Page 113 of The Witching Hours

“You know it’s creeping me out that you’re reading my mind.”

“I’m not reading your mind.” He shook his head. “Not… technically. What about fame? You’re a good lawyer. Maybe you want to be a famous lawyer? On TV. Or a judge?” He snapped his fingers. “Supreme Court!” I laughed out loud at that one. “I know. He caught my gaze and held it.Love. Everybody wants love.”

“Everybody?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Even you?”

He sighed. “Perhaps most of all me. You asked me what I would wish for if I could wish for anything.”

“Go on.”

“I’d wish for two things. Love and freedom to never return to the vase.”

“Those are good wishes. I’d grant them if I could.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Veronica. You’re a kind person.”

I noticed it was getting dark. “I’m going to feed Paddy and make myself some dinner.”

“No need.”

“What do you mean?”

“While I’m waiting to hear your wishes, I might as well be useful. Let me make dinner.” That was soooooooo tempting. He saw my hesitation. “Anything you want.”

“Anything?” He nodded. “And it does not count as a wish?”

“Nope. Just a favor among friends.”

Without further hesitation, I said, “Wedge salad and stroganoff with wide egg noodles.”

“Done,” he said.

Grabbing the coffee mug to put in the dishwasher, I called Paddy and turned on the lights in the kitchen. There on the island was a lovely place setting, right out of aSouthern Digestmagazine, with dinner to die for. The bacon and bleu cheese crumbles on the wedge made my mouth water. The stroganoff was steamy with just the right portion and, I could tell from the color, red wine and mushroom sauce just the way I liked it.

“Wow. This is incredible.”

“At your service,” Mitch said from behind me.

“Do you mind if I eat in front of the TV? I have some recorded shows.”

“Of course not. Your happiness will please me.”

“Well, Mitch. I gotta admit I’m pretty happy. This smells just…”

“Incredible?” he repeated my earlier sentiment.

I chuckled. “You’re welcome to, um, join me.”

He shrugged. “Sure. I like TV.”

We ate stroganoff and watchedSouth Dakota. I tried to remember if I’d ever had the simple pleasure of sharing dinner in front of the TV. I’d done it with my ex a couple of times, but I couldn’t call it pleasurable. He insisted on sports commentary shows.

Sitting on my sofa with a fictional character from myths, I found myself enjoying a companionable silence with intermittent comments or laughter. I didn’t have to cleanup. When I went to bring Paddy in for the night, the dishesand flatware magically reappeared in the cabinets, washed and ready. What a treat it was to eat real dinner. The fact that I didn’t have to plan, shop, cook, or cleanup was heaven.

“Okay then,” I said yawning. “I’m going to bed.” I looked at Mitch. “What are you going to do?”

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