Page 47 of Hexed Up

“It’s a nasty habit,” he says.

“I think it’s because you’re just too perfect. It’s your only flaw.”

“I’m not perfect, Molly.”

“Horatio Shaw you have your life sorted. You have yourself sorted. You have time to work out, clean your flat, and holddown a job that makes you enough to keep two grand in cash just lying around! You can cook and you have a wine fridge. You help best friends and virtual strangers out with fake-dating requests. Theoretically, you’re prepared to dive into lakes and save drowning ladies. You bring brownies into work for your colleagues. And you’ve not complained once about the disgusting smells coming from my dog.”

“To be honest, I thought that smell was you.” I stick my tongue out at him. “I’m not perfect, Molly.” He scrubs his hand through his hair.

“Then tell me one thing that’s wrong with you.”

He holds my gaze, opens his mouth as if he’s going to tell me, then shuts it again. He stands up and collects the bowls from the table.

“I think we should say we realised we just weren’t compatible,” he says, carrying the dishes over to the dishwasher and stacking them inside.

I close my book, feeling guilty about something. I just don’t know what.

“We can break up after the weekend away,” I say, “you’ll only have to put up with me for another five days.”

“We’ll break up once the reversal potion is ready,” he says, closing the dishwasher, “that makes more sense.”

“Deal!” I confirm, “we’ll break up our fake relationship, after you’ve fallen out of love with me!”

Chapter Fifteen

The thing I can’t quite work out is if Horatio Shaw has always been a pretty nice man and we just hit things off badly. Or if he’s being nice to me now because the love potion has bewitched him into falling in love with me.

If it’s the latter, then Damien has been right all along. The previous boyfriends never loved me. If they had, they wouldn’t have cheated and they wouldn’t have lied. They’d have been a whole lot nicer to me.

It makes sense if you think about it. In fact, it’s pretty blatantly obvious. However, when it comes to relationships, sometimes the most blatantly obvious things are the hardest things to see. It’s like when you’re standing too close to a picture so it’s all blurry. Not until you stand back, until you have a bit of distance, do you see the whole effect.

I mull these things over as I brew a batch of love potions the next day, catching up on the orders I should have finished fulfilling at the weekend.

Maybe I shouldn’t feel so conflicted about aiding people to cheat love. Love and relationships are complicated and often there are a million obstacles stacked against you. Helping to point Cupid’s arrow in the right direction doesn’t seem so bad,especially when his aim seems so damn awful and especially when it makes people happy.

And despite being bewitched, and that brief moment of whatever that was in his flat on Tuesday night, Horatio Shaw does seem to be happy in my company.

On Wednesday night he turns up with a note pad of his own and some cold bottles of beer, saying he needs some cheat-notes on the various members of my family who will be at the weekend gathering. On Thursday it’s insanely hot and he insists I come hang out in his air-conditioned flat. I watch TV, while he finishes up some work on his laptop, and then he digs out some ice cream from his freezer and we test each other on our cover story. There’s no semblance of that grumpy man that used to show up on my doorstep with his endless list of complaints. He smiles, he laughs, he’s actually surprisingly cheerful. And he’s good company.

I like him even more as each day passes and I try not to think how shitty life is going to be when the potion is reversed and he goes back to finding me infinitely irritating.

On Friday, I actually do the mature and sensible thing and spend my morning working, then, after lunch, I pack and repack my bag three times because what does one pack to a couples-only family get-together?

Half way through the third repack, something alarming occurs to me and I pick up the phone to my mum and call her immediately.

“Hello, Molly darling,” she answers promptly. “Dinner is planned for eight o’clock. E-i-g-h-t o’clock!”

“Yes, I know that,” I snap, “I’m calling about the sleeping arrangements.”

“What about them?”

“Who will Horatio be sharing a room with?”

Please not Cousin Jack, please not Cousin Jack.I cross my fingers and my toes. My cousin Jack is my cousin Eva’s husband. He’s loud, brash, and notoriously handsy – with both the male and female varieties of the species.

My mother laughs. “He’ll be sharing withyou, obviously.”

“M-m-m-me?” I stutter.