I was fighting for my life there for a second. I owe it to you for saving me,” she said, reaching up to the front seat to touch my shoulder. A fleeting, gentle touch I was certain I’d be feeling for the rest of the day.

“That’s what I’m here for,” I said, resisting the urge to turn around and check to see if the color was back in her face. Instead, I kept my gaze locked firmly out the window, watching the coastline turn into rolling hills as we crept closer to the farm.

I’d been to the Isle of Wight a handful of times as a child, but I hadn’t been back since, and this drive alone was making me wonder what took me so long. As the cliffsides and wide beaches turned into sprawling green, stone cottages, and high streets that looked like they hadn’t aged a day in hundreds of years, I was reminded how silly it was to spend so much time cooped up in London when this was only a few hours’ drive away.

It wasn’t that I didn’t love Notting Hill. It was a beautiful place and I was well aware how fortunate I was to call it home, but that didn’t mean I didn’t notice the gritty underbelly of thecity, the increasing flocks of tourists, the sometimes never-ending monotonous drone of the workweek. The isle seemed like a place where hardly anyone even worked, but instead spent their days browsing the markets, wandering the coastline, and tending their gardens. And as far as I was concerned, there were far worse ways to live.

“Can you imagine living here?” Willow said, taking the words right out of my mouth.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Min said.

“You’ve all been here before?”

“Every person who lives in England came here as a kid,” Lola said. “It’s a popular holiday spot.”

“Puts our holiday spots to shame,” Willow said. “There’s so much character here.”

“Arguably too much, sometimes,” Min said with a laugh. “Wait until we get to the market. Everyone’s as old as the buildings themselves, and they’re all a bit mad.”

“In the fun way,” Lola added. “You’ve nothing to worry about. We’ll find that calamint in no time.”

I hoped she was right. I could see the tension return to Willow’s shoulders even as she marveled at the countryside, undoubtedly nervous we wouldn’t find what we came for. And as much as I wanted to be the comfort she needed, I, too, was vaguely nervous we wouldn’t find what we were looking for.

While I didn’t believe in any of this, it was obviously causing her a great deal of stress, and I wanted to be able to mitigate that. Even if there was a perfectly logical explanation for why she seemed to believe a person was now a cat, she wasn’t interested in logic, and it wasn’t exactly my position to try to convince her otherwise. My job was to help my customers find what they were looking for, and that was exactly what I was doing. Whatever happened after that, well, that wasn’t my business anymore.

The farm stretched out before us in varying shades of green, dotted with pitched white tents, wooden farm stands, and a stone barn standing proudly at its center. It was worlds away from London, and while I was mildly anxious about leaving the shop to Wesley for a full day, I couldn’t deny how good it felt to take a breath in the countryside.

“Right, well, this is it,” Min said as he put the car in park. “Are we ready?”

“No time like the present,” Lola said.

We climbed out of the car, and I gave in to the temptation to really look at Willow. Full bottom lip between her teeth, eyes wide. “You all right?” I asked.

“Cautiously optimistic.”

“Me too,” I said, surprised I actually meant it. “But I have a good feeling. Come on.” We both relaxed as she fell into step beside me, and the four of us made our way into the market.

It was more crowded than I’d anticipated, but that made it easier for Willow to blend in. Not that this was really the crowd that would notice her, anyway. It was mostly locals and the elderly, so I had a feeling she’d be pretty safe. Still, I’d keep my head on a swivel so she wouldn’t have to.

“Where do we even begin?” she asked, looking around like a deer in headlights.

“Looks like herbs are over there,” I said, nodding toward a row of stalls lining the left side of the market. “Let’s just start at the first one and make our way through?”

“Works for me,” she said.

So that was what we did. We wandered from stall to stall, browsing their offerings and inspecting every bed for signs of wood calamint. When we came up empty after the fifth stall and Willow’s shoulders started to sag, I had to take matters into my own hands.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said to a man running what looked to be the largest of the stalls. “D’you know where we can find wood calamint?”

“Aye, it’s wood calamint yer after, is it?” He scratched his jaw. “You’ve come to the right place, but you’ve come at the wrong time, I’m afraid. We’ve had so much rain this year it’s been a bit of a faff to grow the bloody thing, and I reckon most of us have sold it by now.”

“Ah, come on, mate,” I said. “Someone’s got to have it here, no?” There was no way we came all the way over here for nothing.

“You could try that bloke down the end there,” he said, pointing toward a stall on the outskirts of the market. “He’s got some rare shite. Might have a bit of calamint in there yet.”

“Thank you,” Willow said, shaking his hand with both of hers. His scowl instantly dissolved into a gentle smile, the wrinkles between his eyes softened, and he bowed his head.