Page 37 of This Witch Is Not Wicked

“So you are going on the date?” Fiona asked with a sly smile.

“I brought a few dresses.” Ceri gestured to the fabrics slung across my kitchen table. “And I think the maroon is going to look absolutely fabulous with your skin tone.”

“What’s wrong with what I have on?” I gestured to my black dress.

Fiona wrinkled her nose. “You look like you’re going to a funeral.”

Ceri shushed her again, sending me an apologetic smile.

“But she does,” Fiona whispered loudly.

“You can’t wear that on your date.” Margaret frowned. “You have to dress up, really wow Nevan.”

I worried at my bottom lip. This was out of my comfort zone. In the time of the godwitches, there was no such thing as courting. Marriages were arranged, overseen by parents. I was in over my head.

Niamh stood and held out her hand. “So what do you say?”

The more I looked like a woman on a date, the more the town would believe Nevan and I were really a couple.

Maybe it wasn’t just that. I needed to learn about courting—and quickly. These women would have no problem giving me all their unsolicited opinions while I allowed them to dress me. It was only for a few hours. I could handle one night of this if it meant collecting intel.

I grabbed Niamh’s hand and let her haul me to my feet. “Fine, then. Let’s start with that maroon dress.”

CHAPTER 16

Nevan

My fingers drummed on the table at the Deerborn as I waited for Enid to arrive.

The tavern was crowded tonight, and a group of men gathered by the massive stone hearth in the middle of the restaurant, laughing and clinking their mugs of ale. I remembered a few years ago when this restaurant had been on the brink of closure, but thanks to Elowyn, the owner’s daughter, they’d started making more innovative recipes, swapping out their menus seasonally, and taking requests from townspeople.

Now they were more popular than ever, and for good reason: their food was delicious. I hadn’t been here in ages, but the smells of crispy potatoes, rosemary, thyme, and some kind of roasted meat were making me regret that.

“Order up!” a man called from the kitchen, and a young woman grabbed the plates and delivered them to a table nearby.

The door to the restaurant opened, Enid stepping in. Everyone grew quiet at once, all eyes on her. I swallowed, hoping she would ignore them and just focus on me. I caught her eye, nodding and giving her a smile.

She didn’t flinch or shrink away, just walked into the tavern like she owned this place. I’d always been amazed by her confidence. She didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of her, didn’t feel the need to mold herself into something she wasn’t. I admired that.

She strode through the maze of tables gawking at her until she arrived in front of me. I’d been so focused on keeping eye contact with her that I hadn’t noticed what she was wearing. Now as she stood close, I took her in, my blood heating. I’d only ever seen her in her long-sleeved black dress and her black robe—and I wasn’t complaining about either of those. But tonight she wore a maroon dress with a low-cut bodice and a cinched waist. Her black hair hung down her back in loose waves, and someone had painted glittering leaves on either side of her umber eyes. She was stunning.

“Hi,” I managed.

She was about to sit down when I jumped up to get her chair.

The eyes of the entire tavern weighed heavy on me as I dragged the chair back and gestured for Enid to sit.

She glared. “I can get my own chair, for goodness’ sake.”

I took my seat, starting to warm up to that scowl of hers, the way her nose slightly wrinkled, her eyes flashing, brows knitted together. “It’s supposed to be romantic,” I said.

In an instant, her scowl was replaced by confusion. “Romantic? You pulling out my chair—something I could do with very little effort—is romantic?”

Well, when she put it like that . . . I nodded to her dress. “That’s new.”

“Do you approve, then?” She tugged at the bodice, which only revealed more of her cleavage.

Approve was a word for it.