I put the cheese board into my lap, pat the soft fabric covering my thighs, and wish I’d worn overalls. Sure, they’re undignified, but they have pockets for storing fruit, and more importantly, my midriff would be less exposed than it is in this cropped sweater. It’s notmyfault everything is cropped these days, even when you’re looking for something frumpy.
On second thought, maybe it isn’t so bad. Hanry seems to appreciate my section of bared skin, if the direction of his gaze means anything. I don’t mind that. In fact, I really want him to like the way I look. To be into me.
Afraid my eyes might give me away, I concentrate on slathering apple jam onto a piece of cheddar.
Our relationship thus far is built on mostly lies. Hanry doesn’t know that my business started as a sham, or that I’m only here for a few more days. He doesn’t know that yesterday, I shimmied out of a window in the back of Grandma’s house in order to avoid her witch cabal chanting in the front yard.
And, at least for tonight, I want to pretend that Hanry and I could have something worth nurturing.
But if I told him he’s not allowed to be a slither-outer-er to me, how can I do that to him? He’s such a nice guy. He deserves more honesty from me. I can’t let this go any longer—even if it means this is the moment where it ends.
“I’m not really a wedding planner,” I say. “Or an event planner of any kind.”
Hanry’s silent for a moment. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I suck in my breath. “That’s it?”
“Yeah, I’m… just processing it. Why’ve you been pretending to be one?”
His tone isn’t judgmental, just curious. Hanry is, all in all, taking the revelation better than I expected. It makes me feel both safe and bold enough to tell him more. “I fell into it because of you.And, before you say anything, I wasn’t planning to take any more jobs after Dave and Amanda, but I’ve been trapped here in Salem by my grandmother’s magical will.”
Skeptically, Hanry asks, “How does that work?”
“I have no idea. She was eccentric.”
“Aren’t most people?”
I give him the stink-eye.
“Or not. So, what do you have to do to get out of it? I’m guessing you’re still trying to.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, unable to keep defensiveness out of my voice.
“You did say ‘trapped.’?”
Oh. Right.
Since Hanry has a point—and I’ve committed to telling him the truth—I take a deep breath and let it all out.
“A few weeks ago, I didn’t live in Salem. I only came here after my grandmother died, to execute her will. I didn’t realize there’d be a catch.”
“Most magical things have a catch,” says Hanry.
“I’m learning that,” I sigh. “Anyway, Grandma needs my help for her spirit to ascend to god-knows-where, and it can only happen after seven tides are passed twice, high and low. In other words, a week, right? Unless it’s thrice? But more than a week has passed, and I’m still stuck here. And I don’t know why.”
“Are you sure the seven tides thing refers to time?” asks Hanry.
“What else could it be?”
“Tide Pods.”
I snort. If only.
“The truth is, I’m supposed to be in the middle of my second week at a new accounting job in Manhattan right now. Since I’ve been trapped here, I’ve had to call in bogus excuses, one after another. Worse excuses than the one I gave you for being in the cemetery at Grandma’s grave.”
After chewing on this, Hanry asks, “Gotcha. And whatwereyou really doing there?”
“Trying to bury Bulan.”
