Page 28 of Impractical Magic

“Canceling these reservations would be better, no? Just tell the Gilbert and Sullivan Society that we had to close. Why risk more Spam-related incidents or whatever?”

Delilah gathered up the spell ingredients in her arms. “Can’t afford to cancel—we need the guests.”

“Afford?! I don’t want to sound like a brat but I never remember us worrying about affording anything, ever.”

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, my dear,” Mama said. “The power company waits for no man, or witch. Now, come Scarlett, help me with a little project in the dining room.”

***

The little project awaiting Scarlett in the dining room was the same little project that had occupied her afternoons throughout childhood: assembling welcome baskets for guests.

Growing up at the inn, all three daughters had spent countless afternoons on this task, which Mama insisted be done by hand, not by magic. They’d stand around an enormous dining table, filling baskets with gourmet snacks, spellcasting supplies, bottles of wine, hangover cures . . . It made for an adorable little assembly line and, as the girls constantly pointed out, a flagrant violation of child labor laws. Somehow, their parents were never moved by that argument.

When she saw the pile of baskets waiting to be filled, the gifts waiting to be organized, the ribbons waiting to be tied . . . Scarlett sighed the bone-deep sigh of someone who’d just taken a time machine back to the least favorite moment of her childhood.

“Oh, don’t fuss,” Mama said. “There’s only twenty to do—that’s practically nothing. We’ll be finished in no time.”

“But . . . maybe I should go help Delilah with the protection spells?”

Mama raised an eyebrow. “You, who haven’t cast a single spell in a decade, except for yesterday when you destroyed a piece of heirloom furniture? No, I think we’ll let Delilah handle that. Grab a basket.”

Scarlett and her mother worked in silence, occasionally broken by the chorus of “Cruel Summer” when the room glitched back and forth between the quaint dining room and the VIP suite of a Taylor Swift show.

“So,” Mama finally said, “how was everything down at Williams? I bet the Earls were delighted to see you.”

“Definitely.” Scarlett focused on distributing the correct number of Zahir’s tartlets into each basket. “They haven’t aged a bit.”

“Mmhmm . . . and how was Nate this morning?”

Scarlett mumbled noncommittally. Her cheeks burned remembering their argument. She knew it was stupid, but the revelation that he’d been willing to gamble with his memory by leaving Oak Haven . . . but not for her? It still stung.

Mama rightly interpreted Scarlett’s waffling as a form of confession. “Well, that’s no surprise. You two always did peck away like a pair of bickering geese.”

“Yeah, I guess . . .”

“He’s had a challenging few years, you know. He dated a bit, I think—not that Nate would share such information with the old witch who runs the inn. But I’ve seen him with female company now and again.”

“Thanks, Mama,” Scarlett muttered. “Thanks so much—that’s great information to have.”

“Nothing ever seemed to stick, of course. Seems like his mind was on someone else.”

“Oh sure, someone else. Maybe he went traveling to visit her.”

Mama frowned, confused. “Nate, travel?! Oh no. No, he’s devoted to that store—he wouldn’t leave it. No, there was only one time he’s ever been away, and that was to rescue his father.”

Scarlett slowly put down her armload of tarts and stared. “What?”

“Oh yes, what a drama that was. Nate’s father is a twin. Did you not know that? Before your time, I suppose. Yes, so, the Williams family are reformed pirates—you know that part, of course. For hundreds of years, they only produced one child per generation, always male. No one knows why, though the assumption has always been that Earl One was under some sort of pirate curse. In any case, Nate’s grandmother experienced a bit of a wobble, I guess you could say, and she had twin boys. Earl Twelve, otherwise known as Nate’s father, and a second boy. After much debate they named him Viscount, because viscounts come after earls. Viz, as we called him—was a perfectly nice boy. I went to school with both twins; we’re all about the same age. But I think Viz never quite felt at home in Oak Haven? The town wasn’t big enough for two Williams boys, I suppose. When the twins turned eighteen, Viz left. But as the years passed, Nate’s father couldn’t cope with his twin having just disappeared like that, so he went looking for Viz and then things went very wrong . . . Anyway. Nate should tell you that part of the story; it isn’t my place. But as I said: the only time Nate ever left Oak Haven is the one time he had to go rescue his father. That’s the upshot.”

Rescue his father? Scarlett’s heart dropped. Shame washed over her, replacing her earlier anger with a dull ache. All this time, she’d assumed the worst about Nate’s intentions, never considering there might be a perfectly good explanation for him having left Oak Haven.

This is just like one of those internet posts, she thought. Question: Am I the asshole? Answer: A resounding yes.

“Nate’s dad was in some sort of trouble,” she repeated. “And he had to travel. He had no choice.”

“That’s what I just told you,” Mama said, confused. “Why are you looking so—oh, Scarlett. What terrible thing have you said to that poor boy?”

The room glitched suddenly and Scarlett found herself onstage with Taylor. To the roar of the crowd, even Taylor had to agree that it’s her—Scarlett is the problem—it’s her.