Page 79 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
We walk behind the bookstore where the trees are strung with lights and the wind is soft and slow. She pulls out her phone, hits a button, and music starts playing, slow, acoustic, folky.
“Oh, now you have music?” I tease as I brush her lips with mine.
We dance. Right there, just us. Hands at the small of her back. Her forehead against me. The smell of leaves and cider and the slight citrus of her perfume. I’m memorizing everythingabout this moment. This right here is what I never want to forget. Whenever I am afraid of what’s to come, this is the memory I’m going to come back to.
“I love you,” I breathe into her hair.
She tilts her face up, eyes locking on mine. “I love you, too,” she says, and it’s not a whisper. It’s steady, warm, like she’s been carrying it just as long as I have.
My hands cradle her face before I know I’m moving, thumbs brushing the heat of her flushed cheeks. I kiss her, hard, like the air between us might vanish if I wait another second.
Her lips are soft but urgent against mine, tasting faintly of cinnamon and the cocoa we shared earlier. She gasps into my mouth, and I take the sound, deepening the kiss until I’m half-wild with it.
Her fingers dive into my hair, tugging me closer, pulling a low sound from my throat I don’t even try to hide. My palms slide down her spine, feeling the shiver that runs through her as I press her fully against me.
The lanterns sway overhead, their glow casting golden light over her skin. I catch flashes of her lashes lowering, the slight part of her lips between kisses, the way she leans into me like she’s giving me all of her.
Every sense is lit up. The faint chill of the night air clinging to her jacket. The way her body fits perfectly against mine. The thud of her heartbeat in sync with mine. I kiss her like I’m memorizing the shape of her mouth, like if I stop, the moment will dissolve. And with every brush of her lips, every curl of her fingers into my shirt, I know this—she—is it for me.
By the time we break apart, we’re both breathing hard, foreheads resting together. The lantern light halos her, her lips swollen and glistening, her breath mingling with mine.
The wind’s picking up, curling around the edges of Wisteria Cove like it’s looking for a way to be shaken up. Leaves blow everywhere, and it’s a never ending battle to keep them cleaned up on the side of the street that has maples.
I step away from the front door of the bookstore where I’m repairing one of the awnings that has been flapping in the wind, phone buzzing in my pocket. I know the number as soon as I see the Pacific area code. It’s my old boss, Luke. Voice like gravel and sea salt. The man I spent years trying to impress was hard to walk away from. That man gave me a home and a place to work when I needed it. A brother that I needed during that time away.
I answer anyway and put it on speaker phone and set it beside me. “Luke.”
“Hey, Holloway,” he says, casual. “You still alive?”
“More or less.”
He chuckles. “Listen, I’ll make this quick. One of my guys bailed last minute. I’ve got a crew headed north for a six-week haul. It’s rough, but it pays out good. Real good. I need you, man. If you say no, I’ll double it. Whatever it takes to get you here.”
I swallow. My throat’s dry. There’s no way I can go out again, but I don’t want to say no to him outright after all he’s done for me, and it’s good to hear his voice.
“I thought you were pissed I left,” I mutter.
“I was. But I figured you could use some ocean air, so I’m giving you another shot to come back. You know I need you. You’re the best worker I’ve ever had. And you know I don’t tell everyone that.”
It hits me like a fist to the ribs. This would be easy. An easy way to work for six weeks.
But, I love it here. I love what Willa and I have now. I love the tree farm and working with Remy.
And yet it’s still new. Unfamiliar.
And fishing is familiar.
Some days this still feels like I’m trying on a life I’m not sure fits. But it’s a life I love.
“I’d have to think about it.”
“You don’t have to answer now. You’ve got two days. I’ll call you soon.”
“Thanks,” I hang up without saying anything else.
I feel like I’m standing in two places at once, here on the chilly evening of Wisteria Cove, watching the trees sway, and back on a boat, boots soaked, face windburned, nothing but water and fish and noise.
“Tate?”
