A Witch's Handbook of Kisses and Curses (HMH3) by Harper Molly

Author:Harper, Molly [Harper, Molly]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance, Fiction, General, Paranormal, Contemporary
ISBN: 9781451641882
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2013-05-28T07:00:00+00:00

10

There is no such thing as magical glue. Any witch who tries to sell you magical glue is a lying hag.

—A Witch’s Compendium of Curses

We went to a restaurant called High on the Hog. It was careworn but well populated. The green pleather booths were sprung and peeling. The napkin dispensers consisted of paper-towel racks mounted against the oak paneling. Pictures of people holding up large fish and neon beer signs decorated the walls. I could barely see the kitchen through the smoke, but I could make out a huge brick pit in the middle of the space.

It was a bit like a pub, with the same happy, boisterous crowd, people drinking more they were supposed to and most likely flirting with people they weren’t supposed to. Loud country music blared from an old jukebox in the corner. The smell should have been revolting, nothing but smoke and grease and beer. But my mouth was watering to the point where I felt like wiping at it with my sleeve.

Jed ordered for me, because after the hamburger comment, I couldn’t be trusted to do it myself. While the meat was smoky and delicious, it was the side dishes I gorged on. There were things I remembered from my childhood. Corn on the cob and macaroni and cheese. But then there were hash brown casserole, collard greens, and hush puppies, which I had never tried.

“Wow, you are just throwing yourself into that plate, aren’t you?” Jed marveled.

“I know, it’s probably revolting. You’ve probably spent your adult life dating women who eat the cucumber from their salad and proclaim they’re just too full to go on, but I am starving. And this is really good.”

“Naw, hell, I was going to offer you my black-eyed peas if it means you’ll keep makin’ those little sounds in your throat.”

“I’m making little sounds?”

He nodded. “If you stop, I’ll cry. A lot.”

I drank the watery-but-no-one-knew-any-better beer, and I ate my fill. And when a stocky man in a Georgia State T-shirt asked me to two-step, I politely declined. He almost argued, but Jed gave him sort of a no-doubt-terrifying-to-the-male-of-the-species territorial glare, and Mr. Georgia State scampered away.

Two more, I thought. Two more, and I could go home. With the plaque locked up tight in Jed’s truck, I was well and truly relaxed for the first time in days. It was the same relief and euphoria I’d felt after finding the candle. I was getting a little bit addicted to that feeling, and it was leading to some dangerous thoughts.

Those thoughts focused on Jed’s lips and how they’d felt against mine earlier that day. And how relatively easy it was to sit here in this crowded bar and talk about nothing at all with him. I didn’t feel that constant nagging pressure to say the right thing or use the right fork. Because Jed had seen me having a possum-fueled panic attack wearing nothing but a towel. After that, there was nowhere to go but up.

After a bit too much Hank Williams, Sr.

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