“No. You need food in your stomach, too. I ordered us something called a nacho.”
Laughter bubbles up. “A nacho! Oh my god, that’s adorable.”
“It’s a food selection. It received top billing on the limited, uninspiring menu and seems to be a popular choice.”
“Nachos, professor. Always plural. It’s literally impossible to eat only one.” Her eyes widen with some new realization. “Oh! I bet my house—well, my mother’s house—could make nachos. I’ve never asked, but it makes a killer breakfast spread. Dinner too. No luck with drugs, though.” She shrugs. “I’m guessing that’s a judgment call. Helena told me the house provides what we most need in the moment, which doesn’t always align with our desires, so?—”
“If that were empirically true, the house would’ve provided me with a ready excuse to avoid this outing. And yet!” I look to the bar, hoping for a sign of the nacho. Rather,nachos. No luck.
Miss Bonnivarde shrugs. “There are always loopholes. We should probably explore them. You can take notes. Draw diagrams if you want. But… not tonight. Tonight is for fun! Right?”
“I think we’ve reached our fun quota for the next ten years.” I flag the bartender to bring some more waters. Soon after, theplural nachos arrive, and Miss Bonnivarde tucks into them with nearly as much gusto as she approaches her magical studies and her dancing with elderly men, and I relax. I even enjoy a few of the nachos myself.
“It seems you’re right, Miss Bonnivarde,” I say, by way of an olive branch, and shovel a few more nachos onto my plate. “Itisliterally impossible to eat just one.”
She smiles, but it’s dim by comparison. She’s gone quiet on me. The wild haze of the alcohol seems to be receding.
We finish the meal in silence, and I head up and settle the bill. Good timing; the bar is getting crowded. Far too many warm bodies in tight quarters for my liking.
We’ve just gotten outside when the witch turns to me, her face a bit green.
“Miss Bonnivarde? Are you all right?”
“I don’t feel so hot. I think—and I don’t say this lightly, because I don’t remember this ever happening before—I think I had a little too much to drink.”
“You don’t say.”
“I’m sorry. I really wanted you to have fun tonight, and I ruined it.” She huffs out a long sigh.
“Come now, you’ve done no such thing. I had a perfectly enjoyable evening. Mostly on account of the nachos, but?—”
“Hey!” She laughs, some of the sparkle returning to her eyes. But she’s still unsteady on her feet, and I don’t like her coloring. Not at all.
The decision is made before I have time to overanalyze it.
“Come on,” I say, nodding up ahead. “I’m taking you home.”
“I don’t think I can walk that far.”
“To my cottage in town, Miss Bonnivarde. I’m not leaving your side tonight, lest you become ill, or cast some poorly writ spell in your drunken stupor and fall into a demonic realm from which I can not retrieve you.”
“Aww! That’s so sweet of you, Dr. Sutherland. Thank you.” She reaches out a hand to steady herself, but then jerks back before she makes contact. “Sorry. I forgot you don’t like—shit!”
She misjudged; the sudden movement throws her off balance.
I catch her, an instant before she falls to the ground, scooping her into my arms and hauling her against my chest… and keeping her there.
I’m not sure which of us is more surprised. My heart thunders, my skin electrified. Every one of my nerve endings is standing at attention. I can barely contain my breathing.
I can’t recall the last time I’ve held a woman. Felt the warmth of her.
Wanted it.
She loops her arms around my neck, gazing up at me with something I might mistakenly identify, if she were not drunk and the street not dark and my mind not overloaded with all the sensations I’m feeling right now, as adoration.
“My demon knight in shining spectacles,” she whispers.
“Yes, well. Let’s not make too big a fuss. I can’t very well leave you in the street, causing a scene.”
