I cinch my apron tighter. Hell.
Shouldn’t I be livid? If there were ever a moment to take a rusty pair of sewing scissors to his gardens, we have arrived. Instead, I’m just relieved I’ve finally got some answers. He’s right. The recipe might be different, but our oven temperatures are still set at the same relentless heat. There’s no time to be upset when Lazlo needs help.
“Why did the Widow Witch even agree to grant you a wish in the first place?”
“I promised her a future favor, as payment. Which I refused to honor when I discovered she’d cursed me instead.”
Further upsetting the balance of magic and power. “Bet she loved that.”
A brooding look takes over as he retreats behind that gruff facade. “As far as I’m concerned, she began this feud.”
“Can you blame her? You thought you could justwishyour way out of a midlife crisis. All this mess, because you wanted to be younger?”Men. Good. Lord. Unbelievable.
“Younger is not what I wanted—you can’t think methatvain.”
I scoff. “I’d love to go backward, before my mom got sick. To spend more time with her, learn how to be a great Farewitch. Hell, just a good one. But life doesn’t work like that.” He warned me I would be mad, but I want him to be mad, too. Not withdraw into himself.
My attitude works. He straightens to his full height and faces me, and my favorite glower returns. That’s more like it.
“Thismesswas not intentional. I never would have made the wish if I knew a child—whatever his origins—would be affected. Or anyone besides me, for that matter. Wish magic is my craft, and that is why I turned to it to solve a problem. You would have done the same, Ms. Frost. You told me so when you arrived.”
My mouth closes on a retort.
What are you looking for in all those books?
A happy ending. A second chance. They all have one thing in common. Time.
What would I give to carve out more time for my mom? A lot. Too much. Everything.
Fine, so maybe it isn’t about being younger. We spend away all our time and then somehow want it to still add up to something. Suddenly, I feel small, a silly little Farewitch. How the hell did I, Honey Frost, end up at the top of the Warlock’s emergency contact list?
I tear my gaze from his. If I keep staring into those hazel cauldrons of self-contempt, I’ll never concentrate. “What moment in your life were you trying to redo? Your parents’ deaths?”
“No. Deaths are fixed events in time. I simply wanted to go back to when someone kind offered me help I should not have refused.”
Even if I don’t want to, I understand. Accepting help is almost harder than asking for it.
I cross the gap between us so I’m right up in his face. With our height difference, it’s not as intimidating as I hoped. “For future reference, lies by omission are still lies.Sir.” To drive home my point, I poke a single finger into his hard chest.
Before I can blink, he snatches my hand in an unyielding grip. I swallow. Probably shouldnothave literally poked the beast. But then he threads his long fingers through my stiff ones, loosening my hand, like roots threading up through soil to find the sun. We’remuchcloser than I realized and I can see his worry lines, which are way too endearing for their own good. He holds my fist against his chest, gaze burning into mine, like he wants to set something on fire. Maybe me. In the best way.
Out of nowhere, a small voice tiptoes into our argument. “Are you fighting about me?”
Lazlo watches us from the kitchen doorway.
My face probably matches the Warlock’s exactly, a cocktail of surprise and distress. He composes himself first.
“Ms. Frost cares a great deal for you, Lazlo. She’s teaching me how to be better. But sometimes, I’m not very good at listening.”
Disbelief swallows the rest of my anger. Something in my chest shivers and I refuse to believe it’s my heart.
Lazlo glances to the windows. “Ms. Zeen says a big storm is coming. Do you think Beauregard is okay? Dogs don’t like thunder.”
The kid would know, given how often Ms. Buchanan stops by so Lazlo can play with Beau. She and Arna Jean are always stopping by for chatter. Neither likes to text.
“I’m positive,” the Warlock says, looking grateful for the change in topic.
“But it’s gonna benasty, Ms. Zeen says, and Beau doesn’t like loud noises or even lightning. Can we go check on him?Please.”
