Page 15 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
My mom chuckles. “He’s got her all tangled up, and he doesn’t even realize it.”
And that’s the worst part.Because hedoesknow it. I've seen it in the way he looks at me.
He’s here like he hasn’t haunted my thoughts every single day since he left, like he didn’t just casually announce that he’s going back out on the water. Like that doesn’t terrify me in ways I can’t even explain to them, to anyone. We live in a fishing town. People work the boats here. And up until now it wasn't something that was close to me anymore. Until he announced that and now, I don't even know what to do with that. I know he just got back from fishing.
Old Pete and I had a secret pact. He’d tell me if anything was wrong. And he would always just say, “All is well.” But that doesn’t mean I didn’t worry. I never stopped worrying.
So I do what I always do, I ignore him.
I ring up a customer's coffee as if it’s the most pressing task in the world. “Here you go,” I say cheerfully, handing the change over, though my heart is pounding hard enough to shake my ribs.
The words stick in my chest.Too late, I think.I’ve been trying to convince myself for years that he doesn’t matter. But he does.
Across the room, Tate’s busy browsing the shelves, running his fingers absently along the spines like he has nowhere else to be. Like he’s home again and doesn’t realize he’s making every nerve in my body feel like it’s on fire.
I let my gaze flick toward him one last time, and my heart sinks all over again. Because even now, even after all this time, I’m still tangled up in him.
But I won’t show it. I can’t show it. Instead, I paste on a smile, turn back to my sisters, and toss out the only armor I have left: sarcasm. “You all need hobbies,” I say breezily, though my insides feel anything but breezy.
They laugh, and the teasing continues, but my mind is far from the chatter.
Because that pit in my stomach? It’s not going anywhere. Not when he’s going back out on the water.
And not when my heart is clearly too stupid to understand that loving a fisherman means learning how to live with that dread. So, I'll just keep trying my hardest not to love him.
Chapter 6
Tate
“I’ve told you, Tate, we’re buying a vacation home,” my mother says, her voice crisp enough to cut glass.
I pace the living room, thumb pressed tight against my phone, my bare feet making slow, restless tracks across the cool wood floor. “Yeah,” I say, because I’m not sure what else she wants from me.
She doesn’t ask about the house or the boat. Doesn’t ask how I’m settling back into Wisteria Cove. Just keeps talking about her new husband, stepkids, and their perfect lives.
I drop onto the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, and stare at the framed photo of the harbor on the wall from back when the water felt like home, before everything got complicated. My jaw tightens until it aches, a dull throb spreading up to my temples.
She laughs at something she’s saying about dinner parties and spa days, a sound too bright, too far away. It lands in my chest like a thud. Heavy and cold.I can’t remember the last time she asked about me or if I was happy.
When I finally hang up after she's rattled on about everything in her life, the quiet slams into me. I head down to the one place that feels right to me. The place where it all makes sense. Andthe place where I can still feel my dad. The Wisteria Cove harbor. The dock creaks under me, the ropes groan, and Dad’s old boat sits there, beat-up and tired. Just like me.April Showers.Named after my mom. He was so proud of that boat, and he loved her so much. And it doesn't seem right to still have her name on something so important to him. Not when my dad and I are no longer important to her. She has a new family and has made clear what is important to her now.
I stand slowly, jam my hands into my jacket pockets, and start walking. The harbor path stretches out in front of me, winding along the shore where the salt air cuts sharply. The town is quiet this time of day, just a few gulls circling lazily above and the occasional sound of waves slapping against the rocks.
I don’t know where I'm going. I just need to move and to shake the lonely ache out of my chest.
Then I see her. Willa. She’s coming toward me on the path, arms crossed tight over her chest, head down like she’s lost in her own world. But even from a distance, I feel it, that invisible tether between us tightening with every step.
She slows when she spots me. For a second, I think she’s going to turn around. But she doesn’t. She keeps walking until we’re side by side, close enough that I catch the faintest trace of her warm skin, soap, something soft and familiar that nearly undoes me.
Neither of us speaks.
We fall into step, walking in silence as the harbor stretches out beside us, mist curling over the water. The air feels heavy with unspoken things. The wind tugs at her hair, pulling it loose from the knot at the back of her head, and she doesn’t bother fixing it.
When we reach the overlook, we both come to a stop. The water below glints silver in the fading light, boats rocking gently at their moorings.
She stares straight ahead out at the water when she finally says it. “Why?”
That one word is enough to knock the breath out of me.
