Page 90 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
Chapter 26
Tate
For the first time in what feels like days, Wisteria Cove is quiet, and the wind’s not trying to tear everything apart. The storm passed before dawn, but I barely noticed, because I had my arms wrapped around her, and almost everything is right with my world. Almost. I hate that Pete is sick, and I hate that we almost lost him last night. He scared the hell out of me. Thank God Donna and Pete are close, and she knew something was off. She saved his life, letting us all know that he had done something foolish going out like that. I will be talking to him about that.
I’m awake before Willa, tucked under our quilt that smells like cedar and cinnamon, the soft purr of Cobweb vibrating against my thigh. The little kitten has made herself at home in my lap like this is normal. LikeI’mher normal. And god, I love it.
The bookstore is still and dark.
I shift slowly, careful not to wake Willa, who’s curled beside me in nothing but one of my flannels. Her dark hair’s a mess. Her bare legs are tangled in the quilt. Her hand’s on my chest like she never wants to let go. I don’t want her to, either. I press a kiss to her forehead and let my eyes close again.
Ten minutes later, she’s gone from my side and humming in the small kitchen of the loft. Her voice is soft, almost subconscious. She doesn’t know she’s doing it, but I do. She hums when she feels good. Safe. And I haven’t heard that hum in a long time.
I sit up and reach for the mug she set beside the bed. Coffee. Strong and hot. She knows how I take it.
Cobweb stretches and hops off me like she’s done her job and now demands breakfast. I sip slow. Let it all sink in. The storm is over. She’s here. I didn’t lose her. Life feels...good.
I stand, stretch, and wander into the kitchen. She’s at the stove, flipping eggs in a cast-iron skillet, her back to me. The flannel rides up just high enough to make my brain short-circuit.
I lean in the doorway, sipping my coffee, smiling like a damn fool. “You’re humming,” I say, voice still sleep-rough.
She glances over her shoulder and smirks. “And you’re watching me like a weirdo.”
I shrug, stepping closer. “I like what I see.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the way her cheeks flush. She plates the eggs and adds buttered toast, handing one plate to me. “Sit. Eat. You earned it.”
“How did I earn it? Was it after we rescued Old Pete or what I did to you in that shower and bed?” I grin as I drop into the chair like it’s the best seat in the house. Probably because it is. It’s across from her.
She laughs and says, “Both.”
We eat in silence for a moment, only the sounds of forks and the occasional pop from the fire in the wood stove.
She sips her coffee and raises a brow. “You’re quiet.”
I smile into my toast. “Just taking it all in.”
“Taking what in?”
“This,” I say, motioning around the room. “You. Me. Cobweb sleeping over there like she pays rent.”
The cat flicks her tail at me, unimpressed.
Willa’s eyes soften. “It’s not perfect, but I think we can build a good life here together.”
I lean across the table. “I know we will. We already are.”
She sets down her fork. “Good, but we need to look for a place. Rowan needs the loft up here while she’s building next door. Her cottage doesn’t have heat right now. It makes sense for her to be here when she’s doing renovations.”
The second she says it, my fork stills halfway to my mouth.We need to look for a place.
The words echo in my head, rattling around my chest like they’re too big to fit all at once. She’s not just talking about a roof over our heads. She’s talking aboutus.About choosing somewhere together. About building something permanent.
For a man who’s spent years drifting, convincing himself he wasn’t built for roots, it hits me hard. Like the ground has shifted under my boots. My pulse kicks, equal parts shock and wonder, and I can’t stop staring at her.
She says it so casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And maybe that’s what floors me the most. To her, this isn’t a question. It isn’t a risk. It’s justus.The two of us, carving out space together in this town, in this life.
My chest tightens, something raw and fierce swelling there. It feels like hope. It feels like belonging. Like finally coming home after being lost at sea.
