Mathilda, SuperWitch (Mathilda's Book of Shadows #1)(72)

Oo, wait, just remembered… Harrods has Krispie Kreme.

Mm.

Ash moved and I realized he was taking his weight off me so I held tight and he sighed and settled on me again.

Yay!

His face said it was only a moment’s reprieve.

Boo!

I couldn’t stop myself, too much emotion, too little sleep, the promise of Krispie Kreme, I kissed him softly on the lips and asked, “We’re never going to have sex, are we? Real, bona fide, man-on-woman action with repeated and prolonged penetration and the exchange of bodily fluids, that kind of sex. We’re never gonna have it, are we?”

When I was done, he was looking at me in an entirely differently, me: clotted cream, Ash: starving man, way.

Oh me.

Then he kissed me – hot, hard and long.

Oh my.

There was a promise in that kiss, a promise of future, real, full-blown, fantastic coital relations.

Yay!

Yay!

Yay!

Then in one, smooth movement, he was out of bed and pulled me along with him.

“You’ve got ten minutes,” he said.

Then (can you believe?) he smacked my ass and left the room.

(Ten minutes? I don’t think so.)

* * * * *

I know what you’re thinking and I’m not so boy crazy or ditzy that I don’t realize that someone tried to blow up two men that I care about very much.

The princess fortress isn’t just for hiding and worrying.

I do other things in the princess fortress.

Like plotting and planning.

I just hadn’t come up with anything yet.

* * * * *

Ash walked me through the sweets section of Harrods (more like dragged, what can I say, we were late, but I was not going to see Aidan, at Harrods (of all places) without at least a coat of mascara and lip gloss and some sheen to my cheeks).

The sweets section of Harrods is one of my most favorite places – a colorful, sugary wonderland that would make Willy Wonka green with envy.

I could spend hours in the marshmallow section alone.

I had no time even to admire, Ash forged through the hustle and bustle like a hot knife through butter.

I followed in his wake with one of my hands curled in his belt so I wouldn’t lose him.

Being an American, I wouldn’t have made it, I would have been miles back, “Excuse me”-ing and “Pardon me”-ing and all would be lost.

* * * * *

Aside: Do not believe the whole “polite and mannered” English people myth.

English people conduct themselves in public like they have a mission and their mission is the most important thing in the entire world. The fact that you, too, might have a mission does not concern them in the slightest.

So, beware, if you happen to be in a small town grocery store and you can’t figure out if you want the organic bio-yogurt with vanilla or the bio-yogurt with peaches and wheat germ and you’re standing taking up the precious aisle space in front of the yogurts trying to decide. Beware because an English person will reach right in front of you and grab what they want, breaking your concentration and making you start your deliberations all over again.

If they happen to be walking down the sidewalk with a friend at their side and you’re walking up that same sidewalk, don’t think that one of the polite and mannered English people will drop back to allow you your own, rightful bit of sidewalk. No, they’d rather run right into you or force you into the street. And they will.

And whatever you do, whatever you do, when you approach a queue, study it and ascertain exactly where the end is and go there and only there. Do not look like you’re confused (they can smell indecision and if they do, they’ll snap). Do not allow your mind to wander to anything else but the queue and your place in it. If you enter the queue anywhere but at the end, you are likely to be beaten to death and no English judge would send your murderers to jail because you deserved it because you jumped the queue.

I am not kidding.

And, they won’t say excuse me or pardon me, there is no concern or remorse.

There is only the mission.

And in the cities, it is far, far worse.

This is not a fault, this is the culture. You get used to it and you’re supposed to “when in Rome”. Unfortunately for me, consideration is ingrained. Therefore, in busy places, I can’t get around very easily because I’m too busy being courteous.

Of course, Ash was a natural.

PS: This rule does not apply to Scots who are very nice and will chat happily with you in elevators.

* * * * *

We made it to the Krispie Kreme section which was shoulder-to-shoulder, a beacon of peace to the world as every color, culture and persuasion were represented waiting harmoniously to get their own hot, glazed donut.

I saw Aidan’s head and shoulders rising above a group of Asians chattering and queuing to get their sugar rush, their children already wearing little paper hats.

When I reached him, I threw my arms around him and gave him a happy shake. Then I grabbed his face, kissed his left cheek, his right cheek and then right smack on the lips. His arms started to slide around me when I felt Ash’s hand curl into the waistband of my jeans and he pulled me back.

Not very far back since, due to the crush, there wasn’t far to go.

So there we were, me caught in the middle of an Aidan-Ash Gorgeous Hunk Sandwich while they did another of their testosterone-induced staring matches.