Page 14 of Hexed Up

“It’s scorchingly hot,” I point out. “Which is okay for you and your golden Californian skin. But I will fry like a fish in a chippie if I step out into that light.”

“I thought you were a witch, not a vampire,” he deadpans. “The weather broke last night, it’s much cooler today. Also, I’m not from California.”

“You aren’t?”

He shakes his head. “Chicago. But I’ve lived over here since my mom remarried when I was fifteen.”

“You didn’t fancy moving back?”

“No, I like it here – despite all the rain, appalling coffee, and the depressing nature of the people.”

“I’m a tea drinker,” I inform him.

“Tea tastes like gnat piss.”

I scowl at him. “Coffee tastes like someone boiled their own scrotum.”

“Because you’ve never had decent coffee before.”

I rub at my eyes. “It’s far too early in the morning to be having this conversation.”

“You’re really not a morning person, are you?” He shakes his head. “It’s the best part of the day. You shouldn’t be missing it. You know, you’re 20% more productive in your day if you’re up by 6am.”

“That is not a thing. Goodbye, Horatio,” I say, pointing towards my door.

“Don’t you need to walk your dog?”

“Huh!” I say, not falling for that one, because, McGruff, unlike every other dog on the planet, is not a fan of a walk. I have to brigade, coerce, and drag him on one every day. However, when I peer down at McGruff, he’s squinting up at me in that way he does when he needs to go pee and I realise, in my flustered state last night, I forgot to take him out to relieve himself. “Hmmm, he probably does need a walk around the block.”

“How about a walk around the Heath?” Mr Hottie suggests. “Look, I’ll make you a deal.” I raise an eyebrow. “You go get dressed and I will return in ten–”

“Twenty,” I barter.

“Twenty minutes with the world’s best coffee.”

“That is a high claim, Mr Shaw.”

He laughs, the noise rumbling in his chest. “I have freshly ground Columbian Supremo beans. And I own a Elixur500.”

“What is that? A space ship?”

He laughs again, although I was being dead serious. “No, it’s only the best coffee machine in the world. You wait. I’m going to convert you into a coffee-drinker.”

I can’t help smiling. His early morning cheerfulness is infectious. Is this the effect of my love potion? Or does he always start out this happy in the morning and sink into a grump as the day progresses? It looks like today, I will be finding out.

“Okay,” I finally concede, “but make it a strong coffee.”

“Are you sure about that?” he says, smirking.

“I don’t usually get up for at least another three hours!” I tell him, heading for the bathroom.

As I take another shower, this time scrubbing away yesterday’s makeup, I wonder if this is a date. I also wonder if that is such a good idea given what Damien told me last night. But I’m up and awake now, McGruff does need a walk, and I am responsible for Mr Hottie’s current predicament – which is, what? An unhealthy interest in me?

I snort. It’s very hard to believe that can be true – even with the potent effects of the potion. Mr Hottie has never looked at me before unless he’s been looking at me with a scowl of disapproval. It was frankly nice to see him smile for once.

It isn’t a date. It’s just two neighbours going for a walk. Therefore, I should throw on an old T-shirt and an even older pair of shorts, drag my hair up into a ponytail, and forgo any makeup.

Instead, I pick out a cute tea dress I picked up from a vintage shop last year, add cat flicks over my deep brown eyes, and brush out my dirty-blonde hair. It’s a look my mum despises. She thinks it’s messy – which is her code for slutty. But she let me listen to too many rock bands as a little girl. I wanted to be Courtney Love when I grew up – not the next president of the Witching Society or head mistress of the Witching Academy. She only has herself to blame for my lack of life goals.