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“Yes. It’s a potion,” Wanda deadpanned. “You mix rum, mint, lime, sugar and soda together, and presto.” She poured the thermos contents into two cups she’d dug out of her purse. “A happiness potion.”
Wanda slid one of the cups along the counter towards me. “If anyone needs one of these, it’s you.”
“Why do I need a happiness potion?”
“Because you aren’t yourself.” Before I could ask her what she meant, she held up a hand to silence me. “I’ve never seen you go so long between smiles. You’re like a soda with no carbonation.”
It was a little bit of a harsh delivery, but I could hear the concern under the words. And besides, Wanda was right. With the way things had just been piling up on me lately, I hardly felt like myself. I wasn’t normally so frazzled, feeling like I was constantly at the end of my rope.
“I’m okay.”
She gave me a look, and I held up my hands in surrender.
“You want to try that again?”
I sighed. “It’s nothing out of the ordinary—just life... just one of those times when things are a lot. You know?”
It wasn’t very articulate. It was barely English, really. But Wanda nodded, like she understood exactly what I meant. Then she plopped a wedge of freshly cut lime onto the edge of my glass.
“Where did you even get that from?”
Wanda shook her head, squeezing her own lime wedge over her glass. “You’ve seen me raise the dead, and a couple limes is what impressed you? Honestly, Poppy. Priorities.”
The mojito was fizzy and bright and just sweet enough as it danced across my tongue. It was nice, to sit down with Wanda and just be for a bit. I’d missed it. Everything had been a little bit mad for a few weeks, so we hadn’t even had a chance for the Black Cat Cocktail Club to get together. Maybe once the festival was out of the way and things had slowed down, we’d be able to meet up again.
“Speaking of which,” Wanda said, interrupting my second sip. “How are things going with you and that mortal magician of yours—Mr. Hot and British?”
I choked, and had to thump myself in the chest to try and clear my lungs again. Wanda sat there, sipping her cocktail and looking far too pleased with herself.
“He’s notmyMagician,” I protested weakly. “We haven’t even been out on a date, yet!”
Wanda’s lips curled up until she looked like a cat with a canary feather sticking out of the corner of her mouth. “Yet, is it?”
Okay, yes, I’d let that slip. A rueful laugh slipped out of me. I didn’t know why I ever tried to keep anything from Wanda. It was a miracle how someone who could pretend not to care about things could weasel so much information out of me and so quickly.
“We might have dinner plans, tomorrow night,” I admitted, hiding my smile in my glass.
“Well, finally,” Wanda said, tossing back the rest of her drink and pouring another. “Honestly, how long were you going to wait?”
“Well, I wanted to be sensitive to Marty.”
“Who?”
I gave her a look and she gave it right back to me. “I didn’t want to parade around the fact that I was interested in another man. Not so soon after Marty and I broke up.”
“He was never right for you, so you ended up doing you both a favor.”
“Well, I’m not sure he would agree with that.” I paused. “Well, maybe now he would.”
“Anyway...” Wanda continued, waving her hand. “Conversations about Marty are just as boring as the man, himself.” She took a breath. “So, getting back to Mr. Sexy and British,”
“Mr. Hot and British,” I corrected her. “That’s what you called him earlier.”
“Whatever,” she said and frowned. “I was getting ready to lock the two of you in a closet together until you finally sorted it out.”
Thinking about closets just made me remember the time I’d assisted Andre with his magic show, and we’d ended up squished together in a closet as part of the act. Blood rushed up into my face then, and I buried my face in my hands to try and hide it from Wanda.
I shouldn’t have bothered.
