My mouth falls agape. “He feels responsible?” I stare at Felise.
“He was driving the car when it crashed.”
“Oh my god.” I blink rapidly. “I didn’t know that.”
She nods slowly.
“He was so young.”
“Yes, he was.” Her lips twist. “When Magan and I were learning to drive, he got really cranky.”
I inhale slowly. “Wow. What happened in the accident?”
“Apparently a semi pulled out right in front of them.”
“So it wasn’t his fault.”
“No, but he doesn’t want to hear that. He’s sure he could have done something different.”
My chest aches. I flatten my hand there and swallow.
“That’s why he’s tried so hard to get them back,” she adds. “And he hates that he hasn’t been able to.”
I remember our first lesson, when he told me that resurrection isn’t possible. How his voice caught. I imagine teenage Trace railing against the world, then becoming determined to fix what he thought he’d done wrong. And not being able to do that. My eyes sting with tears pressing in the corners, and I blink them back, my heart throbbing for him.
I turn and look at Trace. He’s smiling fondly at Grandma as she shows off some pretty good moves.
“I think Trace also hates the pressure to follow in his family’s footsteps,” Felise adds. “We’re just ordinary witches. The Candlers, I mean. But Trace… he’s a special witch.”
I’m starting to realize he is special. He didn’t want to tutor me, but he did it even though he’s carried a burden of guilt around with him since he was sixteen, and on top of that, tremendous disappointment at all his attempts to bring his family back. And not just because he wants them back… it seems he feels he has to redeem himself for what he did. But this whole family loves him. And I… Well, I’ve liked him since the moment we met. And that feeling has only deepened as I get to know him better and see his honor, his strength, his devotion to the Candlers.
I dance with a couple of Felise and Magan’s cousins, then a bunch of girls all dance together. Joe even dances with me. We’ve had lunch a few times over the past few weeks. He checks in on what I’ve been learning from Trace and lets me ask him dumb questions. He listens to my work complaints and tells me stories about Felise and Magan when they were little. We’ve even talked about my mom.
“What a lovely wedding,” I say. “Everyone seems to be having fun.”
“Some a little too much.” He shifts his gaze to a bunch of Wendell and Dean’s friends gathered by the open bar. His smile is wry.
“Is there a witch hangover remedy?”
“Why yes, there is.”
“Okay, that’s useful.”
“You sound like you think the things you’re learning aren’t useful.”
“There are so many restrictions on what we can use our powers for. It seems to defeat the purpose of having magic powers.”
“There are a lot of restrictions,” he agrees. “But they’re there for a reason. Unlimited power is dangerous. And you’re young and just learning. Power increases as you age and have the maturity and experience to handle it.”
I wrinkle my nose at him. “I guess we all think we’re mature.”
He smiles. “Have you heard of Axel Dankworth?”
“Yes. One of the original members of the Orb of Night coven.”
“Yes. He talked about the dangers to witch character—things like having a lot of money without having to work for it. Doing business without ethics. Taking pleasure without having a conscience. Those things can destroy a witch’s character and integrity.”
I think about that. “Okay, I get that. I’d still like to win the lottery though.”
“Wouldn’t we all.” He pauses. “If we could just summon up a million dollars, we wouldn’t appreciate it as much as if we worked for it. If I ran my business scamming people, what would that make me?”
I have to say, I admire this man. My heart expands, rising up into my throat. “I’m glad you’re my dad,” I say quietly.
His eyes warm. “I’m glad you’re my daughter.”
“I feel like I’m not fitting in,” I blurt out. “I feel so stupid about magic and witches.”
His eyebrows pull down. “Give it time. It takes years to learn things.”
“So I’m told.” I make myself smile. “I’ll try to be more patient.”
“Attagirl.”
Something on the other side of the dance floor is creating a commotion, and we both turn to look. Guests gather together, and I hear laughter. “What is going on?”
We stop dancing, as does everyone else, moving closer to see that a T-Rex has joined the wedding, boogying on the dance floor.
I crack up, covering my mouth. “Oh my god! Who is that?”
“I have no idea.”
The dinosaur grabs Wendell’s hand and tries to spin him. Wendell is dying laughing and nearly falls on his ass.
“Is that Dean?” Joe asks.
“I think it is.” Trace speaks behind us.
I turn and see his broad smile.
The dinosaur dances his way around, stopping for hugs from Dean’s (his?) mom, Wendell’s mom, and Grandma Candler. The crowd is clapping and cheering for him. With his tiny little arms and big tail, he’s a hilarious dancer, and my face hurts from laughing.
Eventually Dean reveals himself and he and Wendell hug. “You’re a kook, hon,” Wendell says affectionately.
When the hilarity dies down, the DJ starts a slower, older song, “Fly Me to the Moon.”
“Sinatra,” I murmur. “I love this song.”
Joe pats Trace’s shoulder as he moves away.
Trace holds out his hand to me.
I take it and let him pull me close.
“God, that was funny,” I say.
“Dean’s a nut. A good nut though.”
“I’m so happy for them.”
“Yeah.” Trace’s hand on my hip guides me out of the way of another couple. And closer to him. I feel the warmth of his body. I like the strength in his hand holding mine, the breadth of his shoulders. He’s taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, and his forearms are like porn. I can’t stop peeking at them. And at his square jaw, dark with stubble. His mossy-green eyes. His lips…
“Don’t look at me like that.”
I blink. “Like what?”
“Your eyes are horny.”
Now those eyes widen. “What?”
“You have horny eyes.”
That’s what I thought he said. “Oh. Well. There could be a reason for that.” Yikes. That sounded flirty.
A low groan rumbles in his chest. “Jesus, Romy.”
I liked Trace before, but learning more about him tonight, seeing him with kids and old ladies and friends… I’m a goner. My hormones are throwing a party in my lady region. I drop my gaze and rub my palm over his shoulder. “You look good in a suit.”
He makes a low noise, almost a groan. “And you look fucking hot in that dress.” He pauses, then bends his head near me. “Kissable. Lickable.” My belly quivers as his nose touches my hair, his breath tickling my ear. “Fuckable.”