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Her bedroom was the other part of the house she loved, more than even the kitchen. The walls were painted different shades of orange, so it looked like she was surrounded by a perpetual sunrise. Bright curtains hung beside the windows, entwined with fairy lights. It wasn’t very witchy, but she did have loads of vases of dried flowers, as well as an abundance of candles, which she lit with a swish of her hand. The room smelled like warm vanilla, like the base of all her favorite baked goods.

Lucy went to the bathroom to do her skincare routine, but despite how soothing the process was, and despite her exhaustion, her mind whirred from all the emotions of the day: the dreadful morning with Grayson; Charles in the hospital, looking so fragile; her parents’ aspirations for her future.

“Ugh, just stop,” she muttered, pressing her index fingers against her temples. But there wasn’t a spell to stop overthinking, so her brain continued on.

With a sigh, Lucy returned to her room, flopping onto her bed. She pulled out her phone, dialing the first number in her favorites: her only and best friend, Bia. They had become friends in third grade, by which point Lucy was overjoyed to have finally found someone to connect with. Since then, Lucy hadn’t let Bia go, and they had only grown closer, despite the fact that Bia had gone to Chicago for college while Lucy had stayed on Long Island.

After two rings, Bia picked up, her bright voice filling Lucy’s ears.

“Hey! How are you?” Bia said.

“Good! What are you up to?” Lucy asked, hugging a pillow to her stomach.

“Just left my apartment to meet up with some coworkers to go dancing,” Bia said. Lucy could hear the sound of Bia’s heels clicking in the background. “What about you?”

“Um …” Lucy looked around. “I just finished baking and am now in bed.”

“Lucy, not this again! It’s Friday night! And it’s only eleven!” Bia exclaimed. Lucy heard honking in the background. “Watch where you’re going, asshole!”

Bia lived in Brooklyn and worked downtown at a bank. Though Bia had been working there for a few years now, Lucy still didn’t entirely know what she did day-to-day at her job. She just knew that Bia worked excessive hours and had a stunning apartment because she made an obscene amount of money.

Lucy nestled deeper into her childhood bed. Living at home was why she could comfortably afford to work at the bookstore, and besides, it wasn’t like her parents were ever home. She usually had this big house all to herself.

It was why she couldn’t be angry with her parents for their insensitive comments. They did support her in other ways, such as financially. And she loved the big kitchen in this house, her big bedroom.

“It’s been a long day,” Lucy said with a sigh.

“How’s Charles?” Bia asked. “He’s going to be discharged tomorrow, right?”

“Yup,” Lucy said. “I went to see him, so that was nice, even though I hated seeing him there.”

“That’s great that you got to see him, and that he’ll be back tomorrow,” Bia said.

“What’s not great is, you’ll never believe it, but the grandson is here.”

Bia gasped. “No! Why didn’t you start with that? This is the grandson who’s never shown his face, right?”

“Yes!” Lucy said, sitting up. She thought of Grayson’s face and felt hot all over. “I literally ran into him this morning and almost spilled coffee all over him. Thankfully, I saved it with my magic.”

While Bia wasn’t a witch, she knew that Lucy was one. Bia was the only human Lucy had ever shared her true nature with. Her parents had always sworn her to secrecy, telling her that under no circumstances could she share such a fact with anyone, but Lucy trusted Bia with her life. They shared everything with one another, down to the littlest details.

“Ohmygod,” Bia said. “Then what happened?”

“Then I got distracted and ended up spilling my coffee all over his shoes, but he was such a dick! So don’t feel bad!” Lucy continued. “He had this Irish accent, and his hair was doing this whole … thing!”

Bia listened carefully as Lucy ranted, and when Lucy finished, Bia made a thoughtful sound. “Is he hot?” Bia asked.

Lucy scoffed. “That is so not the point.”

“Lulu! That is literally the only relevant detail!”

Lucy groaned, closing her eyes, and when she did, he appeared before her: his lethal cheekbones, his lovely hands.

“He’s blond,” Lucy said, which all but confirmed it.

“Oh god, not a blond …”

“I know.”