Page 29 of Witch You Would
On the other hand, maybe thiswasmy chance. I’d waited months to ask Penelope out, and now she was right here. We were stuck together unless we flamed out.I could chill and have fun. Embrace the chaotic potential. Maximum flirt power. Fake it ’til you make it, even if I wouldn’treally be faking.
Because honestly? Even though Grandpa Fred’s rule number one was “be someone else,” Leandro was still sort of me. He was thegoofy parts I hid from teachers so they would praise me, and from my parents because I was supposed to be their brainy, serious,future professional son. Yes, I was the nerd who started theDoctorWitchblog so I could help other magic nerds nerd out safely. But I was also the clown who wanted to make people laugh by shovinga pie into my own face. As tired as I was of never being taken seriously as Leandro, I’d only started pretending to be himbecause I was tired of getting nowhere as a brainy, serious professional.
If Penelope could like Leandro as much as she seemed to like me, wouldn’t it be worth the risk?
Penelope nodded to herself as if she’d made her choice. I waited, trying to breathe normally.
“Let’s try it,” she said.
I exhaled slowly. “Are you sure?”
“As long as you’re okay with it?”
“I am. Okay with it, I mean. If all we’re doing is, uh, putting out a vibe, we could always deny anything happened later,right? Say it was people’s imagination?”
“True, true. We just have to be careful.”
Her stomach growled, and she grabbed it like that would stop it. “Did you skip breakfast? Because I did.”
“No, but...” I waggled my eyebrows as I pulled a banana out of my pocket.
Penelope lost it again. “Are you... are you trying to... give me the banana in your pocket?”
“Maybe I’m just happy to see you.”
She held out her hand. “Yes, fine, give me your warm pocket banana. I’m too hungry to care.”
I was so going to prank her with another banana later. But for now, I watched her eat and wondered how we were going to pullthis off.
Chapter 7
Penelope
Not only was I partnered with Leandro “Spell Disaster” Presto, I was supposed to flirt with him, too. How was this my life?
Before we’d met, the idea of faking feels for him would have been ridiculous. Even now, the whole situation gave me stressgiggles and stomach acid. My brain was popping out catastrophes faster than his spell had made candy hearts. But talking withhim had helped; the more I got to know him, the easier it would hopefully be.
Back at our hotel, I ran upstairs to get my backpack full of random stuff I might need: tools, change of clothes, hand sanitizer,breath mints, tissues... mom purse stuff. Today’s work apron went inside, too.
Breakfast was served in the restaurant-slash-bar, which was rainforest chic like the rest of the hotel. Fake branches and palm fronds hung from the ceiling, with slowly spinning fans that felt decorative since the AC was doing all the work. A mirrored wall of bottles sat behind the bar counter—why did every bar do this?—and a dozen square tables full of people were crammed together, too close to be ADA compliant. Two long tables at the other end of the room held covered serving dishes, tiers of sliced fruit and pastelitos, rows ofroll-sized Cuban bread, and a bunch of other stuff. Hurricane Film Crew had trashed most of it.
I shoved three pieces of cheese directly into my mouth, then wrapped a couple of pastelitos and bread in a napkin to takewith me. Hopefully there would be more snacks in the greenroom.
Leandro wandered up. “The next van is coming in about ten minutes.”
His shirt today was, as always, an experience. The lavender fabric looked silky, with a button-down front and collar, andlong sleeves he’d rolled up to show off his surprisingly muscular forearms. Profiles of large yellow and black long-stemmedflowers were interspersed with swirls of smaller black leaves and floral patterns, plus random yellow buds and blossoms.
As soon as I saw it earlier, I’d known what apron I’d wear today. I could have gone out of my way not to coordinate, but thatfelt petty. We were a team. And we had a vibe to put out, apparently.
We sat in the lobby to wait. Leandro watched me stuff food in my face while fiddling with the zippers on his backpack. Zip,unzip. Zip, unzip. Was he nervous? I guess he wasn’t used to being on a big TV show, either. Especially not a competition.Or maybe it was the flirting thing?
I wanted to say something comforting, but I had nothing. Nada. The more I ate, the sicker I felt.
Leandro left and came back with two travel cups of coffee, putting one on the table in front of me. He hadn’t asked how Iwanted it, and I didn’t want to risk opening it to check. I smiled on the outside and armored up inside before taking a sip.
It was perfect. Milky and with enough sugar to give me instant cavities. What? How?
My face must have done something weird because Leandro asked, “Sorry, is it okay? I can—”
