Page 47 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
“I’ve only ever found it here, when I need it the most.”
“I’m guessing this is like Ink and the books falling off the shelves,” Owen said.
At the mention of his name, Ink leapt onto the coffee table, circled the teapot, then lay down with his back touching the warm ceramic. Florence scratched between his ears.
She avoided Owen’s eyes as she said, “The bookshop is enchanted.”
“I gathered as much.” Owen leaned forward, bringing his profile into Florence’s peripheral vision. She glanced at him, and his lips tilted up in that smile she’d been trying so hard to ignore.
He rested a hand on the table. Ink’s tail flicked against it before the kitten resituated himself with his head up against Owen’s knuckles. When Owen obliged by scratching him, Ink began to purr.
Florence sighed. It didn’t help that her kitten liked him.
“I need you to know I only brought you back here—I’m only going to tell you what I’m about to tell you—because I don’t want you to get hurt.”
A furrow appeared in Owen’s brows. “You thinkI’min danger?”
“Let me back up.” Florence set her mug on the table and twisted to face him, their knees touching. She almost pulled back but realized that would be more obvious than staying there with the warmth of his leg against her tights. She planted her hands on her thighs, took a deep breath, and did her best to distill her family’s tragedies into as comfortable a package as possible to keep this man safe.
“My sister and I are witches.” She paused, looking for some sort of reaction. When all Owen did was nod, she swallowed and nodded in return. “Right, so. The house, my bookstore, they’re sort of a byproduct of our magic. Well, that’s what we thought, but I haven’t used my magic in thirteen years because I thought, foolishly, it would put an end to the curse, so I guess we were wrong. Basically, when we call somewhere home, it comes to life.”
As if in response to her words, the string lights overhead twinkled on and off, and the tea in Florence’s mug warmed where it sat on the table, steam rising from it once more.
Owen nodded slowly. “Well, I suppose I should say it’s nice to meet you, Ink & Pages.”
The lights shined a little brighter, before dimming once more to a softer, more intimate glow, limning the brown of Owen’s eyes withgold. Florence traced the depths of his irises with her mind, and only when he cleared his throat did she notice she’d leaned even closer to him. She bit her lip. He glanced down at her mouth then back up, his cheeks growing darker.
The floorboards beneath the love seat shifted. Florence’s side lifted up, and she tumbled into Owen. Her face collided with his chest, his flannel shirt soft against her skin and his body solid and warm. She pushed herself up, using his bicep as leverage, and found herself face to face with him. Heat rushed first to her neck, then her cheeks, and all the way down to her fingertips. His gaze flitted to her hand on his arm, her leg still partly over his thigh.
Despite her desire to push closer, to go back to where she’d fallen, Florence pulled back as if burned.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “The shop …”
“Is enchanted.” Owen’s voice came out lower than she’d ever heard it, and it sent even more heat through her.
“It has a mind of its own.” A strand of hair had fallen loose from her braid, and she brushed it back behind her ear and readjusted her glasses.
“How does that relate to keeping me safe?” he asked.
“I’m not making much sense,” Florence said, voice rushed, grateful to be back to the topic at hand. “I’ve never really had to explain it to anyone, and certainly not with the shop …” She gestured helplessly.
“Dropping you in someone’s lap?” Owen offered.
Florence let out a choked laugh. “Right, that.”
She reached for her tea, anything to occupy her hands and her mind and her heart. She’d only come into this room to protect Owen—even if her shop had other plans.
“The point is, the Caldwell curse isn’t some story my sister uses to bring in guests. Every thirteen years, someone we care about dies there.”
Ink stood from his spot on the coffee table and hopped onto Florence’s lap. He tried to wedge himself between her and the edge of the love seat, forcing her closer to Owen. She took a deep breath. She was almost done explaining. Then she could get Owen to promise not togo back to Honeysuckle House—to leave Burdock Creek and never look back—and her heart rate would go back to normal.
“You can’t stay in the house,” she said. “You can’t even be there on the thirteenth. If something happened to you …” She shook her head. “I can’t have that on my conscience.”
“But the festival,” he said. “Your sister hired me for a job.”
“You’ll find other jobs.”
He leaned forward, his hands on his knees. Then he tilted his head and glanced at her sidelong. There was a certain heat in his eyes. “You said the curse only takes someone you care about. And you said I’m at risk …”
