Page 163 of Beyond the Cottage

Gretta glanced at him, then continued staring at the cottage. “That kind of helps, actually. Thinking about her as an animal? It’s easier to move on from a snake bite than a monster’s cruelty.”

“Is that what we’re doing here, Gretta? Moving on?”

“I think so—Ihopeso. I can’t keep hanging on to it. Sometimes I feel like she’s eating me alive from the inside out, and I need to just…let it go. All of it.”

The finality in her words sparked a battle within him. There was relief and gratitude for her desire to heal but also dread.

Didall of itinclude him? She’d said they were friends but not for how long. What if he was too enmeshed in her past to remain in her present? What if she needed to let go of him to have a better future?

Would it make him a selfish bastard if he dropped to his knees and begged her to love him?

Wind gusted, ruffling her ponytail. Ansel inhaled deeply, fortifying himself. Whatever she’d come to say, he needed to hear it. Even if it was goodbye.

He gently placed his hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. “Why did you bring me here, Gret?”

His eyes burned with emotion. Habit urged Gretta to look away, but she kept her face tilted to his. “I guess I realized how much I’ve let the past affect me. My feelings, my friendships, everything. And you have, too. Webothneed to move on.”

“From each other?” His posture went rigid, like he was bracing himself.

Heart breaking a little, Gretta put a hand on his chest. “I want us to move on together, Anse.”

She sensed he wanted to ask what that specifically meant. He didn’t, though, probably recalling his promise to give her time. They really needed to work on their communication.

Smiling softly, she stroked his chest. “Let me be clear. We’re friends, but we’re also more. I’ll keep being a difficult asshole, and you might always have nightmares, but we’ll help each other with it.” He still seemed unsure, so she added, “As a couple.”

He blinked twice. His body relaxed, and his arm tried to coil around her waist, but she backed away.

“We need to do something first.” She uncorked the brandy, and he warily eyed it. He probably thought of his father whenever she drank, and it must have hurt him to fear she walked the same path. But this bottle wasn’t for drinking.

Brandy glugged as she poured a trail from the clearing to the cottage. She splashed it over the porch, the wall, a window frame. She returned to Ansel and lit a match.

Fire caught the liquor with afloof. It followed the brandy, rolling into the cottage and up the walls. Roaring flames quickly engulfed the dead timbers, bathing Ansel and Gretta in orange light.

She took his hand. They faced the cottage, watching it burn together.

“I’m giving up booze,” she said. “There are these meetings in a library downtown? I’ve, ah. Been going.”

He squeezed her hand. “I’ll help you in any way I can.”

“There’s one more thing.” She unclipped the braids from her belt. “I’ll fight witchcraft until I die, but I never want to see another witch again.”

She pitched her trophies into the cottage. The fire swallowed them, releasing the stench of burning hair.

“You worked so hard to collect them,” Ansel said.

“Yeah. And now I’ll work twice as hard on the repellent.” Gretta reached in her pocket and offered him the Eater’s braid.

He shook his head. “I gave it to you.”

“I gave it to you first.” She opened his palm and closed his hand around the brittle, silvery hair. “Whenever you panic or wake up from a bad dream, I want you to remember how burning this felt.”

He considered. Then he cupped her cheek and kissed her.

He fed the braid to the fire, barely sparing it a glance as it burned. He pulled Gretta to him, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. He held her so close, her chest ached. But in a good way. For the first time in living memory, Gretta felt…peaceful. The past seemed like shadows now, dark and hostile but no longer able to hurt her.

She was finally safe.

“I love you, Gret,” he said into her hair.

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