“Ooo la la, Bernieee! Love is in ze air, oui?”
Smiling, she shook her head at just how out of the ordinary her life had become. Talking cats and devastation spells, Cabbage Patch dolls and disappearing tractors—who outside of this town would believe her if she told them what she’d encountered?
But she was finding she didn’t really care, because these were the things that were becoming comfortable for her. The things she wanted in her life. She wanted them so much, she almost didn’t care that she’d come about them by way of the pokey.
She almost didn’t care how she’d become a witch.
She was just beginning to taste what living a real life was about, and she didn’t want to look back.
So tonight was going to be about looking forward.
Maybe even forward toward Ridge.
As she pulled into his driveway, Bernie experienced a surge of pure confidence.
Tonight would be the night she’d test the waters of the pool of Ridge.
Test them by taking a chance and actually telling him how she was feeling.
Tonight, she was going to go get her man.
Grrrrr!
Chapter 12
When Ridge opened the door, his tall frame filling it up, some of her confidence waffled. If he wasn’t so damned good-looking, if his jeans didn’t fit him like a glove, if his buttoned-up shirt wasn’t so tapered against his lean waist and opened at his bronzed throat, she might not have wavered.
If…
But there he was, as smokin’ hot as always, making her knees tremble on the way up the front porch stairs, and she damn well resented it. No one was knocking her off her game tonight. Tonight, she was going to make a move.
He wasn’t wearing his Stetson, and when he didn’t wear it, but instead pulled his thick chocolate hair back in a short ponytail, she wanted to drive her fingers through the silky locks.
He smiled at her and waved her inside, pointing to the kitchen table, a small Formica dinette with the books they were studying, a bottle of red wine, and a cheese pizza sitting on top.
She was a little in love with Ridge’s house—maybe because it reminded her of her parents’ old place. From the white-stained cabinets that met the ceiling and the copper farmers sink in the kitchen, to the worn, well-loved floors and the enormous bookcases in the living room, she loved it all. It smelled like apples and cinnamon, laughter and warmth—and Ridge.
Each time she stepped through the screen door, she felt at peace.
“So how’s my favorite witch tonight?”
And there it was. The way they started every study date together. With a flirty joke.
No more.
Bernie crossed the room and set her purse on the coppery-granite countertop, putting her hand on her hip and jutting it forward just like she’d been advised by Flora, who was convinced she needed to gussy up her game with Ridge.
She’d made a decision on the way over here, and she was sticking to it. Move this along or go off and lick her rejection wounds in a corner.
“Am I your favorite witch?”
Ridge cocked an eyebrow, his eyes glittering. “Who’s saucy tonight?” he asked with an amused chuckle, following her steps to stand in front of her.
She shifted on her foot to ease the sharp pang in her hip. How did women stand like that? “I asked a question.”
“I’m afraid to answer.”
“Because?”
“Because I was just doing the usual banter thing we do. We’ve been doing it since we began studying. Have the rules changed?”
“So that means I’m not your favorite witch?”
“Okay. Stop the roller coaster. I want off. Tell me what’s going on here.”
“I’ve spent more of my life being cautious and afraid than not. I’ve walked on more eggshells than Miss Prissy and company out back could ever produce in a lifetime. And I don’t want to do that anymore.”
Ridge’s eyes scanned her face, his mouth in a perfect O. “You don’t have to walk on eggshells with me.”
“Good.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, pumping a fist in the air. “Good. Wanna start again?”
“Nope.”
Ridge ran a hand over his chin, his face clearly confused. “I feel like there’s some kind of speed trap here, and if I’m not careful, I’m gonna drive right into it and end up swallowed whole. How about you just explain what’s going on and I listen and shut up?”
“No speed traps, just honesty.”
“About the eggshells?”
She shot a finger up in the air. “Yes! About the eggshells.”
“So what about them?” he asked, his tone tentative.
“I don’t want to walk on them anymore.”
“Good. Go Team Bernie.”
“Not the right answer.”
He squinted, looking thoughtful. “What is the right answer?”
“I want this to stop between us. Right now.”
“That’s the answer?”
“No, you’re not paying attention. That’s a request.”
“And this has to do with eggshells how?”
Witch Is The New Black (Paris, Texas Romance #3)
Dakota Cassidy's books
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