Page 104 of Charmed, I'm Sure
But I only needed one.
And that reason was sitting beside me, waving her hands around in excitement.
“Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me.” I grabbed her hands, pressing a kiss to her knuckles simply because I could—and because it made her cheeks turn a delicious shade of pink. “We can decorate the house.”
Thehouse.
Notmyhouse.
Because the more time I spent with her—the more I didn’t want to ever let her go. And the more those four walls became just as much hers as they were mine.
Magnolia
The smell of freshly baked cookies wafted through the whole ofCharCutie, their sweet scent seeping into every nook and cranny—and, judging by the way people paused outside the windows, likely drifting into the street as well.
I loved Christmastime—the food, the festivals, the lights—but this time of year was always carried a bittersweet edge. The pain of losing my parents all those years ago still lingered day to day, but as the anniversary of their deaths loomed closer, it flared into an agonizing ache. Christmas had been my mom’s favorite holiday, and she always went out of her way to make it special. She let Maddie and me help her bake cookies—planting the seed of my love for all things baking—while singing carols and dancing around the kitchen with my dad.White Christmasplayed on the TV as we decorated the tree, and we spent hours driving through neighborhoods, admiring the light displays.
After we went to live with my aunt twenty-two years ago, she made sure to keep those traditions alive. She just added the Winter Solstice celebration to the mix when we’d learned about our heritage.
We still decorated a tree, hung mistletoe, baked gingerbread, exchanged gifts, and otherwise made merry like everyone else. But we also honored something deeper. There were rituals and dancing toground ourselves in nature’s rhythm, a way to wait for the darkest days to end and the light to return. It was invigorating. Healing. And this year, I needed it more than ever.
Still, we strung icicle lights—Mom’s favorite—along the porch and watched every cheesy Christmas movie we could find, even though they were all the same story with different actors.White Christmasstill played as we hung ornaments on the tree, each of us taking on a character’s role and reciting their lines—I was always Betty. And I still sang every holiday song at the top of my lungs like the merriest, most off-key caroler in the history of Bellevue. Or, at the very least, hummed along—which was what I was doing as I plopped another ball of dough onto the cookie sheet.
It would have been easy to let my grief overwhelm me, to let it drag me into the winter darkness. But it took effort to embrace the joy of the season, and that was what my mom would have wanted. So I did my damndest to try.
Dusting my hands off on my apron, I covered the final tray of prepared cookie dough in cling wrap and slid it onto the rack bound for the cooler. By the time I finished cleaning, the last batch of cookies was ready. And so was I.
Tonight was the town’s Winter Festival, and I was beyond nervous. I went every year, but somehow, I’d let Taylor talk me into goingwithhim. Which meant walking through town, hand in hand, in front ofeveryone. This wasn’t a soft launch of our relationship—it was a headfirst leap off a cliff. A giant, blinking neon sign that screamedLook at me! I’m with Taylor Hallows!It took everything I had not to melt into a puddle of panic.
With a deep breath, I shook out my hands and tried to expel all the anxiety that was determined to take root. Then I hung my apron backon its hook, packed the warm cookies into a box, and headed toward the office to grab my purse and keys.
With the festival happening, all the shops in town were closing early—including mine. And since it was only two in the afternoon, I still had plenty of time to help Aunt Evie and my sisters decorate the tree before Taylor came to pick me up.
Taking a quick glance back out the front windows to make sure there wasn’t anyone standing around outside, I sent a wave of magic throughCharCutie, closing the main area for the night. As the overhead lights and display cases dimmed, the warm white Christmas strands I’d draped across the windows and the flocked tree—complete with bakery-style ornaments and pink crystal garland—beside the door lit the space in a warm, happy glow.
Purse, keys, and cookies in hand, I stepped out the back door—only to halt when it hit something with a dullthud.
I peeked around the edge and found a long, rectangular crimson box resting on the stoop, tied with a white ribbon. A smile tugged at my lips as I let out a soft laugh, already pulling my phone from my pocket.
Magnolia
Gee, I wonder who this could be from *eyes emoji*
I snapped a picture, sent the text, and tucked my phone away before bending to pick up the box. Something faintly rancid filled my nose as I made my way toward my car. I glanced around, searching for the source, but decided it had to be the dumpsters. It sure as hell wasn’t the cookies I was carrying.
After jostling all of my belongings, I slid into my car, tossed my purse onto the passenger seat and gingerly placed the cookies beside it. The moment the engine purred to life, I cranked up the heat and connected my phone, and let my holiday station play.
Settling in, I lifted the lid of the mystery box—
And gagged.
The rancid stench from outside thickened, mingling with something that smelled like dirt.
Every warning bell in my soul blared. My fingers stilled, the lid hovering millimeters from its base.
Ishouldclose it and toss it in the nearest dumpster. Walk away. Forget I ever saw it.
But some stubborn, reckless part of mehadto know. Had toseewith my own eyes what I somehowknewI would find in that box.
