Chapter Seven-Donny
I was trying very hard not to think about Ryan.
Like, Olympian-level mental gymnastics kind of trying. The kind of trying that required breathing exercises, scented candles, and the strongest anti-thirst spell I knew (which, for the record, didn’t work—thanks a lot, Aunt Mimsy).
For the entire day, in fact, I’d been laser-focused on not thinking about Ryan McLeod, Bear Shifter and walking lumberjack fantasy.
But alas, my efforts were in vain.
Case in point, I accidentally added blue to Mrs. Niedermeyer’s hair dye and turned her platinum locks into a not-so-subtle shade of grape popsicle. Violet freaking reign.
Thankfully, Mrs. Niedermeyer was enchanted with her new look. Said it brought out her inner seductress and asked if I could make her eyebrows match next week.
Then she called me a genius and tottered off in her orthopedic pumps like she was headed to a red carpet event.
I, on the other hand, was barely holding on.
The Bear was in my head. Again. Him and his thick, overgrown mane of hair.
No matter what I did—spritzed detangler, burned sage, or dunked my face in a tub of glitter slime—there he was.
Creeping up in my thoughts like a bad cowlick that refused to stay down.
Ugh, but what could I do?
Ever since the garden hose incident, I simply couldn’t stop.
Not after he’d caught me mid-swear, mid-fireball, and mid-freakout in front of half the town. I still had nightmares about that moment.
He’d just stood there, calm as a boulder in a stream, while I melted down like a toddler who missed nap time.
I needed control.
Composure.
A shot of espresso.
And some age-defying moisturizer, stat.
Not feelings.
And definitely not a Bear Shifter who looked like Paul Bunyan’s hotter, moodier cousin with a six-pack and bedroom eyes that made my knees wobble like undercooked spaghetti.
“Celeste!” I barked, storming out of the back room.
She looked up from her phone, where she was watching what I can only assume was a tutorial on how to summon a glamour spell using only eyelash glue and a dream.
“Yes, boss lady?”
“I need to go next door for snacks. Emergency.”
She blinked. “Oh no. Is it blood sugar? Magic deficiency? Existential crisis?”
“Yes,” I snapped. “All of the above. And also, I’m spiraling, and if I don’t shove a maple-glazed donut in my face in the next five minutes, I might accidentally turn you into a turnip.”
Celeste gasped. “Again?!”
“Just watch the register,” I said, snatching my purse. “And if anyone comes in asking for a same-day balayage, tell them to walk directly into the sea.”
“But the sea is at least twenty-two blocks away!”
“Then they’ll have time to reflect on their bad decisions,” I called, already halfway out the door.
I needed sugar, caffeine, and a break from the very large, very hairy man who had somehow become the main character in every single one of my waking fantasies.
Also, maybe a cinnamon twist.
Gold sparkles danced along my fingertips, and I closed my eyes and counted to five before walking out the door.
Keeping my powers in check was part of the job. As one-third of the magical Witch Trifecta that guarded Castor’s Corner, I had responsibilities.
Big ones.
It was my job to keep our cozy, Witchy little town from turning into a supernatural theme park for tourists.
This was a haven. A sanctuary. A glittering Jersey gem for Witches, Shifters, Fae, and even the occasional grumpy Troll.
Everything was fine until recently. When we went and forked it all up.
I am talking big time forked up.
Our magical protections had failed, our rituals had been interrupted, and worst of all, some kids had gotten stolen. Oh, and our graveyard had been actually haunted.
Although the latter turned out to be Evie’s dead grandpa, who, plot twist, also turned out to be my grandpa. And Bella’s.
Yep. That old warlock had gotten around more than a Black Friday sales flyer.
Which meant Evie, Bella, and I weren’t just best friends—we were family.
Blood sisters.
Literally.
Turns out, Grandpa Al was like the Casanova of the Witch world, leaving behind a trail of magical DNA.
I could sense some seriously awkward family reunions in my near future—and didn’t that suck?
I mean, the old man had been busier than a broom on Halloween.
So yeah, the last few weeks have been busy as fork.
I had a lot of information to process.
Family secrets.
Sexy Shifters.
Work—there was always work drama.
And don't even get me started on my grandmother.
That sanctimonious old Witch used to lecture me about my miniskirts and my fast behavior, all while she was out there playing magical hide the wand with someone else’s man.
Talk about the cauldron calling the kettle scandalous.
But where did all this leave me?
I’ll tell you where. On line at The Tasty Tart, adding another inch to my already rotund ass—thanks to Aunt Edna who was apparently my relative now, too.
And was it worth it?
I sighed as I grabbed my order, shoved a bite of baked goodness into my mouth, and stomped back to my salon.
Geezus, that was good.
What the heck was Bella putting in this stuff—chocolate crack?
Anyway, the answer was yes.
Yes, it was worth it.