Free Bitch Witch by S.R. Karfelt Page B

laundry?”
    “Oh, hell, I might really fall in love with you if you do.”
    Paul lifted his brows.
    “You know that’s a joke, right? The laundry room and vacuums are down the hall to the right. I’m going to bed now. I have to be at work early. Call me if you have any problems during the day.” Sarah walked out the apartment door, then turned around and stuck her head back in. “Goodnight, Paul.”

    IT TOOK A long time to fall asleep. Sarah had locked the bedroom door against Paul, just in case he had some sort of delayed love spell attack. Like I’d have minded. But in reality she might have minded.
    The majority of the night passed with Sarah tossing and turning, worrying about Paul as though he were her child. What happened to him in Afghanistan that left him in a psychiatric hospital for months? What is the story with his family? Does the guy sleep in parks often? The dark circles under his eyes haunted Sarah’s dreams when she did fall asleep; consuming her thoughts more than the love spell gone astray. Whatever the spell had done, it had surely been festering and growing this whole time. Yet her feelings for Paul were no longer anything like any love spell she’d ever seen.
    Paul didn’t come out of his apartment before she left for work. Sarah rooted through cupboards and found a lone box of Cream of Wheat that hadn’t expired. She left it on the kitchen counter with a note that there was milk in the fridge. Just in case he doesn’t recognize milk when he looks in there.
    Sarah entered the breakroom at work at the same time as Mindy. Someone else had already made a pot of nasty coffee.
    Mindy swept her dark eyes over Sarah’s lavender blouse, black skirt, and sensible shoes. She glanced at the countertop in the breakroom. Sarah mentally cringed; she had forgotten donuts.
    “I’ve never been so disappointed in you,” said Mindy. “We’re finished.”
    Sarah used her lunch break to run to Natick Mall and get the cookie store to frost Cinderella mice onto a large chocolate chip cookie cake. She rushed back to work, located Mindy’s cubicle, and opened the box to display the treat.
    Mindy raised her eyebrows. “I was joking about fucking you. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up.”
    “I figured.”
    Mindy shut the lid on the box. “Sorry. I’m not sharing my rat cookie with you. No offense, but you’re getting fat.”
    Sarah made a mental note to find something in Aunt Lily’s closet that Mindy could wear.

    FOR THE FIRST time ever Sarah’s work day dragged. Despite the dozens of texts Sarah sent to Paul’s phone, he only responded to one.
    Sarah: What do you want from Olive Garden for dinner?
    Paul: I cooked.
    Did that mean he’d cooked for himself? For her? Since there were no groceries in the house Sarah considered stopping and getting herself something, then worried that he’d eaten Cream of Wheat all day. Maybe I should get him something anyway. No. He said he’d cooked. In the end she figured they could always make her frozen pizzas and went directly home.
    It rained on the drive home, the kind of rain that blew down in sheets and nearly pushed her car off the highway. The kind of rain that swallowed umbrellas and turned them inside out, and followed Sarah to her doorway, spilling water down the back of her blouse, daring her to cast it away like all the Archer women had done for centuries. Sarah endured it and reached the front door feeling like a martyr, put upon and angry at the universe for making life so damn difficult.
    The front door was locked and the key under the mat gone, which pissed her off. She had to dig through her purse and find her house key because kicking at the base of the door and swearing didn’t make Paul open it. Did the moron have no clue how impatient a witch was? A variety of minor but amusing spells flitted into the back of Sarah’s mind.
    Make him speak in Pig-Latin for a day.
    Or force him to walk everywhere like he’s on a balance beam.
    Maybe the