Page 64 of Charmed
“Goes with the territory. Power corrupts, right?”
She set the sketch aside. “There are those who think it.” It was only a drawing, she told herself. Only part of a story he’d created. Yet it served to remind her how large a span they needed to cross. “Boone, I’ll ask youfor something tonight.”
“I guess you could ask me for anything tonight.”
“Time,” she said. “And faith. I love you, Boone, and there’s no one else I’d want to spend my life with. But I need time, and so do you. A week,” she said before he could protest. “Only a week. Until the full moon. Then there are things I’ll tell you. After I do, I hope you’ll ask me again to be your wife. If you do, if you can, then I’ll say yes.”
“Say yes now.” He caught her close, capturing her mouth, hoping he could persuade her by his will alone. “What difference will a week make?”
“All,” she whispered, clinging tight. “Or none.”
***
He didn’t care to wait. It made him nervous and impatient that the days seemed to crawl by. One, then two, finally three. To comfort himself, he thought about the turn his life would take once the interminable week was over.
No more nights alone. Soon, when he turned restlessly in the dark, she would be there. The house would be full of her, her scent, the fragrances of her herbs and oils. On those long, quiet evenings, they could sit together on the deck and talk about the day, about tomorrows.
Or perhaps she would want them to move into her house. It wouldn’t matter. They could walk through her gardens, under her arbors, and she could try to teach him the names of all of her flowers.
They could take a trip to Ireland, and she could show him all the important places of her childhood. There would be stories she could tell him, like the one about the witch and the frog, and he could write about them.
One day there would be more children, and he would see her holding their baby the way she had held Morgana and Nash’s.
More children. That thought brought him up short and had him staring at the framed picture of Jessiesmiling out at him from his desktop.
His baby. Only his, and his only, for so long now. He did want more children. He’d never realized until now how much he wanted more. How much he enjoyed being a father. It was simply something he was, something he did.
Now, as his mind began to play with the idea, he could see himself soothing an infant in the night as he had once soothed Jessie. Holding out his arms as a toddler took those first shaky steps. Tossing a ball in the yard, holding on to the back of an unsteady bike.
A son. Wouldn’t it be incredible to have a son? Or another daughter. Brothers and sisters for Jessie. She’d love that, he thought, and found himself grinning like an idiot. He’d love it.
Of course, he hadn’t even asked Ana how she felt about adding to the family. That was certainly something they’d have to discuss. Maybe it would be rushing her again to bring it up now.
Then he remembered how she’d looked with her arm cuddling Jessie in his bed. The way her face had glowed when she held two tiny infants up so that his daughter could see and touch.
No, he decided. He knew her. She would be as anxious as he to turn their love into life.
By the end of the week, he thought, they would start making plans for their future together.
***
For Ana, the days passed much too quickly. She spent hours going over the right way to tell Boone everything. Then she would change her mind and struggle to think of another way.
There was the brash way.
She imagined herself sitting him down in her kitchen with a pot of tea between them. “Boone,” she would say, “I’m a witch. If that doesn’t bother you, we can start planning the wedding.”
There was the subtle way.
They would sit out on her patio, near the arbor of morning glories. While they sipped wine and watched thesunset, they would talk about their childhoods.
“Growing up in Ireland is a little different than growing up in Indiana, I suppose,” she would tell him. “But the Irish usually take having witches in the neighborhood pretty much for granted.” Then she’d smile. “More wine, love?”
Or the intellectual way.
“I’m sure you’d agree most legends have some basis in fact.” This conversation would take place on the beach, with the sound of the surf and the cry of gulls. “Your books show a great depth of understanding and respect for what most consider myth or folklore. Being a witch myself, I appreciate your positive slant on fairies and magic. Particularly the way you handled the enchantress inA Third Wish for Miranda.”
Ana only wished she had enough humor left to laugh at each pitiful scenario. She was certainly going to have to think of something, now that she had less than twenty-four hours to go.
