Page 64 of This Witch Is Not Wicked

“I’m sorry about the statue,” I blurted out. Once again, everyone’s gazes snapped to me, and I raised my chin. “I know that statue meant a lot to everyone⁠—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Niamh said. “You weren’t even the one who destroyed it, and we can always build another statue. We’re glad you’re here.”

“Right,” I said, confused about why they were being so nice.

Maybe Nevan was right, and everyone could forgive me. Maybe I could make friends. The thought terrified me as much as it intrigued me. Nevan might actually know what he was doing. He definitely knew what he was doing with his mouth.

I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that day in the garden, how he’d so thoroughly devoured me. I hadn’t seen him since. He’d been busy making the house calls his brother demanded. But I had a surprise for him tomorrow, and I hoped I might get to experience that mouth on me again.

“Enid, what do you think?” Niamh asked, looking at me expectantly.

I swallowed, having absolutely no idea what they were going on about.

Niamh leaned over from where she sat in her chair, that little worm still in her lap, staring at me with its large black eyes. “We’re trying to decide whether to start with enemies-to-lovers or friend-to-lovers.”

I’d never heard of either of those and I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. “Does this have to do with the spicy books?”

Margaret cocked her head. “Do you know what spicy books are?”

“Books about cooking?” I guessed. Quite frankly, that sounded incredibly boring, but I’d suffer through it to go along with Nevan’s plan.

Ceri choked on her cheese, coughing. “You’ve never read smut?” she asked, her plump cheeks already rosy, her wineglass almost drained.

“Smut?” I echoed.

“Oh, you’re in for an education.” Harriet raised her glass.

“Did Nevan not tell you?” Niamh rolled her eyes. “Typical man. This is a romance book club. Are you okay with that?”

I’d never read a romance book before. Most of the books that were written in the time of the godwitches were tragedies or comedies, and if they had romance in them, it usually didn’t end well.

“So it’s just a book about two people falling in love?”

“Well.” Niamh’s expression turned thoughtful. “Yes.”

Ceri straightened. “But there are obstacles that keep the lovers apart. They have wounds to overcome and ways they have to grow. Sometimes it’s heartbreaking.”

“Do they die?” I asked, hoping the answer was yes. That would make the story far more interesting.

“No, never.” Margaret looked horrified.

Niamh took a bite of cheese, speaking through a mouthful. “There’s always a happy ending in romance.”

“It’s the rule of the genre,” Harriet said.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about this. “And what is this spice?” I tried to remember the word Ceri had used. “The smut?”

“Sex,” Harriet said. “Lots of good sex.”

“But it has a purpose,” Ceri added. “It’s about showing growth in the characters and their relationship.”

“Or sometimes showing the opposite,” Margaret said from her painting. “We read that book last month about the two rival guards who had a deal to just have sex with no feelings involved.”

An image of Nevan’s mouth between my legs flashed in my mind. Sex with no feelings involved sounded very familiar. Maybe the books wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“I’ll try it,” I said.

“So enemies-to-lovers or friends-to-lovers?” Niamh asked again, and now that they’d explained the genre, I understood the gist of the question.