I clear my throat. “We need to set a schedule for our events. You ruined the last act of my comedy night with your live band.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“It was.” On many levels. “Look, you’re open until two and I’m only open until nine most nights, ten when I have entertainment on the weekends. You can hold your band until nine thirty, can’t you? How much could that possibly hurt your business?”

“Why should I have to be the one to make concessions?”

“I already moved all my glasses and had to adjust my entire interior wall that adjoins your bar. The least you can do is give me an extra half hour.”

“What’re you gonna do for me?”

“I can start my comedy nights at seven instead of seven thirty. It’s only half an hour and then we can both benefit. My customers can move over to your place and I can close when you have live bands.” I don’t want to bend, but I realize compromise is the only way to win this. I need him to be willing to work with me so I don’t keep losing out. “Unless one of us switches days?”

“Live bands are best on Saturday nights.” And he’s back to crossing his arms.

“And comedians usually have nine-to-five jobs.” Or they’re booked somewhere better than a café in downtown Seattle.

“Unless they’re actually good.” It’s like he’s living in my damn head.

“They were good.” I’m extra defensive, which is frustrating, especially since it makes him smile. “And the last one would have been a whole lot better if not for the noise over here.”

We stare each other down for several long seconds that slowly turn heavy and uncomfortable. He finally sighs and runs a palm down his face. “You’re not going to leave unless I agree to this, are you?”

“That’s correct.”

“Okay. I can push back live bands until nine thirty, but make sure you wrap up the yukkity-yuks by nine so you’re not back here next Sunday griping at me for something else.”

“Do you have anything else planned for this week?”

“Do you?” he shoots back.

I roll my eyes. “I’m trying to be proactive.”

“If that’s what you want to call it. Maybe you’re trying to steal my ideas.”

“So far you’ve been the one piggybacking me, not the other way around.”

He leans in and lowers his voice. “Except last night when you were clinging to me like I was carrying you on a tightrope, not across a bar, one you weren’t supposed to be behind in the first place.”

I open my mouth and snap it shut. He’s goading me. On purpose. I brush a wayward curl from my forehead with my middle finger and spin around, yanking the door open.

His laughter follows me all the way back to my café.

chapter seven

What House Are You?

Blaire

Ronan stays true to our agreement and his band doesn’t go on until nine thirty the following Saturday, giving my last comedian time to finish his act. It works out well, and it’s great for business—Ronan’s more than mine, since it means a good chunk of my customers end up migrating over there when I close up.

I even pop in to check out the band, mostly out of curiosity. Not because I’m trying to support him or ogle, or anything.

After polling my regular customers and setting up an online survey, Harry Potter Trivia Night is born. The winner gets a dozen HP-inspired cupcakes and a round of drinks for them and three friends.

I’m a huge Harry Potter fan. I’ve read all the books, listened to the entire series on audio more than once, and I own all the movies. I also saw every single one in the theater on opening night. “Big fan” is an understatement. I’m pretty proud of the fact that I didn’t need to go online to research tough questions since I’m so well versed already.

I’ve gone all out. Every drink and cupcake is HP themed. My posts are getting a record amount of likes, and we have twenty individuals entered in the contest. It’s going to be fabulous.

I’m decked out in my Gryffindor dress, wielding my Hermione wand and wearing my Hogwarts cape. It’s almost like a pre-Halloween party. If this event gets the same amount of attention as the comedy nights do, trivia night will become another monthly staple at B&B. I’m thinking Stranger Things deserves its own event, too.

At seven, the café begins to fill with entrants and their friends. Callie is kept busy behind the counter, Daphne is helping with drinks, and the hardcore HP fans are dressed in their house garb, devouring cupcakes and house-themed drinks.

I call out the names of the competitors and am completely shocked when Ronan walks into the café dressed in a Slytherin hoodie. The Slytherin part isn’t much of a surprise—he definitely fits the profile with his dark hair, less-than-aboveboard business tactics, and prankster ways, but the fact that he’s an HP fan is unexpected. Unless he borrowed the hoodie from one of his employees. I wouldn’t put it past him to use it as an opportunity to piggyback on another one of my ideas.

“You’re a Harry Potter fan?” I ask when he approaches the counter to register.

“Hell yeah.”

“The movies or the books?” I demand.

He scoffs and makes a face like he can’t believe I’d ask such a thing. “The books, of course. I own all the first-edition hardcovers and the soft ones, too. Plus Jim Dale nails the audio.”

“Oh my God, I love his voice!” The audio books are amazing, and I listen to them all the time when I’m at home, testing cupcake recipes.

We grin at each other, and for half a second I dislike him a little less. I register him to play, and he grabs a drink before he takes a seat at the table up front where all his fellow HP competitors are already waiting.

There’s a sizable crowd of non-entrants lining the fringe of the café as we get ready for the contest to begin.

Word to the wise: HP fans are ultracompetitive. The first three rounds of trivia weed out the I saw the movie but never bothered to read the books crowd. By eight we’ve narrowed it down to the best six contestants. Ronan manages to stay in the top three.

He nails the rapid-question round, putting him in the finals. His adversary is Shanna, a twenty-two-year-old lit major at the local college who’s writing her thesis paper on Harry Potter lore, so he has his work cut out for him.

I pull the final question, which has been selected randomly, and whistle into the microphone. “Wow, this one’s a doozy. For the title of Harry Potter Trivia Champion, a dozen of my magically delicious cupcakes and drinks for you and three friends, name every ingredient contained in Polyjuice Potion.”

Ronan and Shanna both slap their hands on the buzzer at the same time, but Shanna gets there a fraction of a second sooner, the red light bathing her face in a sinister glow.

“Shanna, what’s your answer for the win?”

She leans in to the microphone, closing her eyes—it’s how she’s answered every single question. “Lacewing flies, leeches, knotgrass, fluxweed…” Her brow furrows and she hesitates for a second before continuing. “Shredded Boomslang skin and a bit of the person you want to turn into.” Her eyes pop open and she smiles triumphantly.