Page 86 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

Her expression remained troubled.

“Why don’t you want children?” he asked, determined to peel back the layers. “This isn’t me pushing or attempting to change your mind. I want to know why you’re so adamant about it.”

“What if I turn out like my parents? What if, after I have kids, I grow bored and abandon them?”

“Thatis your fear?” he scoffed. Her scowl alerted him to the fact he’d fucked up. “I wasn’t making light of it. It’s shocking to think you believe you’d be a terrible mother. You look after everyone, Elara. You aren’t the type to grow bored and abandon anyone. If that were the case, you’d have left Payton to her own devices years ago.” Smiling at her confused expression, he said, “You also would’ve left Florence’s grumpy ass to pursue your happiness. But once again, that soft heart of yours kept you rooted.”

“I needed the money,” she retorted.

“You have a trust fund worth a million dollars,” he countered.

“One I won’t touch. I don’t want their guilt money.”

“If you recall, Florence set those trusts up for you and Payton. Not your parents.”

“Guilt money on her part, too,” she said sourly.

“No. She needed to know you wouldn’t struggle. She wanted you to have options.”

Elara shifted to view the bookstore. “How do you know that?”

“I listen.”

“I listen!” Her tone was offended.

“You do, but not regarding Florence or topics revolving around rejection.” He held up a hand when she would’veprotested. “You’ve been hurt and have abandonment issues, flitter-mouse. And when someone mentions anything regarding it, you erect walls and become stubborn. It’s a natural reaction.”

“You think I’m being too hard on Flo?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But knowing what you do of her after the years you’ve spent here, hearing the sage advice she’s given, do you truly believe she doesn’t care?”

Her silence stretched out as she stared at the bookstore, but Tripp didn’t seek to intrude on her thoughts. In due course, she’d come to her own conclusions and realize Florence Shaw, while crusty and seemingly unfeeling, was a marshmallow when it came to her “gels.”

“I owe her an apology, don’t I?”

He held his thumb and index finger about an inch apart. “Maybe a small one.”

Elara laughed and sandwiched his face between her palms. “Maybe you should’ve been my therapist instead of Harrison.”

“But then we’d have had that whole doctor-patient taboo thing,” he teased.

“Hmm. But I like the idea of taboo.”

He pretended outrage. “Elara Elizabeth Hawthorne! Are you saying you’re lusting after the buttoned-up Doctor Cobb?”

Laughing, she straddled his lap. “No, Tripp Nightshade. I’m saying I like the idea of playing doctor with you.”

He conjured a lab coat with a snap. “Are you a naughty nurse or an improper patient I can’t keep my hands off of?”

“Let’s go with the improper patient. Then we can swap, and you can be the naughty nurse.”

“If I’ve never told you before, I love your wicked streak.”

“I didn’t have one before the boots,” she admitted.

He snorted. “Nonsense. You weren’t wearing those blasted things when you wanted me to pass the salami in the alley last week.”

Elara laughed. As she leaned in to show him exactly how wicked she could be, an explosion knocked her sideways into the snow.

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