Page 16 of The Witch's Cottage
The thought has me putting a bit more distance between us. I lean back against the wall, arms crossed.
“You’re watering her too much,” Aurora says. Her green eyes find me, and she holds the pot aloft. “And the energy is too stagnant in here. You need more airflow. That’ll perk her right up.” With a tiny smile, she sets the pot back on the windowsill, then turns to face me.
A moment of silence passes between us, so quiet the ticking of the clock on top of the mantel suddenly sounds much louder than I ever realized.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
It must come out wrong, because Aurora’s pink lips pull into a frown. She catches herself quickly, though, and gives me another one of her eye-crinkling smiles. It’s amazing how she can do that—grab hold of a negative emotion and spin it so quickly into something new. That’s a type of magic I wish I possessed.
“I was hoping you could help me with something.”
I arch a brow. “Another something? I thought everything was done.”
“There’s just one last thing Brookside needs. Do you think you can help me?”
It’s funny how she asks the question, as if she doesn’t realize I have such little strength to resist her. Maybe she truly doesn’t notice it.
I shift and reach up to scratch my beard. Then, with a sigh, I nod. “All right. When should I be over?”
She claps once, her knit sweater slipping down her forearms to reveal her slim wrists. For a moment, I picture myself pressing a kiss to the inside of each wrist, pausing to feel her heartbeat against my mouth. Once again, I have to quickly banish the thought lest it manifest in an obvious tightening of my trousers.
“Tomorrow. Bright and early. I’ll make breakfast, okay?”
My instinct is to decline, to not accept her hospitality, but she’s sweeping through my house and out the front door before I can. She probably knows me well enough by this point to know what I was about to say.
“See you tomorrow!” she calls as I step into the doorframe. “And make sure to take care of that sweet plant!” The sunlight makes her hair appear a softer shade of green, and the few wispy strands dancing in the breeze shimmer like gold.
She turns and heads back down the road toward Hillock Lane, and I close the door firmly.
With her gone, the house feels lonelier somehow, like it’s empty without her in it. My gaze goes to the droopy plant in the kitchen. And the next thing I know, I’m sliding open the kitchen window, letting the cool spring air rush into the space and flutter all the sketches I have pinned to the old wooden walls.
And if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear the plant perks up, stretching out its leaves as if to feel the breeze. In a way, I feel like I’m doing the same thing.
All thanks to the little green-haired witch.
Chapter 10
Aurora
IT’S A PERFECT SPRING DAY, the type that whispers sweet songs of the summer warmth to come. I finished cleaning the garden yesterday, and now the raised beds are empty and waiting, ripe with possibility. A few spring shoots have already started pushing through the thick leaves and pine needles on the forest floor, and there’s a smell in the air, like wood and rich earth topped with a sprinkling of sunlight. It makes my toes curl in my boots, anticipation mounting for the beautiful season ahead.
I’ve got the windows open in the cottage, and the thin cotton drapes I hung billow in the breeze. A fire crackles in the parlor hearth, so the cottage has a comforting balance of warmth and cold, the polarity of the two extremes in perfect harmony.
I’m just finishing slicing up a sourdough bread loaf when Harrison flicks his ears and leaps off the kitchen table. His little paws make tiny thumping sounds on the hardwood ashe trots into the parlor, and a moment later, he announces, “That man is walking up the road.”
My whole body prickles with excitement. Alden didn’t seem all that enthusiastic about my request that he help me with one last thing, so I wasn’t sure whether he’d show up or not.
I transfer the bread slices onto a wooden platter, along with a big dollop of rosemary lavender butter on the side, then sweep the platter into my hands and step out the side door into the garden. Alden is just approaching Brookside, hair gleaming in the sun, and his head turns in my direction. I wave, but he doesn’t wave back.
“Good morning,” I call out to him. “Breakfast is ready!”
I dragged Auntie’s old metal table and chairs around from behind the cottage, and I was even able to sew a few cushions together using fabrics I got from the seamstress in Faunwood. I’ve already placed a kettle of lavender tea on the table, and with the sourdough slices steaming in the morning air, everything looks perfect, just like I pictured.
Alden joins me at the table beside the garden. The look on his face is a mixture of hesitance and what seems like excitement. I’m not sure howanyonecould resist the smell of warm sourdough in the morning.
“Go ahead, sit down.” I gesture to the chair across from me, and we both take a seat. Alden makes the chair look tiny, kind of like everything else around my cottage. His size dwarfs the table, to the point where I giggle.
“What?” he asks.
