Page 22 of Love Potion No. 69

An hour later, Mags drops us off at our new place. Well, not new. The tiny cabin sits at the edge of our land and is where my great-grandmother used to live. I’ve always loved it, but it’s a bit, shall we say, rustic. The first time Quinton walked inside, he immediately backed out and called the local builder to get an “actual house that actual people in the actual twenty-first century live in” built. And it turns out that Quinton is straight-up loaded, so progress on the house has been swift.

Honestly, the entire past three months have been swift. A few days after the Great Counter Experience—as I’m choosing to call it—Quinton whisked me up to Coal’s Lake to meet his family, who didn’t blink at him bringing an American home. And that was before I held up the bottle of Elysian Blossom essence. After that, it was hugs and celebrations all around. It took a month, but I helped Quinton and the perfumists figure out how to duplicate the essence in a lab to finalize the anniversary scent. I also met his friends, had sex all over his apartment, and got engaged. Then it was back home for an extended stay, and back up to Coal’s Lake for the past few weeks to pack up Quinton’s apartment and ready his stuff to be shipped to Sacred River.

I’ve barely set my bags down before Quinton’s grabbing my hand and tugging me back outside, a secretive smile on his face.

“What is it?” I ask, unable to keep from smiling right back at him. Then I see where he’s taking me. The willow tree.

He leads me through the wisps of leaves and takes us to the trunk. It’s peaceful in here, the cool of the tree’s shade a relief against the May sun. Cardinals chirp above me, and I know it’s the same pair that whistled to me the morning I first met my love.

Looking up, I spy the male’s red form and whistle back at him and his mate. Quinton leans against the tree, gathers me into his arms and kisses me, taking his time exploring my mouth, languid and lush. It’s my favorite kind of Quinton kiss, unless you count the demanding, drugging kisses I get when he’s pushing into me, his body taking mine to heights I never knew existed. I breathe in the wintry pine scent of him and his thumb grazes my cheek as I fist his shirt, going onto my tiptoes for more. Later, we’ll undress and feast on each other as the sun sets, sending its orange rays through the gauzy curtains. But for now, I have everything I could ever want.

“I love you so much, Clementine,” he says, leaning his forehead to mine.

I smile up at him. “I love you, too.”

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