Fake Dating a Witch

Chapter 4

SIRONA

Our weekly Sunday dinner at my mom”s is always a little hectic. Especially now that my niece Sabrina is walking. But still, there are five of us—my sisters, my mom, my grandma, and me—to keep an eye on her. Sometimes Evan comes too, but he”s busy tonight. Some weeks, it’s my aunts and cousins too, and then it’s sheer chaos.

But tonight there will be eight of us. Mom won”t say who her two guests are, and I”ve informed her I”m bringing a date.

And, oh yeah, everyone brings their familiars. The house is huge, but it”s a lot. I”m really hoping Mom”s guests aren”t witches with familiars.

Grant gets to my house promptly at five and gets out of his gray SUV, looking entirely more delicious than he has any right to. He”s wearing jeans with just the right amount of cling to his thighs, and a gray button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

His gaze tracks me as I descend the porch steps, Koko on my heels. I can feel the appreciation in his eyes, a silky caress as he takes me in. I decided to go a little classic witch today, in a black short-sleeved dress with a flirty skirt that hits me mid-thigh. It”s paired with blue and black striped knee highs and black ankle boots.

”You look fantastic.” He lingers on my hint of cleavage and the necklace nestled there before meeting my eyes.

I don”t like how he”s looking at you. No sex before dinner.

”Quiet, you,” I say without looking away from Grant.

”Sorry?” He looks taken aback.

”No, sorry. I was talking to Koko. She”s being rude.”

He looks down at her. ”I see. Well, Koko, since I”ll be fake dating your human, I hope we can be friends.”

Humph.

”She”s thinking about it,” I translate.

”Fair enough.”

We fall into step on the trail through the woods that leads to my mom”s. ”You can call my mom Angela,” I say.

”Sounds good.”

Why does he get first name privilege?

I ignore Koko. ”You think we”ve got our story straight?” We”ve been texting the past two days so we”re on the same page about how we started dating.

”It”s pretty simple. We ran into each other at Honey Hive three weeks ago, had coffee together, I asked you out, and we”ve been quietly dating ever since.” He bumps his upper arm into my shoulder. ”And I”m crazy about you.”

I beam up at him, letting my attraction to him shine through, plus calling on my high school acting experience to add affection. ”And I”m crazy about you.”

He looks down at me, mirth dancing in his warm brown eyes. ”Who wouldn”t be?”

Still smiling, I roll my eyes.

”So what”s your favorite date we”ve been on so far?” he asks.

I have to think for a minute.

When he took you to Madison for the Saturday farmer”s market.

”That”s good, Koko.” I repeat it for Grant.

”I took you to Madison?”

”Yes. Last Saturday. Because I didn”t leave the house, so no one knows what I did.”

”Fair enough. My favorite date was when we drove to Devil”s Lake and went hiking all afternoon.”

”I definitely only tolerated that date, but it was worth it to spend time with my cupcake,” I tease.

He side-eyes me. ”You are not calling me cupcake.”

Definitely call him your cupcake.

I give him my winningest smile. ”We”ll see.”

”Then I”m calling you my little poodle.”

Awful. ”I will not call you my cupcake.”

”Thank you.”

We round a copse of trees and Mom”s house comes into view.

Grant”s hand wraps around mine loosely. He”s to my left, so using his right hand. I can feel that two of his fingers aren”t curling around mine.

”Do you want to switch sides?” I ask softly. I don”t want to offend him, but I also don”t want him to feel awkward.

He squeezes me with his two fingers and thumb. ”This is fine. You don”t mind my fucked up hand.”

I look at him with complete sincerity. ”I really don”t.”

He won”t meet my eyes. ”I do.”

”I know,” I say softly and squeeze him back. ”I spent some time last night looking through old health magic textbooks of mine. Unfortunately, nothing I don”t already know.”

He nods tightly.

”I”ll keep looking.”

Another nod.

We”re on the front walk now, and it”s just wide enough for us to walk side-by-side, arms brushing. The touch feels exciting and tingly, even with our shirts between us.

Down, girlie.

I continue to ignore my cat. I”m certainly not answering her right now.

”You ready?” I ask.

He grins, but his eyes are still flat. ”Born ready.”

”That”s so cheesy.”

”We are in Wisconsin.” He shrugs.

I roll my eyes at him, then push open the big black front door.

Mom”s house is huge. Nearly 4,000 square feet. She and my dad built it right after they got married, intending to have a gaggle of kids. Instead, Dad never even got to meet his third.

”Wow,” Grant says as he shuts the door behind Koko, who dashes off to the basement, where Mom conjures up a spread for the animals.

The foyer is two stories tall, with an ornate chandelier and a sweeping, curving, carved-wood staircase. It is pretty impressive.

”You grew up here?” He drops my hand and turns a full circle, taking it all in.

”Yep. C”mon, kitchen”s this way. Everyone will be there.”

He takes my hand again, this time my right in his left, and weaves our fingers together. His palm is warm against mine, a little rough, and a calm sense of rightness settles on my shoulders.

I have to remind myself this is fake dating, not real. Just because we”re attracted to each other doesn”t mean we”re going to act on it. That would make things messy. Blur the lines. And risk one or both of us getting hurt.

”Hey, we”re here,” I call out as we walk through the doorway.

The kitchen is huge, done in an enchanting blend of Old-World charm and modern convenience, with new but vintage-looking appliances, copper pots hanging on the walls, and a large oak worktable covered in herbs and a large mortar and pestle.

”Grant Humphries? Is that you?” Mom asks. She sets down her kitchen towel and comes over to us.

”Should”ve warned you, we”re huggers.” I get it in just before my mother, all five feet, four inches of her, reaches up and pulls Grant down to wrap her arms around his shoulders. He”s about six feet tall, give or take, so has to bend considerably.

”Good to see you, Ms. Goode.”

Mom pats his back and steps away, waving a hand at him. ”Angela, please.”

I elbow him lightly. ”I said to call her Angela.”

”I know, but it feels weird without an invitation,” he murmurs under his breath.

Nana wanders in, exceptionally mobile for seventy-nine years old. She sets a mug on the island and looks between me and Grant. ”What”s this?” She waves an arthritic finger between us.

I lean into him, shoulder to shoulder, and take his hand again. ”We”ve been dating for a few weeks, and decided it was time to start telling people.”

”You”re the boy from high school,” Nana says. ”From the singing play.”

”The musical,” I correct. She”s been calling it a singing play since the day I auditioned. You can”t teach an old witch new tricks.

”Yes, ma”am, I am.”

Nana grills him about what he”s been doing since high school and why he”s back in Owl Cove. Leaving him on his own seems cruel, but I need a drink. Mom”s conjured a delicious white sangria, so I pour two glasses of it and set one on the island next to Grant, whose hand is in Nana”s. She”s inspecting the scars and shaking her head, a frown on her face.

”I just don”t know,” she finally says, letting him go.

Before he has to think of a response, a tall white man about my mom”s age, with white hair and frameless glasses, walks into the room. ”Angela?”

Mom rushes over to him and stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

Say what now?

I”m so shocked I barely notice the man who walked in behind him. He”s younger, about my age, also white, with sleek black hair that hangs to the middle of his back and several tattoos on his arms. He has the same nose and dark eyes as the older man.

”Gary.” Mom beams up at the older man. ”This is my oldest daughter, Sirona. And her friend, Grant.”

”Boyfriend,” Grant quickly corrects.

Mom tilts her head at us. ”Sorry. Her boyfriend.” She looks at Gary again. ”This is a very recent development.”

”Nice to meet you both,” Gary says with a smile.

”And of course you know my mother.”

Who is this man my mom is kissing, who knows Nana, but I”ve never met?

”And Sirona and Grant, this is Gary”s son, Zach.”

Face stoic, Zach nods at us.

I murmur greetings back to him, but what I really want to know is who the hell is Gary? Mom conveniently glossed over that.

”Let”s head in to eat. Gary and I have something we want to share with all of you.” Mom picks up her sangria glass and sweeps through the doorway into the large dining room. It”s full of dark woodwork, built-in cabinets with stained glass doors. The centerpiece is a large table that is currently set for eight, plus Sabrina”s highchair.

When we”re all seated, Mom rises. ”Before we get started, I want to introduce you all to Gary and his son Zach.” She reaches toward Gary, and he takes her hand.

”Your mother and I have been seeing each other for quite a few months, and last weekend, I asked her if she would do me the great honor of being my wife.”

Wait, what?

My sisters and I all turn to stare at our mom. We had no clue she was dating someone, let alone serious enough to get married.

This has to be fake. Like me and Grant. I don”t know why she”d do this to us, but she can”t be telling the truth.

”Really, Dad?” Zach grumbles, looking as displeased as I am shocked.

”Not now, Zachary,” Gary says between his teeth.

Mom settles back into her chair. ”I know I didn”t tell you girls, but, well, I wasn”t sure how you”d take it. I didn”t want to say something until I knew it was serious.”

”Marriage seems pretty serious to me,” Morgan says.

”And that”s why we”re telling you,” Mom replies.

My mom is getting married? I”m going to have a stepfather? A stepbrother? It never even occurred to me that Mom would get married again. Dad”s been gone for so long, and she”s seemed perfectly content by herself.

Nana raises her water glass. She doesn”t drink alcohol anymore. ”A toast to the happy couple.”

I shake myself out of the surreal daze I feel like I”m in and reach for my glass. ”Yes. Congratulations, Mom. And Gary. I”m looking forward to getting to know you.” I”m pretty sure I mean it.

Everyone raises their glasses, and we clink them together and voice our best wishes.

”Now, let”s eat.”

Nana has conjured a rosemary-lemon chicken that looks and smells amazing. She”s the best food conjurer in the family, though she”s taught a few of my cousins well.

Conjuring meals is a power all witches have. We can’t really conjure stuff out of nothing. We have to have all the ingredients and we use magic to do the cooking part. But just like when nullas cook, we can all start with the same ingredients, but the end result isn’t always the same.

”When will the handfasting be?” Nana asks as she digs into her chicken.

”What the hell”s a handfasting?” Zach asks, a frown on his face. He”s good-looking but seems to have a permascowl.

”It”s a witch wedding ceremony, dear,” Nana explains, ignoring the thundercloud we can practically see above him.

”Seriously, Dad?”

”Not. Now.”

Interesting.

”We”re thinking sometime around Samhain,” Mom says.

Nana grins. ”That”ll be lovely. The veil with be thinnest, and Fred can give his blessing.”

”Maybe he”ll actually talk to me before that,” Morgan grumbles.

She talks to the spirits of dead people, but only ones who want to talk to her. She”s been trying to reach our father for years, to no avail. She also has a spirit named Marie who hangs around her a lot; she’s a 58-year-old Italian immigrant who died in 1938.

Grant leans toward me. ”You”re going to explain all this to me later, right?” he whispers.

I smile as I take a bite of asparagus. ”Of course.”

”So, Grant. Sirona. I know you two were friends back in high school. Tell us all how you reconnected recently.” Mom is clearly trying to change the subject away from her engagement, even though it”s pretty damn big news.

Good thing Grant and I rehearsed an answer for this. I”m about to respond when he says, ”It was, what, three weeks ago?” He glances at me, and I nod my confirmation.

”I was getting coffee at Honey Hive one morning. I walk in and the sun is streaming in the front windows, glinting off the gorgeous red hair of the woman talking to Honey at the register. So I get in line behind her, trying desperately to think of something to say that doesn’t make me sound like a complete horse”s ass.”

That gets a chuckle.

”Then she turns around and my first thought is ”holy crap, she”s gorgeous. She”ll never talk to me.” And my second was ”Hey, that”s Sirona. She might actually let me say hi.’”

I can”t help but laugh. ”Of course I let you say hi.”

He gives me a fond smile that feels so genuine, my heart skips a few beats. I have to remind myself it”s not real. This isn”t even a true story.

”So I ask her if she wants to sit together to drink our coffee, and by some miracle she says yes. And ever since that morning, I can”t stop thinking about her.” He stretches his arm out along the back of my chair. Not around my shoulders, but close. ”Best three weeks of my life. Right, babe?”

I”m grinning like a sap at the fake memory. He’s good at this. ”Right. It”s all been so fast, but I guess it”s easier when it”s someone you already know.” I give him a fond smile. ”It”s been amazing.”

”More people with secret relationships?” Bronwen frowns at me, then turns to feed Sabrina a spoonful of macaroni and cheese.

”It”s only been three weeks,” I lie defensively. ”We”ve been busy.”

”Yeah you have,” Morgan says in a suggestive tone.

Sisters are the best.

”What have you two been up to?” Nana asks.

”A little bit of—” Morgan starts, but Mom”s glare cuts her off. ”Uh, of playing board games?”

Grant laughs at her attempt to redeem herself.

I can”t help noticing that he hasn”t removed his arm from behind me, and I feel its presence as strongly as if it were touching me. But also, he should be eating.

”Last Saturday, he took me to Madison for the farmer”s market on The Square. There was this one tent, a guy who sells all sorts of jams and jellies.” This part is true. I make sure to visit his tent at least once every summer.

”Oh no. Not jam,” Bronwen says.

”Jam!” Sabrina exclaims.

Mom leans toward Gary. ”Sirona has kind of an obsession with jams and jellies.”

”It”s weird,” Morgan adds.

I ignore her. ”Yes, now Grant knows all about my love of all things jam.”

”It”s cute,” he says, even though he has no idea about it. And my sisters are exaggerating.

”So he bought me a dozen different kinds. My favorite was the Toe Jam.” I regret the words as soon as I say them. Now I”ll have to conjure up twelve new jams that look like they”re from Traffic Jams, my jam guy. My sisters are nosy enough to check.

Right on cue, Bronwen says, ”So what all jams did you get?” There”s a flash of challenge in her eyes.

Sisters.

”I really like the red chili mango we tried for breakfast this morning,” Grant says. He gives me a fond look that makes my stomach squishy.

I immediately picture the lazy Sunday morning we spent together, even though it didn”t happen. The image is so vivid, it feels real.

The memory may not be real, but the smoldering look he”s giving me definitely is. My breath catches. I know it”s all for show, but part of me wants to take him up on the promise in his eyes.

When I look away from Grant, I find Morgan watching me curiously. I quirk my eyebrows at her.

”We”re due for a sisters’ night soon,” she says, taking a bite of chicken.

”Sounds great,” I say noncommittally. But I know what she wants to talk about.

”Mom, can you babysit?” Bronwen asks.

”How about Friday?” Mom looks around the table at all of us. She lands on me. ”Do you two have plans already?”

”No,” I say before Grant can answer. ”We do Saturday, but not Friday. So that”ll be fine. Right, sweetie?”

”Right, babe.”

I don”t normally like being called babe, but something about it coming out in his low, smooth voice makes my belly twinge. I like being Grant”s babe.

Pretend babe.

Because none of this is real.