Page 61 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
Florence, Now
Florence and Owen talked late into the night, and at some point they both drifted off to sleep on the couch. When Florence woke, it was to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and sunlight streaming through a window that didn’t exist on the outside of the building.
She opened her eyes to find herself lying against Owen’s chest, his arm over her, a cozy blanket thrown over them both, her glasses askew. She nestled into him and found he smelled of woodsmoke and honey. She smiled softly and almost closed her eyes again, when she realized how close to him she was.
She sat up, fast, and fell off the couch.
“Are you okay?” Owen rubbed the sleep from his eyes. When they landed on Florence, they widened as he realized where she’d been.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “We must’ve fallen asleep and …” He shook his head. “I should’ve offered you the bed.”
Behind them, Ink lay in the middle of said bed, curled up in a ball.
Owen stood and offered Florence a hand. She looked up at it, considered not taking it, then realized she was already in much too deep for that to make any difference. Owen helped her to her feet, then looked around the room.
“When did you make coffee?” It was clear from the furrow of his brow he was trying to piece together if Florence had gotten up, brewed coffee, then slipped back under his arm.
“I didn’t,” she said.
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “The shop.”
Florence nodded.
“Thank you,” Owen said, a little too loud.
“It can hear you just fine,” Florence said.
He ducked his head and laughed. “Let me try again,” he said. “Thank you.”
The lamps glowed a bit brighter, and Owen’s eyes glowed right along with them. He headed over to the kitchenette.
Meanwhile, Ink stood up from his spot on the bed and did a long, slow stretch. Then, he hopped down, trotted over to Florence, and started meowing at her feet. She bent down to pick him up before he could claw his way up her skirt.
“Coffee?” Owen asked.
“Please,” Florence said, still unsure how she’d ended up in this room with a man she wouldn’t even let herself look at for longer than a few seconds for fear she might cause his untimely death.
Owen poured two cups of coffee and brought them over. He eyed the couch with color in his cheeks before he offered one to Florence without sitting down. She, too, avoided the couch. Instead, she set Ink on her shoulder and took the coffee from Owen.
“I’m going to take this upstairs and get changed. Then we can head over to the house.”
“I need to grab some clothes out of my car,” Owen said.
Rather than think about Owen changing his clothes, Florence took a sip of coffee on her way to the door. When she pulled it open, she found Angela and her niece standing on the other side.
“Florence?” Angela asked.
“Angela!” Florence said, her throat growing hot. She tried to shut the door behind her, but it was too late. Owen took up the full frame, and there was no way she could hide him.
“Owen?” Angela asked.
“Angela,” Owen said with a small smile.
“You’re the reason I couldn’t get into my reading room!” Clara crossed her arms.
Florence held out the kitten as a peace offering, and her niece readily accepted him.
