Page 29 of The Witch's Cottage
“Thank you.” Her eyes are glassy when they meet mine.
“What for?” I ask, voice rough from all my heavy breathing.
Her smile is so warm it could melt winter’s chill. “For everything.”
Chapter 17
Aurora
ON OUR WAY BACK TO the cottage, walking hand in hand, Alden stops suddenly, as if he’s run into a wall. It tugs me to a stop, and I look back at him with raised brows.
“What is it?” I ask. I don’t see anything that would’ve caused him alarm, but he’s suddenly looking at me as if he’s seen a ghost.
“I came in you,” he says. “Twice.”
My cheeks tingle with warmth at the reminder. “And?”
“And what if you get pregnant?”
Oh.
Squeezing his hand, I give him a comforting smile. “I won’t. There’s only a small window of time each month that a woman can get pregnant, and we weren’t in that window. I track it carefully.”
“Oh.” His brows rise. I’m pretty sure that’s not common man knowledge.
“We’re safe,” I tell him before lifting onto my toes to press a soft kiss to his bottom lip. But still, his bringing it up makes me think.
What if I got pregnant? I ponder this as we continue back to Brookside, and by the time the little yellow cottage rises up through the trees, I’ve decided it would be a wonderful gift. If I were to raise a child anywhere, I’d pick Faunwood. Some of my fondest childhood memories are those I spent here with Auntie, and being able to give a child that would be one of my greatest joys.
We walk into the kitchen together, and the flour mess is still there waiting for me. Part of me hoped some benevolent forest spirit might have cleaned it for me, but no luck. It’severywhere.
Alden must sense the tension rising in me, because he pulls me in and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I’ll handle this,” he says. “You head into town and get what you need. By the time you get back, this’ll all be a distant memory.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you with this mess.”
“I’m sure.” He stoops to fetch the empty flour sack from the floor, then passes it over to me. “Just leave it to me.”
After changing into a new dress that’snotcovered in flour and mud, I head into Faunwood. I thought Harrison would like to come with me, but oddly enough, he opted to stay home with Alden. I tried not to make a big deal out of it, watching them stand together in the doorway as I walked away, but my chest is still bubbling withwarmth. It would make me the happiest earth witcheverif Harrison were to accept Alden fully.
The air is warm and sweet, so much so that I tie my hair back so I can feel the breeze on my neck as I reach the village. Boots clicking across the cobblestone, I head straight for Lydia’s mercantile, smiling to the villagers I pass along the way. I’ve yet to learn many of their names, but I’m hoping Ostara will provide the perfect opportunity to do so.
The bell over the door chimes when I step into the shop. There’s a stick of incense burning on one of the shelves, filling the shop with the musky scent of sage. Lydia is speaking to a customer at the front, a red-haired man I’ve never seen before, and she gives me a little wave when she catches my eye. By now I know the mercantile well, so I quickly head to the bulk dry goods and refill my empty flour sacks before settling them into my wicker basket. I add a little bundle of chocolate, wanting to surprise Alden as a thank-you for helping me, then head to the front.
I step quietly into line behind the man just as he counts out his eldertokens and hands them to Lydia.
“Thank you,” she says. “And it was nice to meet you.”
“You as well, miss.” The man turns, but he must not realize I’m standing behind him, because he runs right into me.
The impact sends me stumbling back, but he’s quick to reach out. His hand wraps around my arm, stopping me before I can crash into the display of pastel-colored soaps behind me. If not for the firm grip I have on my basket, it certainly would’ve tumbled to the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “That was entirely my fault.”
Righting myself, I glance up, and his eyes stop me in my tracks.
They’re vivid green, such a complex hue of shades that it reminds me of walking through the woods in the summer. His complexion is almost as light as mine, and his eyebrows are only a shade darker than his orange-red hair.
Already, I feel my cheeks heating up. He must see it, because the embarrassment on his face shifts to a smile. Breaking eye contact, he glances down into my basket.
