Salinger met me for lunch the following Saturday exactly the way Antony had waited for me the week before. Naturally, he did not have Antony's Japanese lunch box, but he dressed his food up like a country picnic in a basket. I was a little stunned. He couldn't have brought the basket with him with his luggage. It had to be a new purchase, and it looked expensive.

“Will you join me for lunch?” he offered, sounding nonchalant. I glanced over him. He was wearing black. What did it mean? Fair Isle wore black. If he had chosen Fair Isle, then why did he want to have lunch with me?

“Just the two of us?” I asked skeptically.

He nodded.

My lips turned down in a pout. Whatever he wanted to talk to me about, it would not be good news, but the food had an appetizing aroma. I nodded and asked, “What are you feeding me?”

He opened the lid. “Chicken salad sandwiches, watermelon slices, potato chips, and this.” He pulled out a bottle of something carbonated, but not my favorite sparkling pomegranate apple juice. This was orange and raspberry.

“Did you make the sandwiches yourself?”

“No.” He sighed. “Antony didn't, so I didn't think it was a prerequisite.”

“I like guys with wallets as well as guys who cook,” I joked. “Have you spoken to him lately?”

“I phoned him last night and asked him if he was planning on seeing you today.”

“What time did you talk?”

“I don't know. A little after six. Is it important?”

I bit my lip. Antony had known about my little lunch date before I did. It may have spurred him to visit my house and have that essential, though humiliating, conversation with me. “Not overly,” I said, trying to downplay the importance.

At the table in the cafeteria, Salinger set the table and I asked him, “Have most of the witches in our coven read your book now?”

“Everyone except you.”

“I suppose that's what this is about then,” I said, waving my hand over the table. “I'm supposed to read it? My opinion is not important. Weren’t you supposed to visit other covens and show them your marvelous book?”

“I'm not leaving,” he said definitively. “I plan to stay for the whole summer. I’ve decided not to visit the other covens.”

“Why?”

“What I want is here. Besides, the witches at those other covens are not strangers to me. I’ve written to them for years. But, you, you never wrote to me,” he said reflectively.

“Why would I?”

“Maybe that's why you are so interesting. You’re the one I don’t understand yet.” He poured the carbonated liquid into a goblet and handed it to me.

I took a sip. I liked it. “Been doing more divining?”

He shook his head. “It's not necessary after the first time.”

“You’re that good at divining? You only need to do it once? Tell me your secret.”

“No,” he chuckled, enjoying my accidental flirtation. “You're not interested anyway. You are only interested in my book. None of the other magic matters to you. You have been trying to figure out how you can read it without betraying your interest and I've got to hand it to you, your indifference is convincing, but I know that isn't how you really feel.”

It was annoying that he knew, but his insight wasn’t magical, everyone wants a private view into the creative work of their adversary. Since he was dangling it, I might as well get what I wanted. “Are you going to let me read it or not?”

He gave me a smile that revealed one pointed canine. “Yes, you get to read it when I formally add it to the hidden library on Sunday. There won't be a ceremony or anything, but you and I will be there. You'll represent your coven. I'll give you the book, you'll read it, and put it in the cabinet.”

I blinked a few times. “It's a pretty big deal for you to give your prize book to a witch coven you have no ties with.”

“I'm declaring my intention to have ties with your coven.”

“You've chosen someone?” It was obvious what he was about to say.

“You,” he said smoothly.

“Me? Have I done something to encourage you?”

“Not particularly.”

I sputtered, “Then why? I'm not interested in you. All my cousins want you madly and you've got to have me because I'm the one who doesn't?”

“I hope that's not all I have on my mind,” he said with a beautiful flick of his tongue.

“Hasn’t Antony told you my declaration?”

“Your what?”

“I plan on never getting married, or having a boyfriend, or a lover, or any of that.”

Salinger took the news gracefully, as in he didn't laugh or scowl. Instead, he looked at me soberly and questioned, “Who's responsible for that?”

“I am.”

“Hm. What is it that you’re trying to avoid? Have you had your heart broken?”

I glared at him. “It was never romantic, but yes, I have had my heart broken. That’s not the only issue. You see, I don’t enjoy physical affection. It’s weird. I dislike skin-to-skin contact.”

“But you linked arms with me on our date the other night.”

“Our skin wasn’t touching,” I reminded him. “Besides, plenty of touching is considered normal in our society. I’m prepared for that, but that is where the boundary lies. You can shake my hand, help me with my coat, help me from a car, and even link arms with me when you’re showing me where to go. Beyond is too much.”

“Have I popped your bubble? Uh, I mean, crossed your boundaries and offended you already?” If there had been the slightest hint of mockery in his tone, I would have walked out, but there wasn't.

“No,” I lied. The way he had touched my ringlet the other night had definitely crossed a boundary, but I planned to let that slide because I didn’t want to confess to how much that unsettled me. “Thus far, you've been fine.”

“That’s a relief. As I remember our date the other night, my hands were all over you. I must have touched your hair fifty times, let my hand rest on the curve of your back, and held your hand too long every chance I got. You didn’t notice?”

I rolled my eyes. None of that had happened, or at least, not much of it. “Whatever. I don't know how we could proceed when I've already decided that the answer is no, no matter who asks.”

“All that seems strange to me.”

“Why?”

“Because out of all the witches I've considered as possible partners, you are the one who knows what attracts a man more than any of the others.”

I set down my fork since I ate sandwiches with a fork rather than dirty my fingers. “Explain.”

“You are wearing a skirt. I've never seen you without one. The cousins say you wear trousers to your high school, but I haven't witnessed it. Skirts or dresses, heighten your femininity and make the men around you aware that yes, you are a woman, not a genderless entity.”

“Because you, as a man, would not be caught dead wearing a skirt?”

“It’s because nothing that you are wearing could ever be worn by me. The way you look screams that you are a woman and why would you want to scream that unless you are trying to get the attention of a man?”

I picked up my fork again. “You're right. I never want anyone to forget that I'm a lady and I deserve to be treated as such. It doesn't mean I'm soliciting for a date.”

He inclined his head, acknowledging that my reasoning was not flawed. “No, I suppose not. What a disappointment. Out of curiosity, what do you plan on wearing to your graduation? A woman, as well dressed as you, is expected to put on a show.”

I glanced at him. No one had asked me about my dress and I was very excited about it. “I engaged a dressmaker months ago.” I couldn't close my mouth, even though every sign in my head warned me to stop talking. “It's going to be beautiful. It has over a thousand glass beads sewn in. Naturally, I could never afford the fabric with them sewn in, nor could I afford to pay my dressmaker to sew them. I ended up doing most of them myself. I’ve been working on it since before Christmas. The concept is 'stars in the daytime'--” I trailed off. Salinger was smiling with genuine interest and I instantly heeded the warning signs I had ignored before.

“I look forward to seeing it,” he said.

“I'm not inviting you,” I snapped.

“Of course, you're not. I'm going with Intarsia.”

That struck me. “Really? When you are so hung up on me?”

“She asked me on my first day here. I put her off at first, thinking I wouldn't be around, but after I changed my mind about leaving, it seemed like the best thing to accept. She was my best pen pal all those years. It seems only right to go with her.”

I pounced on the news. “See if you can get her to leave the green lipstick off for the night.”

Salinger looked perplexed. “Why would I do that? I don't care what she looks like if she’s comfortable.”

“You know,” I said, “I have little goals for each one of my cousins. With her, it's to get her to stop wearing that lipstick. Three years ago, I was at a sleepover party at her house. In the middle of the night, I got up and did her lips over with my red lipstick. She looked gorgeous. The green lips ruin her look. With red lips, she looks like Rose Red in a fairy tale. Somehow she switched it before morning and none of the other cousins saw her. It was such a shame.”

“So you can’t convince her to try a different color?”

“I mention it to her every twentieth time I see her, but so far no success.”

He chuckled. “Only every twentieth time?”

“Well,” I replied timidly, “I don’t want to be annoying.”

He laughed and for a moment, it seemed to me that he was enjoying our conversation more than any conversation he’d ever had. He looked at me like he never wanted to stop looking at me, like he’d play devil’s advocate or agree with anything I said, as long as I kept talking.

“But she's got such pure feelings for her chosen color. Don't you find that admirable?” he asked roguishly.

“No. I don't think our ancestors meant to make us look ugly in our color of choice. They did it so our thought processes would not be hindered by stupid costumes. We always wear the same color, so all our clothes match. It saves money. It saves time. We always wear the same color, so our focus won’t falter because of differences in our attire. It's brilliant. Besides, if she were really so pure, she would color her hair green instead of red.”

“We should point that out to her,” he chuckled.

“Green hair hardly looks good on anybody. If you put that thought in her head, I will use your entrails for divination.”

“Is it such a big deal?”

“Well, it wouldn't be, but let me ask you, do you want to kiss her on her green lips at the end of the night?”

“No,” he admitted. “But that's just because I'm not the right guy for her.”

“She doesn't see it that way,” I said forcefully. “She likes you and she doesn't realize that her green lips stop you from being able to see her true beauty. In case you didn't notice, Intarsia is a much nicer person than I am. I'm horrid. Your enthusiasm for me is fueled by my exterior because you can't love someone's interior on such short notice. Bend your mind a bit and ask her to wear red lipstick for grad. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.”

He looked at the floor and put his palms together. He was deflating.

I felt almost triumphant. I was going to convince him to forget me.

“Okay,” he said, lifting his chin. “Let's say I do what you're suggesting. What kind of bet should we make?”

“A bet?”

“Yeah. I’m not going to make her wear red. If I get Intarsia to wear a normal lipstick color and I still prefer you at the end of the night, what will I get?”

“What will I get if I win?” I countered.

“You'll get me off your back. I'll be married to Intarsia before the winter solstice.”

I gasped. “You thought you would be able to marry me by the winter solstice?” I was abruptly angry. “What kind of a sick--”

He rose from his chair. “Stop. I didn't say that thinking of you. I mean that Intarsia likes me already, if I liked her too, there would be no reason to wait. I don't think I'll be able to marry you by the winter solstice. Okay? I never thought that. I don't think you're that easy or I'm that smooth. I just want to date you and get to know you better. That’s all.”

His voice and sincerity calmed me down, but it still took me five deep breaths to be able to hear what he was saying. “Fine,” I agreed. “If I win, my prize will be you leaving me alone.”

“And if I win? I want something romantic.”

I sneered. “How romantic?”

“A kiss?”

I raised my hand in objection. “You're asking for too much. I would not whore myself off to pay a debt. I will give you a hand-knit scarf. I'll knit it for you myself.”

“Not just any old scarf you once knit, but a new one, made specifically for me?”

“Yes.”

“Isn't that a bit much? Knitting takes time.”

“Yes, it does, but for you to help me with one of my life's ambitions, I think I can swing it.”

“Then it's a deal. Should we shake on it?” He reached for me.

“No,” I said coldly. “If I say I'll do something, I will. I don't seal agreements with anything other than my word.”

“Fine.” He put his hand back on his side of the table. “I came here today to tell you my plan to win you over. I'm going to write a book, especially for you. I'll stay here until I finish it. Will you promise to read it?”

 I took my goblet in hand, relaxed enough to let my back touch my chair, and looked at him. Salinger was good looking. I found his dark looks more compelling than Antony's fair ones. I frowned. It was one of those moments when you've already made a decision, but you dislike the decision you made. I wished I wasn't so interested in those wretched books!

“As long as it's a real spell book. No ordinary book will do.”

“Of course not.”

He tried to shake my hand again, but I just glared at him.