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Her cheeks go pink as she glances over her shoulder at Sam, lingering by the elevators, her hands in her pockets, pretending like she’s not listening to us, but she totally is.
I’ve gotten to know her pretty well over the last few days, and I’m pleased to say that she doesn’t remind me of Hardin beyond the initial physical resemblance. She’s funny and sweet and worships the ground my sister walks on, which is all I can ask her for.
“I’ll probably just find a coffee shop and work on editing a video.” I pat my bag with my trusty laptop.
She hesitates again, and I laugh and push her toward her girlfriend. “Go. Have fun.”
She relents, taking a few steps backward. “Remember, we have dinner tonight with Sam’s parents. We’re leaving at six.”
My stomach clenches at the reminder. Dinner with Hardin’s parents. I can just see how that’s going to go. Sure, Sam is nice and sweet, but Hardin had to have received his assholishness from someone. I imagine they’ll dislike me instantly, just like Hardin did. Hopefully, they’ll be better at hiding it than he is.
Suppressing a shudder, I smile at her. “I won’t forget. I’ll be back in time.”
She gives me one more hug, pressing her cheek against mine. “Love you most, Ro.”
“Love you more, Des,” I murmur, before she steps back, sliding her hand down my arm to squeeze my fingers. Our arms stretch out between us as she backs up.
“If you need anything, let me know,” she urges, waiting for me to nod before she drops my hand.
She hurries to her girlfriend. Sam tucks her under her arm, bending to place a lingering kiss on her lips.
Blushing, I turn away from them and make my way to a coffee shop down the street.
I spend about thirty minutes there, not working, just sipping an espresso and nibbling on a scone, scrolling through websites about witchcraft because some part of me just cannot let it go.
Not even a little bit.
If Hardin is a witch, does that mean Sam is? Is it hereditary? Has Desi been having weird, unexplainable experiences because of who she’s dating, too?
Jaw tight, I close my laptop and shove it into my bag. I can’t just sit around. I have an anxious energy flowing through me and I need to move in order to dispel it, so I wander idly through the streets of London, trying to keep track of my path.
It’s great. I’m able to lose myself in the architecture and bustle of the city. So much so that before I know it, I only have thirty minutes to get back to the hotel to meet Desi and Sam.
And I think I’m lost. No, I’m definitely lost.
I thought I was retracing my steps, and was going in the right direction, but I’ve found myself in a quiet part of town near a cemetery that I know did not pass before, with not a soul or a taxi in sight.
I pull out my phone and say a silent sorry to my wallet for the amount of data I’m about to use. But I need to get directions back to the hotel so I can be sure I’m walking toward it until I can at least find a taxi to take me the rest of the way.
Google maps tells me I need to be on the other side of the cemetery, so I find an entrance and start making my way through, rather than around.
A drizzle falls from the sky as I weave through the gravestones, trying to keep my phone covered by my jacket while still making sure I’m going in the right direction.
A text from Desi crosses the screen.
Des:
Where are you? I’m starving and we’re going to be late for dinner.
Me:
Excellent question. I’m totally lost. Currently in a graveyard, and according to google maps, I’m about forty minutes from the hotel on foot.
Me:
You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?
Des:
