Page 45 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
“Have I mentioned how much I love this house?” Tillie asked.
The hallway light flickered.
“I think the house loves you, too.” Violet cracked open the door to find her bedroom lined with candles—not the enchanted ones the Caldwell sisters made, but decorative pillars of all sizes, casting the room in a warm, yellow glow.
Tillie gasped, and Violet felt a smile spread over her face. Here, they were safe. Here, they were accepted. Here, they were home.
Violet took her by the hand and tugged her into the music and candlelight, closing the door behind her with her foot. She rested her free hand at Tillie’s waist and started to dance as the soft, slow jazz washed over them. Violet stood a few inches taller than Tillie so when Tillie leaned into her, the tip of Tillie’s forehead pressed againstViolet’s cheek. The warmth of Tillie’s skin through the soft fabric of her shirt blazed hotter than any magic Violet had ever burned into the world. If the intention she poured into her candles were spells, this love—this woman—was sorcery.
“Everything I have is yours,” Violet murmured as they swayed to the music.
Tillie nestled closer, singing along with Violet. Her mouth moved against Violet’s skin with each word, and every brush of her lips sent a tremor through Violet. She gripped Tillie’s waist tighter, held her body closer. As the song came to an end, Tillie pulled back, the dark of her pupils impossible to distinguish from the honey brown of her eyes.
Tillie rose up on her toes, and Violet ducked her head. Their lips met in the middle. This was all Violet needed. The heat of Tillie’s touch. The softness of Tillie’s mouth, the sweet taste of cherry and whiskey still fresh on her tongue. She cupped Tillie’s face gently in her hands. Tillie wrapped her arms around Violet’s neck. Violet broke their kiss and began to trail her lips along Tillie’s chin, down her neck, to the edges of her collarbone, only just visible beneath her blouse—living for every sound she drew from Tillie’s throat. She undid the first button, then the second.
Before she could reach the third, the candles blew out.
Tillie laughed softly, “Message received, house.” She ran her hand through the back of Violet’s hair, brought her lips to Violet’s throat. As much as Violet wanted to sink into her touch, she stilled.
More than anything, the house used light to communicate. Lights on were a greeting or a direction. Lights off were a warning. The lamp at Violet’s bedside flickered on and off.
On and off.
On and off.
Then, the door opened.
“Violet, I drew another card and—” Regina stopped short. The glow from the hallway spilled into Violet’s room, falling on her and Tillie—their embrace, Tillie’s state of undress, the mess of Violet’s hair. The hall bulbs winked out, but it was too late.
Tillie started to pull away, but Violet reached for her hand and kept her close. She wouldn’t live her life in hiding, not in her own home.
“There’s something I should’ve told you a long time ago,” Violet said. Then to the house, “It’s okay, you can turn on the lights.” Her bedside lamp flickered to life, followed by the floor lamp in the corner beside her two lounge chairs—where she and Tillie planned to hang one of the philodendrons—then, finally, the hall lights.
“You love her,” Regina said. Where Violet had hoped to see joy and acceptance in her sister’s face, she was met instead with narrowed eyes. But they widened again so quickly Violet wasn’t sure if they’d ever narrowed at all. Regina held a hand up over her mouth as she glanced between them.
Then, “You lied to me.” Her voice had sharpened to a point, and Violet winced.
“I never lied to you,” Violet said.
Tillie wrapped an arm around her waist, and Violet leaned into her touch.
“You told me she would be a roommate,” Regina said, as if Tillie wasn’t standing right there with them. “Every time you’ve brought her here, every drink, every record. How long?”
Violet hung her head, shame spreading in her chest.
“Seven years,” Tillie said. “Seven beautiful years.” Her words buoyed Violet.
Though they’d been close for far longer, it wasn’t until that day in the diner that they’d taken things a step further than friendship, and Violet’s only regret was it hadn’t happened sooner.
“Why did you hide this from me?” Regina asked. “We’re sisters. You’re all I have, Violet. You’re all I’ve ever had.”
“I wanted to tell you,” Violet said. “So many times I tried, but …” She shook her head, still not wanting to admit her fear, to find herself proven right.
“You were afraid I wouldn’t accept you,” Regina said.
Violet sighed, nodded.
“I love you. There’s nothing you could do to change that. I take no issue with women loving women. I just didn’t realize …” Reginastarted, stopped, not really looking at Violet anymore, her eyes focused on some middle distance between them.
