Page 26 of Bad Witch

Peaches?

I blushed again.

“Hope you have some pie in that pack,” he said, still looking at his phone.

I looked down at the bag and bit my lip. I didn’t. Why hadn’t I thought of that? I had one in the freezer, but then I’d have to go back to the cottage, and what if he wanted to come as well. “I don’t have any more, well, I do, but it’s frozen, and I—I⁠—”

“Hey, whoa. I was teasing. Whatever you have in that bag I’m gonna like, I guarantee it.”

I shoved down the stupid panic that had hit me and smiled again. This was ridiculous. This emotional roller coaster I was on constantly was exhausting. I wish I found it easier to read people.

He shoved his phone back in his pocket, grabbed something from one of the bags hanging from the side of his seat, and handed it to me. “Put this on. Felt you shivering last night.”

It was a leather jacket, soft and worn. I had been shivering, but I hadn’t cared that I was cold, I’d just wanted to keep riding. “Where did this come from?” I said, taking it.

“Used to be Brick’s when he was a pup.”

I held it up. It would still hang off me, and I was not exactly tiny. A whiff of something reached me, and I held it to my nose and sniffed. “It smells like oranges.”

“Willow gave me some of her oils to clean it up.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” I said and slid it on.

His gaze went kind of dark. “It smelled like Brick.”

“You didn’t need to go to any trouble,” I said and ran my hands over the soft leather.

“Yeah, peaches, I did.”

There was a strange note to his voice and look in his eyes, like he was trying to force his way into my brain and have a poke around. I didn’t understand why he was looking at me like that, but then, I didn’t understand a lot of things when it came to people, or hounds for that matter. He didn’t try to explain himself, so I pretended I wasn’t as confused as I felt. “Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”

His gaze dipped down to the jacket I was now wearing and his nostrils flared. “Warm?”

“Toasty.”

He grinned, took my pack, put it in one of the bags hanging off the seat, and buckled it closed. “Ready to go?”

“Yep.”

He got on the bike and held out his hand. “Then let’s ride.”

Curling my hand around his, I climbed up and, like last night, he pulled my arms around his waist. The leather of his jacket was warm, and his body heat soaked right through mine.

Fender said he was my friend, and I believed him. Every time I was with him, I felt more at ease. I liked him, a lot. Maybe I was imagining it, or getting it wrong, but I was starting to think he truly liked me as well.

It was midday by the time we reached the furthermost northern entrance into Oldwood Forest. I climbed off the bike, taking in our surroundings as I unzipped my leather jacket and slid it off. There was a chill in the air, but the late winter sun had warmth in it. I put the jacket in my pack, since I might need it later, and was about to swing it onto my back, when Fender took it from me and slung it over his shoulder.

“How far do you think the cliffs are from here?” he asked.

“I’d say about ten, maybe twelve miles. It’s a big hike. I’m not sure I can make it the whole way today. I’m fairly fit, but this is through heavy forest and a lot of uneven terrain.”

We started walking.

“You do a lot of hiking?” Fender asked.

“Yes.”

“Where?”