The Devil Made Me Brew It (The Witches of Wayward Bay #1)

DEVLIN

An hour later, the bitter taste of crushing disappointment is eclipsed by the sweet-and-spicy deliciousness of a bucket of hot wings and a barbecued ham-and-pineapple pizza (yes, pineapple absolutely does belong on a pizza, I shall die on this hill, and this particular pie is doing the goddess’ work in redeeming the town of Pumpkinville as a quality establishment in my eyes).

After excavating a halfway decent Cabernet from an old holiday gift basket, we load up two plates and settle in side-by-side on her living room couch, me in my favorite black silk pajama pants and smoking jacket (me being fond of the finer things), Violet in an oversized sweatshirt featuring a gnome picking dandelions (her being fond of the woodland realms).

It happens so naturally, this sitting side-by-side thing, it almost feels like we’ve been doing it for years. Like we’re one of those adorably sickening couples who have things like “pizza night” and “our show” and trade food from each other’s plates—you can have my olives, I’ll take your extra pickle, save the extra sauce for me.