Page 87 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
Pete isn’t just one of us; he is us. If he’s missing, I know Tate will literally turn this ocean upside down. Neither of us can handle losing someone else we love like that.
Tate is already on the boat in his wet gear, soaked through, checking the engine and about to pull off.
I scramble get on, slipping, and he whips around in surprise, his mouth open.
“You’re going to get Pete?” I shout over the storm.
His face is pale, jaw clenched. Determined. “I have to.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
He freezes. “Willa, no.”
I look at him stubbornly, unmoving.
He stares at me for a beat too long and then nods once. He knows this is big, because I haven’t been on a boat since my dad went missing. That’s all it takes.
I don’t hesitate and climb in next to him, helping him with the ropes. He’s not the only one who grew up on a fishing boat. It comes back to me, surprisingly, and we work side by side. Myfingers fumble as I grab a wet slicker from down below that’s way too big and slide it on. I’ve been out with my dad in all types of weather, but this is the worst. Nobody should be out in this.
The boat bucks as we hit the waves, the engine roaring beneath us. Water sprays up over the sides, stinging cold against my cheeks. We move through the storm like a heartbeat, fast, frantic, desperate, and determined.
I scan the churning water, eyes burning from the rain. And then I see it.
A flicker of yellow and a half-submerged figure. Old Pete’s hunched figure, clinging to a buoy, soaked and shivering.
“There!” I scream.
Tate angles the boat hard. We pull up beside the wreck, ropes flying. It’s frantic, messy, and Tate’s hauling Pete in, me grabbing at his soaked coat, sobbing with relief. “Pete! Oh my god!”
Pete coughs violently, barely hanging on. He wouldn’t have been able to hang on much longer, and I’m so glad we got here when we did.
I cradle his face. “You old fool,” I whisper. “You scared the hell out of us.”
Tate drives us back through the storm. I hold Pete the whole way, his head resting against my shoulder as I whisper whatever comfort I can find. My heart is pounding, not from fear anymore, but from something else. We almost lost him.
Back on shore, Tate and I secure the boat in silence. Our hands are shaking, soaked, frozen. Neither of us says anything, because we don’t have to. Finding Pete alive restored something that we had lost in both of us. A sliver of hope that we won’t lose another man we both love. The dock creaks under our weight as the rain finally starts to ease. We finally face each other, breathless.
He speaks first. “We made it.”
I nod, eyes stinging. “We always will.”
He takes a shaky breath. “Willa, I?—”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I see it now. I see what I didn’t before. You’re good at this. You’re a great fisherman. If you want this, I’ll support you. I’ll always support you. I shouldn’t have been so selfish. I won’t keep you from something that you love.”
His eyes search mine.
“If you still want to go,” I say, voice cracking, “I’ll be right here, waiting. Even if I miss you and will always worry about you.”
His face falls, and for a second, I think I’ve misread everything.
But then he shakes his head. “I’m not going.”
My heart stops, and I search his face. “What? What do you mean?”
“I need to take care of the people I love. I’ll always be here. For you. For Pete. For everyone who matters. Houses and boats don’t matter. People matter. You matter most. I love you.”
I step into him, pressing my lips to his. “I love you, you idiot.”
