Page 37 of Strings Attached
My voice catches as the weight of everything suddenly hits me—all the secrets I’ve been juggling, the constant guard I’ve had to keep up, trying to figure out who I am beyond the perfect performer Jules expects me to be. A tear slips down my cheek, then another.
Dean pulls back enough to study my face. His calloused thumbs brush the tears away with a gentleness that makes my heart ache. “Of course,” he whispers, fingers lingering against my skin. “Take the time you need. I should have trusted you, trusted this. Instead, I let my… history cloud my judgment.” His jaw works for a moment. “I’m not used to having something worth losing.” He presses a kiss to my brow.
I lean up and capture his lips with mine. Kissing him is like finding the perfect note in a complicated piece—when everything aligns and you know exactly where you belong. His hands slide into my hair as he deepens the kiss, and for a moment, all the complications fade away. There’s just this—his warmth, his touch, the steady beating of his heart against mine.
We settle into our usual morning rhythm, talking about nothing and everything the way we do at the lighthouse. For a moment, everything feels possible again.
Then the door clicks open.
Rachel and Emma enter first. Jules walks in behind them, gesturing with a takeaway cup and smiling that sunshine grin that’s landed him on the cover of more than a few magazines. “The Ethiopian beans at this little place in Prague—absolute revelation. Though nothing quite matches the complexity of traditional Indonesian kopi luwak. Have you ever tried it?”
Rachel laughs as she swirls her iced coffee from the Whisk. “I’m afraid my coffee expertise stops at ‘better than day-old roast from the Hungry Gull.’”
“Oh darling, we simply must educate your palate!” Jules’ eyes sparkle then land on me.
I feel Dean withdraw, physically and emotionally, retreating to his corner as Jules sweeps forward. “Missy! Excellent news—I’ve managed to negotiate everything despite this charming town’s absolutely prehistoric internet service. We can leave next week after all! Vienna is gorgeous this time of year, and don’t worry, I’ve arranged a month off around your sister’s wedding. It’s all taken care of.”
The words slam into me like a wave, knocking me off kilter. Had we vaguely discussed pushing up our timeline in a very theoretical way? Maybe. But I’d dismissed it as Jules being Jules—always planning, always pushing, always ten steps ahead without checking if anyone wants to follow. I hear myself making noncommittal sounds of agreement, falling back into old patterns like muscle memory from too many years of allowing some combination of decision fatigue and conflict avoidance drive me allowing Jules to orchestrate my life.
“Wonderful!” Jules claps his hands together. “Now, let me not monopolize your prodigy’s lesson time.” He beams at Emma. “Missy has told me all about your extraordinary talent.”
Emma blushes furiously, but I barely notice. Because beyond her, Dean’s expression has gone completely unguarded for a moment. His mouth is parted, his eyes shimmer, and his fisted hands have gone slack at his sides. It’s like watching someone let go of a rope they’ve clung to. When our gazes meet, his features smooth into granite, cold and impenetrable.
No. No, this is all wrong. He thinks— But I haven’t even discussed leaving early. Jules just assumed, as he always does, that his plans are everyone’s plans.
I shift my focus on Emma, trying to calm her nerves as she whispers, “I can’t believe Jules Bouchard is watching me play!” But even as I guide and accompany her through the piece, noting how much she’s controlling her magic since Dean gave her the necklace, I’m achingly aware of Dean’s rigid posture as he stands with Rachel and Jules.
When Emma finishes, Rachel herds her toward the door. Both of them grab bags for school and Jules follows behind. “Oh, Missy. I told Rachel I could go in with her today and meet her other music students. You don’t mind, darling, do you?”
“No,” I say, before considering how his words might land on Dean’s ears. I just want Jules gone. I just want to fix things with Dean. I just want a moment to breathe.
Jules is out the door before I can correct the course, already deep in conversations about the merits of various conservatories. The silence they leave behind feels charged, heavy with all the things I haven’t said.
Dean tidies the space with mechanical precision, his movements precise and controlled. Too controlled. My hands fumble as I do a poor job of wiping Giuseppe down. But when Dean heads for the door, I abandon my half-hearted attempt at instrument care and follow him into the light rain, Giuseppe’s case banging against my back as leaves swirl in the wind.
He walks so fast I have to jog to keep up. When he stops abruptly, water drips from his hair. “Are you leaving next week? When did you plan to tell me?”
“I haven’t agreed to that.”
His eyes flash and he pulls a mint from the case in his jacket but doesn’t put it in his mouth. “Jules seems convinced.”
“Jules hasn’t doubted himself since kindergarten. It means nothing.”
Dean’s shoulders drop. He pinches the bridge of his nose and rain slips down his skin. Then he opens his eyes and sighs. “Youneed a few days. Take them. But I need to know what we are, Missy. What our future looks like… if we have one.” He swallows hard. “Tell me if I’ve misunderstood things between us. If I have, I’ll back off. If I haven’t…” His jaw works for a moment. “Then I need to know if leaving early is on the table for you. I can’t—” He lets out a rough breath. “I can let people hate me for the greater good. I’ve spent years doing that. But this?” His gesture encompasses the space between us. “Caring about someone just for myself? I don’t know how to do this halfway. I know I’m being intense, but I don’t know how else to be, especially when I care about something… or someone.”
“You haven’t misunderstood,” I whisper, but the words feel inadequate against the weight of his honesty. He’s willing to go public with me. A regular human. I’ve barely considered the weight of that decision. He’s not just magical, he’s a leader. Thehead warlock.And that’s probably huge. I wonder if he has to officially note something if he dates someone outside the community. Meanwhile, I can’t even decide if I’m staying in town next week. I’ve been happy to just go with the flow.
The realization slams into me. I’ve spent years letting others orchestrate my life—Jules with his career plans, our manager with his vision, Alex with her sacrifices. Even now, I’m waiting for someone else to make the hard decisions. But Dean? He orchestrates an entire magical island. Every choice he makes ripples through the lives here. I have to risk telling my sister about us. He has to risk telling an entire magical world that he’s chosen me. And here I am, still trying to avoid confrontation, still letting the current carry me wherever it flows easier.
“I’ll think through everything, I promise,” I whisper into the cool, rain-kissed air, as mist slowly gathers around us. “Really think it through.”
When he kisses me, it’s gentle but weighted with everything we’ve said and haven’t said. A wind blows through, beginninganother ballet of leaves falling. But for the first time since learning about magic, I can’t see its shimmer at all.
Missy
The autumn air shimmers with caramel apples and childhood dreams as we make our way through the Harvest Hoopla. Grammie Rae calls out from the honey candy stand, her voice carrying over the cheerful chaos of carnival games and excited chatter. The scent of pumpkin spice and cinnamon wafts from the Whisk’s booth where Ethan and Zoe draw crowds with bubbles that burst and release the warm, cozy aromas. The council, apparently, had taken little convincing to approve that pinch of easily explainable magic.
“You have to try one of these,” Alex insists as she pulls me toward her fiancé’s booth. “Ethan’s been experimenting with the recipe for weeks.”
