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His car is gone, too.

I’m disappointed enough to prove this is officially becoming a problem.

Then I remember something Clarissa tells me about Damian spending entirely too much time at the Crescent Moon Diner.

Twenty minutes later, I spot his SUV outside.

No, I am not stalking him.

Well, not exactly.

Fine. Sue me.

I just want to see him.

And I do.

Through the large glass windows of the Crescent Moon Diner.

Christ, he is so handsome.

Dark and broody.

Like Mr. Rochester meets Lucifer with a billionaire’s bank account and a serious attitude problem.

My stomach flips.

He’s sitting in a booth, one thick arm stretched across the back, those enormous black wings tucked behind him as he talks to another man.

And I just stand there. Staring. Again.

Apparently, this is who I am now.

Belinda Ramos: failed Witch, aspiring innkeeper, and shameless ogler of the Jersey Devil next door.

Fanfuckingtastic.

“Okay, Belinda. Normal. Be normal.”

Apparently my body doesn't get the memo. I walk inside and immediately see him.

Damian sits in a booth talking to a large dark-haired man wearing a Sheriff's star.

But I barely notice the other man.

Because Damian looks up. And his eyes lock onto mine.

Everything else disappears.

The conversations.

The clatter of silverware.

The jukebox.

All of it.

There’s just him.