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But Lyla seemed smitten by the very idea. “Isn’t that wonderful? And that sounds exactly like Griffin to me.”
I smiled at her, glad to see she was so accepting of us already. It was hard to imagine myself ever being annoyed by her like Griffin had been. She was so kind and thoughtful. But I knew I wasn’t at the receiving end of constant pestering.
Even so, they both seemed like very caring people.
We continued to chat, and to my relief, the conversation felt very natural. It was hard to believe we weren’t together.
But a loud rumbling tore our attention away from the topic at hand, and a look of recognition crossed Lyla’s face.
“Dinner!” she cried out, immediately getting to her feet.
Worried, we followed her into the kitchen to find a pot lid tipped over, and the contents spilling over. Another had boiled so profusely that water began pooling on the ground.
“I forgot all about it,” she said, looking defeated. “What a mess.”
“I’ve got it,” I piped up, lifting a hand as my magic pulsed within my palm. With a wave, I turned the burners down, and the pots corrected themselves. The mess it made on the floor vanished in a blink.
Lyla and Walt both looked at me with shocked expressions, disbelieving of what they saw.
“You’re a witch,” his mother said, clueing in first with wide eyes.
Retreating into myself once more, I feared I had overstepped or that they weren’t accepting of witches, given the old views of their group. I silently cursed myself for showing my magic so easily.
I half expected them to cause an uproar and demand that I leave. For Griffin to never see me again.
But Lyla brightened. “That’s wonderful! I have a close friend who’s a witch, and she’s a bright young lady.”
Walt put a hand on Griffin’s shoulder. “This one didn’t bother to tell us, I presume.”
“I can’t think of a better way for you to find out,” Griffin said, giving them a sheepish smile. His dad scoffed at that playfully.
“Thank you for the hand, dear,” Lyla said to me as she shuffled over to the stove and began moving the pots around.
“No problem,” I replied, feeling as the relief coursed through me.
Witches were fairly common in Rose Valley, but that didn’t mean everyone necessarily liked us, certainly not people from other areas, especially if they weren’t familiar with us.
“Here, let me help with that,” I offered, moving in next to her.
Without a single complaint, Lyla and I worked together to transfer the food into serving dishes, and we laid everything out. As I did so, I felt Griffin’s eyes on me, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking.
Once the last dish was on the table and everyone sat down, I could’ve sworn I saw a gentle smile on his face. When our eyes met, he pulled a tighter-lipped one, then turned his attention to the meal.
Griffin’s parents asked the two of us more questions than I could keep up with, but dinner went by smoothly into dessert, and I felt more comfortable than ever in their presence.
The conversation came so naturally that I almost lost myself in the façade. It felt less and less like a performance and more like a genuine night together. It became harder to determine real bonding from the rouse.
After it was said and done, the kitchen was cleaned, and Walt had fallen asleep on the couch as Lyla and Griffin finished the last of the dishes. I looked at the photos hung up around the walls in the hallway and settled on one that caught my eye.
A young boy was sitting on the seat of an old motorcycle with a beaming smile, wearing nothing but a diaper and a helmet that was far too big. I chuckled at the picture, warmed by the innocence of it.
“That’s me at four years old,” Griffin commented as he stepped out of the kitchen with a dish towel draped over his shoulder. An amused smile settled on his lips. “My grandad had quite a few bikes that my dad later inherited. Believe it or not, he used to ride too.”
“You started young,” I murmured, glancing between him and his beaming younger self. It was odd to see how much he had changed since then. “That’s very cute.”
He looked pleased to hear it as he chuckled. “My current bike was a shell of my grandad’s favorite one before I put every piece together myself. I like to think he’s still a part of it.”
I smiled at the thought, pleasantly surprised by his attitude towards it. I never expected him to be the sentimental type.
