Page 93 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
Willa
You were the lighthouse the whole damn time, weren’t you?
Even when I was too blind to see it.
You kept shining.
And I’m finally ready to sail home for good.
-Tate
The smell of old books and cinnamon lingers in the air, but my eyes aren’t on the stack of books beside me. They’re on the dock, and more specifically, on him. Tate Holloway’s wearing that navy flannel that makes my knees weak, sleeves rolled to the elbows, hair a little wind-tousled from the harbor breeze. He’s laughing, a full-belly, eyes-crinkling, head-thrown-back kind of laugh, as Old Pete yells something at him from the bench near the bait shop. But I know there’s a heaviness behind those eyes. It’s a heaviness of what’s coming, but I know he’s soaking up every minute that he can right now.
Pete gestures wildly with his hand while Tate ties something off on a skiff like he’s finally chosen this place and let himself take root. The knot in my chest loosens a little more. And my heart breaks a little, wondering how many more moments we’ll have like this with Pete.
I tuck a blanket under my arm, grab two steaming to-go cups of hot coffee behind the counter, and head for the door. Cobweb meows from her window perch as I pass, flicking her tail like she approves.
The chill hits me the second I step outside, but I don’t care. The path to the dock is layered in golden leaves and the harbor hums with life, seagulls crying, water slapping against boats, someone hammering in the distance. Wisteria Cove is calm and alive, a reminder that life goes on even after storms.
Pete sees me coming before I say anything. “Well, if it isn’t the prettiest book witch in the harbor.”
“You only say that when I bring you coffee,” I tease, passing him a cup.
He sniffs dramatically. “Ah, perfection in a cup. What’s the secret to your coffee, Willa?”
“A pinch of cinnamon in the grounds,” I tell him, not even hesitating as I unfold the blanket and lay it across his lap. “And this is so your knees don’t turn to brittle sea glass by lunch.”
“Rude.” He playfully rolls his eyes, but he tucks it around him anyway. “Now, Iknowsomething is up. Because you’d never tell anyone your coffee secrets unless they’re dying.”
I give him my best smile, even though I feel my eyes ping with a sting of tears and scoot in closer next to him. “Someone’s gotta keep you safe.”
“Thought you’d be glued to your shop, guarding your spell books and carrying that cat everywhere.” He says, obviously not ready to talk about it yet.
“Cobweb can hold down the fort for a few minutes.”
We both watch Tate for a moment, the soft creak of the dock settling beneath our weight. He’s working and getting his boat cleaned up from last night; it looks like.
I glance at the old man beside me. His cheeks are ruddy from the wind. His hands shake a little as he lifts the mug. But his eyes…they’re bright. Sharp. Holding more stories than the entire second floor of my shop.
Pete doesn’t look at me. “You know, don’t you?”
I rest my hand gently over his on the bench between us. “I know that you're sick.”
He stiffens for half a second. Then sighs. “Big mouth. Knew he couldn’t keep that to himself.”
“He did. He didn’t tell me right away. I could just…tell something was weighing him down.” I squeeze his hand. “You’ve always been the anchor of this town, Pete. The cranky, salty, slightly terrifying anchor.”
“I prefer charmingly cantankerous.”
I smile. “Sure, that works, too. Seriously, though. We’re not gonna let you carry this alone. Whatever you need, I’m here. We all are. No one in this town is going to let you go at this alone. You’re not alone in this.”
He swallows hard, and I see the flicker in his expression, like he’s not sure whether to cuss me out or cry. “Damn it, Willa.”
“I know.” I lay my head on his shoulder, and we both stare out at the harbor.
He clears his throat, takes another sip of coffee. “I’m not used to this whole ‘people giving a damn’ thing.”
“Well, too bad. You’ve spent your whole life taking care of this place. Now it’s our turn to take care of you.”
