Page 10 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
I whisper to the quiet night, to myself, to her, even if she can’t hear it: “I’ll fix this. Every board, every brick, every damn thing I broke. I’ll fix it all.”
And as I pick up my shirt and sling it over my shoulder, I feel it deep in my bones. This isn’t over.
It’s just the beginning.
I’m still asleep the next morning when my phone rings. I answer it, blinking with surprise at the caller.
“Hey, Lilith,” I say, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“Tate,” she begins, sweet but sharp, like she always is. “I hate to bother you, honey, but my kitchen sink is leaking something awful. It’s practically flooding the entire place.”
There’s a pause.
“And honestly, I think you owe me some neighborly help after disappearing without a goodbye for years?”
That earns a tired smile from me. Lilith doesn’t miss a chance to twist the knife, even if she does it with a friendly voice.
“I’ll be right over,” I tell her.
I walk down Main Street, hands shoved in the pockets of my worn flannel, boots scuffing against cobblestones as a cool breeze sends a swirl of leaves skittering past. Wisteria Cove doesn’t just decorate for fall; it becomes fall. Every porch is drowning in pumpkins and cornstalks, wreaths of orange, crimson, and brown leaves, along with dried herbs, hanging from every door. Businesses decorate their storefronts, competing for the most elaborate decorations. The whole town smells like cider, wood smoke, and nostalgia. Even Wisteria Books & Brews has gone all in, and honestly, it’s my favorite of them all.
Everywhere I look, it’s cozy fall chaos: lanterns strung between lampposts, corgis in witch hats, scarecrows propped up next to chalk quotes with fall quotes. Wisteria Cove never didsimple, and God, it’s beautiful. There’s no other place in the world like fall here.
By the time I reach Lilith’s old Victorian, painted that deep plum color with herbs drying from the porch beams and her willow tree draped in flickering amber lanterns, I already know I’m not here to fix anything that’s actually broken. Her place is as perfect as ever, leaning fully into its witchy splendor, like the entire yard has been waiting all year for this exact season. I pause under the branches, breathing it all in, and can’t help but smile. This town wraps around you whether you want it to or not. When Lilith appears at the door before I can even knock, a sly smile on her face, I shake my head. I missed her. But coming home also reminds me that I lost my father and my mother. Technically, Mom is still alive, but she has never been as warm and welcoming to me as Lilith.
Her house is exactly as I remember it: warm, cluttered, smelling faintly of cinnamon and something baking. A wreath with dried flowers is on the door.
When she holds open the door for me to enter, Lilith is wearing an apron dusted with flour, her long silver hair twisted into a neat bun. She looks like the small-town matriarch—only make her a witch. Those eyes have a way of seeing straight through me. She’s full of intuition and heart. There’s no one I’ve ever met like her. She has a way of making you feel seen and heard.
“Thanks for coming, sweetheart,” she says, ushering me inside. “The sink’s over there. It’s leaking from somewhere underneath, and I just don’t know what to do.”
I crouch down and open the cabinet door. Barely a drip. I twist the pipe gently. Tight. Dry.
“Lilith…this isn’t leaking,” I say, confused.
She waves her hand in the air. “Oh, it was yesterday. I swear it was. Maybe it fixed itself overnight.”
She smiles too innocently, leaning on the counter as if that’ll distract me.
I smirk, shaking my head. “You made this up to get me over here, didn’t you?”
Instead of denying it, she shrugs. “What can I say? You’re not exactly easy to pin down these days, Tate. No one knows when you’ll be gone again.”
It’s impossible not to chuckle at her ridiculous honesty. I close the cabinet and stand, wiping my hands on the towel she’s suddenly offering me.
“Coffee?” she asks.
She’s already pouring before I can answer.
“I feel like I should charge you for this service call,” I tease.
“Oh, please. You owe me just for breaking my daughter’s heart. And mine.”
I wince at the jab. Even though her tone is playful, it lands. Lilith doesn’t let much go unsaid.
The coffee is strong. We sit at her little kitchen table, and she watches me like I’m a kid who’s come home from college, half proud, half suspicious.
Her kitchen is cozy, with jars on shelves containing teas and herbs. I’ve always felt at home here in the Maren kitchen. Lilith pours herself into everything she does. And every meal she’s ever made me in here was nothing short of incredible.
