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Belinda

His eyes narrow suspiciously. I grab the basket sitting beside the door and shove it into his hands.

“I baked these.”

He looks down. Then sniffs.

“These smell good.”

“Thank you.”

“Are they poisoned?”

“No.”

A pause.

“Hexed?”

“Damian.”

“Drugged?”

“Give them back.”

He immediately moves the basket out of reach.

“No.”

I laugh. And just like that, the fight goes out of me.

“I just want a chance, Damian.”

He stills. The joking disappears from his face.

“Arrhythmia isn’t for you, Little Witch⁠—”

“Please.”

That stops him. I twist my apron between my fingers.

“Look, I know I’m not like other Witches. I mean, my own family never believed in me.”

His gaze drops to my hands before returning to my face.

“But this time I'm trying something different.”

“Like what?”

“Like believing in myself.”

His expression changes. Something almost painful flashes in those strange eyes.

“I am trying to do something here. To find some place that is just for me. So, I would really appreciate it if you could just back off.”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean your family doesn’t believe in you?”

I shrug, suddenly wishing I hadn’t started this.