Page 57 of These Witches Don't Burn
All my earlier nerves fall away. “Does that mean I get a do-over? I owe you a much better first-date experience.”
Morgan considers me. She taps her chin and stares up at the ceiling in mock consideration. “Hmm... I don’t really believe in do-overs.” She pauses long enough to let my heart ricochet around in my chest. Long enough for me to panic. “But you can take me out on a second date.”
I have to restrain myself from breaking out into my horribly embarrassing happy dance. “You won’t regret it. I promise.” I smile so hard my cheeks hurt. I could give her a proper tour of Salem and show her all my favorite spots. “I just have one more question.”
Morgan inches closer until we’re sharing the same air, the same breath. “Ask me anything.” Her words whisper across my skin, full of promise.
A wave of uncertainty crashes over me, but I meet Morgan’s gaze and find my courage. “Can I kiss you?”
Morgan wraps her arms around my neck, the edge of the pastry box poking into my back, but I don’t even care. “I thought you’d never ask.”
She leans forward, and I pull her close, pressing my forehead to hers. The air tingles with power between us, sending shivers across my skin. I wait until I can’t handle the anticipation a second longer.
When our lips touch, everything else fades away. All the worry. All the fear. Her lips are soft and warm against mine. She tastes like berry lip balm and second chances and endless possibilities.
I never want this moment to end.
•••
Morgan and I spend the rest of dress rehearsal in the back row of the theater. She provides commentary for the pieces, explaining the difference between contemporary and modern styles of dance and detailing the long routine of preparing pointe shoes.
I try to hold on to all the things she says, every last word, but when she kisses me again, language loses its meaning. Around hour two, I gather up the courage to hold her hand during a particularly moving piece by the modern group. Or maybe contemporary. They look so similar, and I’ve already forgotten the difference.
As rehearsal winds down, Morgan disappears to help out backstage and in the dressing rooms. She plants a kiss on my cheek before she goes, leaving me a blushing mess in my seat.
Gemma plops down next to me a few minutes later. She’s replaced her costume with old jeans and a loose-fitting T-shirt. “Morgan seems in good spirits.”
“I think it’s safe to say she forgives me. She liked the cookies.” She did, however, request a text next time something comes up, so she’s not left worrying. She said she spent almost two days trying to figure out what she had said or done to send me running away without a word.
A niggling bit of guilt still gnaws at my insides over that.
Gemma nudges me with her shoulder. “You gotta give me more than that. This wasmymaster plan, after all.”
I lean back and stare up at the rafters of the auditorium. One of the lights flickers like it’s about to die, fading in and out like a lightning bug. “You know I don’t kiss and tell, Gem.”
“Since when? I swear, I know more about your sex life than my own sometimes.”
That gets a laugh, which I hasten to cover when a parent shoots a stern look my way. “This thing with Morgan... It’s too new. I’m not ready to jinx it by blabbing.” I stand and stretch my limbs. My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Morgan, saying her dad’s there to pick her up and we’ll talk soon. “Are you ready to go?” We’re at a recital hall in Beverly, and I promised to drive Gem home after.
Gemma reaches out a hand, and I help her to her feet. Her movements are as fluid as ever, but there’s a cautiousness to her steps. She’s clearly exhausted from rehearsal. We exit the theater together, night falling like a blanket to snuff out the light, and Gem has me walk her through every second of my apology. When I pull onto the main road, I have to flip my rearview mirror to keep the bright lights of other cars out of my eyes.
“So, what’s the plan for your second date?” Gemma reaches for the lever and leans her seat back, sighing as she stretches out her long limbs. “Will you go the dinner-and-a-movie route? Ooh, or maybe you could take her to the psychic fair coming into town next week.”
“I haven’t really decided yet,” I say, knowing there’s zero chance I’ll take Morgan to a psychic. I won’t even let Lauren read my tarot. I turn onto the Essex Bridge to take us back into Salem. “What about you and Benton? How’re your plans for a summer fling going?”
Gemma groans. “Terrible. The boy’s hot, but damn is he dense.”
“That bad, huh?”
“I mean, he’s clearly an intelligent human being, but he hasn’t picked up a single one of my hints.” Gem turns to look at me, and a shot of guilt punctures my heart. “He’s infuriating.”
“That sucks, Gemma. I’m sorry.” Behind me, someone turnson their brights, burning my eyes despite the adjusted rearview mirror. “I feel like that’s partially my fault. Apparently, Benton forgot I was gay and developed a bit of a crush on me.”
“How do you forget someone’s gay?”
“That’s a great quest—”
Someone slams into us from behind. The seat belt digs into my chest as I jolt forward. I look in the mirror, but whoever it was isn’t behind us anymore. “Are you all right?” I ask, my hands shaky on the wheel.
