Page 88 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
He kisses me as if the storm never happened. Like we were never lost. Like we were always finding our way back. And it feels right. Like everything was always going to be okay after all.
Later, Tate makes sure Pete is warm and safe at Donna’s while I wring out every inch of my soaked clothes and then take a hot shower. I curl into my cozy sweats afterward, and then head back down to the bookstore to grab Tate’s flannel jacket that I took with me out of his truck to stay warm when he dropped me off. I still can’t get warm, and also I just want to touch something that smells like him.
The bookstore is quiet. Dim. The storm still knocks gently on the windows, but it’s calmed to a soft weep and not the angry slaps that it was. I step behind the counter and reach for the damp flannel he left in a heap. It’s the one he always wears, navy,worn, lined in soft flannel. Familiar in a way that makes my chest ache.
As I reach into the pockets and pull it tighter around me, something flutters to the floor. It’s a folded piece of paper, creased and damp.
I crouch to pick it up, fingers trembling. At first, I think it might be a receipt or a to do list. But then I see my name and my breath catches. The handwriting is unmistakably his.
I glance toward the door, as if someone might walk in. Like someone might stop me. My heart pounds as I unfold the rest of it slowly and carefully.
I read it and my vision blurs with tears. I read it again. And again. Each word hits me over and over like thunder. Every sentence peels away another piece of armor I had carefully constructed around my heart.
I sink to the floor behind the counter, the coat in my lap, the letter clutched in my hands. I can still feel the heat of the storm under my skin, but this? This wrecks me more than the wind or the waves ever could.
A quiet truth he held close, maybe because he thought he didn’t know how to say it out loud. Or maybe because he didn’t think I’d want to hear it. But I do. God, I do.
Tears roll down my cheeks, warm and unrelenting. I press the letter to my chest, breathing through the ache, through the heartbreak and the healing. For the storm and the rescue. For the boy who never stopped being my best friend, even when I thought he was gone. And for the man he’s become, who will throw everything down to save the people he loves. Who loves with all of his big heart, and for the second chance I never dared to hope for, now resting in my trembling hands. This letter is everything. It’s his heart. And that heart is mine.
I don’t hear the bell chime on the door or hear the door open. But suddenly, he’s standing in the doorway, dripping wet, thestorm soaking through his coat and hair. He looks like a man who’s walked through fire and rain just to get here, and maybe he has. His eyes lock on mine.
They drop to the letter in my hands. I stand slowly, chest tightening, breath trembling.
“You read it,” he says, voice raw like the wind outside.
I nod. Tears fall, slow and silent. I don’t wipe them away.
He takes a step closer. The rain hits harder behind him like it’s pushing him toward me. “I didn’t know if I’d ever be brave enough to give it to you.”
“You didn’t need to,” I whisper. “I’ve already forgiven you, I love you.”
He’s standing in front of me now. So close I can see the raindrops clinging to his lashes. The way his jaw ticks, barely restrained emotion. He looks at me like I’m the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
“You said you loved me,” he says, like he’s afraid to believe it. “Even when I screw everything up. You mean it?”
I nod again. “With every part of me.”
He exhales, like the weight of the entire ocean just slid off his shoulders.
I reach up slowly and brush his soaked hair back from his forehead. His eyes flutter closed, and he leans into my touch like he’s starved for it. Like my fingertips are the only anchor he has left.
“Come upstairs,” I breathe, soft and certain.
He doesn’t hesitate.
We walk hand in hand through the quiet bookstore, the storm outside muting everything else. Cobweb is curled up in the window and watches us.
My apartment door creaks open. The scent of cedar, tea, and cinnamon wraps around us.
The second the door closes, he turns to me, and I fall into him. He kisses me like he’s drowning and I’m the only air he’s ever tasted. His hands tremble as they slide to my waist, then up my back, then cradle my face like I’m something breakable he never wants to break again.
I push him back towards the bathroom, kissing him until we stop just outside the shower. I reach up and turn it on the hottest setting.
He pulls back for just a second, breath ragged. “I love you so much, Willa. Even when I mess it up, I’ll never stop. I promise I’ll never leave you again.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper. “And I know.”
We move fast. I get him out of his wet clothes as quickly as possible and kiss him into the shower until he’s under the hot spray, and I feel his body relax.
