Page 24 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
I fumble around with the coffee machine like an idiot, knocking over the scoop and spilling grounds everywhere, which earns me my favorite thing so far tonight: Willa laughing. Really laughing. It’s bright and genuine and makes my chest ache in the best way.
“What kind of coffee maker is this? It's like a spaceship,” I chuckle.
She steps in close, reaching around me to take over. Her arm brushes mine, and the air shifts instantly. Warmer. Closer.“Let me show you how it’s done,” she murmurs, voice soft but edged with amusement.
I’m close enough to breathe her in—cinnamon, soap, and Italian food—and the urge to lean in nearly undoes me.
But then, as she pours water into the machine, I say, half-joking but half-serious: “You have to come learn to fish.”
She freezes.
Her smile falters slightly, and then she shakes her head.
“No,” she says firmly, quieter and colder this time. “I will never go out on the water.”
Her words land hard, sharper than she probably intended. But I don’t flinch. I watch her, seeing the truth beneath what she’s saying.
This isn’t about fishing. It’s about loss. And I get it.
So I lean in just a little, not enough to scare her, just enough so she knows I mean it when I say, “Okay… I’ll just have to learn your world instead.”
She hesitates, and for a heartbeat, I swear she almost softens completely, but then she straightens and hands me a steaming mug of coffee like that whole moment didn’t just happen.
I take it anyway, smiling gently. “Thanks for the company,” I murmur.
She doesn’t say anything back. But she doesn’t kick me out, either.
Instead, we fall into an easy rhythm, her jotting notes, me tossing in suggestions where I can. The clock ticks on, the air warm with the scent of coffee and cinnamon, the lamplight pooling golden over stacks of papers and books. For a few quiet hours, we’re just there together, in her cozy little space, going over festival plans like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Yeah…we’re getting somewhere.
Chapter 9
Willa
I may not have said it when I should’ve, but here it is, plain as day:
I missed you every second I was gone.
Even when I didn’t know how to come home…you were home.”
-Tate
It’s Friday night in Wisteria Cove, which means it’s outdoor movie night on the green in the town square. The air smells like kettle corn, crisp apples, and cinnamon. String lights stretch overhead, twinkling like tiny stars between the oaks. A crowd has gathered, spilling onto picnic blankets and folding chairs, bundled in scarves and sipping hot spiced cider. Children dart through the grass, shrieking with laughter while candle lit lanterns flicker around the wisteria that grows around the town pergola.
Our small-town traditions that bring us all together are something I look forward to. I keep looking for Tate but haven’tseen him yet. I will admit that I’m looking, and I can’t get him off my mind. I keep telling myself that it’s just because we’ve been roped into the fall festival planning—which was mostly already planned. It’s just my mom’s way of getting Tate and me into getting together and talking. She’s always had a soft spot for Tate and hates that we’re not getting along. But are we not? I mean, I saw a hint of old Tate, and I miss him. But I can’t trust him. He has too much power over my heart.
And there he is. Tate Holloway. Looking…well, like a dream. He’s in a faded henley rolled at the sleeves, jeans worn and fitting him like a glove, and his usual well-worn Red Sox ball cap shoved low. I wonder if it’s the same ball cap he used to wear when he and his dad would watch games together. That was one of their things they did together; they rarely ever missed a game. Whether it was at Fenway or on TV. If they were out at sea, they’d try to listen or call in for updates.
His smile is easy tonight, his eyes crinkling as he swings Junie Bennett into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She’s shouting, “Aye aye, captain!” and he spins her like a pirate’s wheel, her curly hair catching the golden glow of the lights.
God help me, my heart stutters.
Beside me, Ivy lets out a low whistle. “Are your ovaries exploding right now? Because I think mine just did.”
I snort, but I don’t look away.
He’s crouched low now, and Junie’s showing him some plastic pirate coins she’s found in the grass. He listens and laughs when she launches into a full story about how she’s discovered buried treasure. He asks her questions and listens intently to her answers.
