‘Well, I think you’ve got the gist. But that’s why she was wearing my jacket.’
‘Ah,’ said Effie, trying not to be pleased that there was an explanation that didn’t involve Bonnie throwing herself at Theo. ‘It all becomes clear.’
‘I hope so,’ said Theo. He frowned. ‘This is a weird thing to say, but is your sister...’
Here it came. The inevitable question. He’d tried buttering up the boring sister to get to the appealing one. And she’d fallen for it, as she always did. As used to this dynamic as Effie was, sometimes she wanted the guy asking to be interested inher.
Not that she’d know how to respond if ever the time came. What did one even do with a man?
‘Worth the effort?’ said Effie, handing over the library card.
Theo, who’d been about to offer his credit card in exchange, blinked in confusion. ‘No, not that. Things keep catching fire when she’s around. First the room at the bar, then my watch.’ He tapped his scorched smartwatch. ‘I was going to ask if she was a pyromaniac?’
Well, that was unexpected. But not unwelcome.
Could it be that Bonnie’s charms didn’t work on everyone, after all? Pondering this, Effie bit back a shy smile.
Next to her, Mom’s image seemed to wink.
Chapter 6
THIS SPELLS TROUBLE
Bonnie
Bonnie wiped down the bar for approximately the thousandth time that morning. Was it dirty? No. Were they even open for business yet? Also no. Bonnie was procrastinating in the hope that her million unfinished tasks somehow took the hint and resolved themselves without her intervention. It wasn’t out of the question. She’d been in enough group projects to know that eventually someone got the work done. And when it happened, Bonnie would be the first to volunteer to do the presentation part – she always got top marks for her presentations.
The morning wasn’t going to plan. She’d finally shaken the hangover, but she wasn’t able to shake the fact that Theo was apparently impervious to her charms. Was he a warlock or something? Had he bathed in some sort of attraction-repelling enchantment? Bonnie wasn’t entirely sure that such a thing existed, but if you could repel coyotes with bear pee (as Bobby and his little brother Kevvie, both avid campers, vowed) presumably either science or magic could make it happen.
The thing was, she wasn’t eventhatattracted to him. He was handsome, sure, and she appreciated a guy with smart footwear and a bank account robust enough that he wouldn’t come begging for gas money or funds for an urgent tattoo cover-up, something that had been a frequent theme amongthe good-looking bad boys Bonnie tended to gravitate towards. But she didn’t feel the spark she assumed she would have based on his on-paper stats. Could sparks be cultivated? They’d have to be, because when Bonnie had set her eyes on a prize, she was not one for going home empty-handed. Or empty-bedded, for that matter.
The bar’s smart doorbell chimed, breaking through the sultry tones of her Lana Del Rey playlist. She squinted at the grainy video that showed up on her phone. A delivery guy, but hauling an enormous cart of something white.
What on earth?
Bobby, who had a truck, handled most of the deliveries, but every now and then an actual uniformed guy showed up to drop off something big. Meaning expensive, Bonnie thought with a sigh.
She stalked outside to help him in through the patio gate.
‘Hi,’ puffed the delivery guy, whose uniform was covered in sweat patches in spite of the mild weather. A blue evil eye pendant peeked out from behind his shirt. ‘I’m Tristan. I’m taking over the account from Ned. He’s retiring – said Madame Destinée’s latest column gave him the final push he needed. He’s a Virgo,’ added Tristan, as though this explained everything.
‘Like my sister,’ said Bonnie, reminding herself to check Effie’s horoscope when she got back inside.
‘The librarian, right? I just dropped a bunch of books off there.’
‘If she gave you a withering look over her glasses and told you to switch off the lights behind you, that was her.’ Bonnie folded her arms, regarding the delivery van, which was parked in the square, hazards flashing. ‘So, what have you got for me?’
Tristan slid open the van door, revealing more milk than the dairy aisle of the supermarket.
Bonnie recoiled. ‘Do I look like I need all that? This is abar, not an elementary school. I make like two White Russians a day.’
Tristan shrugged. ‘You could be on the GOMAD diet.’
‘The what now?’
‘A gallon of milk a day. It’s a bodybuilding thing.’
‘A lifestyle that bar patrons are famously into.’ Bonnie smirked, then flexed a tanned bicep. ‘Besides, who could possibly improve on this?’
