Page 17 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
“Oh, nobody is more stubborn than you,” Pete ambles closer, hands in his pockets. “But, you always had a good heart. Your dad would be so proud of the man you've become today.”
His words land heavy. I nod and am grateful for them.
He claps me on the shoulder, warm and solid. “Don’t work yourself to death tonight. Harbor’ll still be here in the morning.”
I stay another hour, scrubbing until my arms ache and my fingers sting. The deck looks cleaner than it has in years, but inside, I still feel like a mess. The tide laps softly at the hull as I gather up a battered bucket of tools and call it for the night.
On my walk back through town, I catch sight of Mrs. Ellery on her porch. The basket in her arms is almost as big as she is, loaded with pumpkins, mums, and what looks like half the produce section from the Wisteria Cove Grocery store.
She’s balancing it awkwardly, teetering on the top step, and I don’t even think before setting my bucket down and jogging over.
“Here,” I say quietly, taking the basket from her arms. “Let me help you with that.”
She peers up at me, sharp-eyed as ever despite the soft knit shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “Well, look at this. Tate Holloway, back from wherever you ran off to. Thought you’d forgotten all of us.”
I chuckle under my breath, adjusting the basket in my arms. “Nope, I didn't forget.”
She unlocks her front door and steps inside, waving me to follow. Her porch smells like dried herbs, and her tiny front room is exactly as I remember it, overstuffed chairs, stacks ofbooks, knick-knacks crowding every surface. When I was a kid, she always had fresh cookies for all the neighbor kids.
I set the basket down gently. “You always decorate early for fall.”
“Early?” she snorts. “It’s never too early, Tate. Town’s late by my standards.”
I smile. “Fair enough.”
She eyes me carefully, crossing her arms. “Back for good this time?”
The question hangs between us longer than it should. I want to say yes. I want to believe it. But, I also don't want to let anyone down again if it doesn't work out here.
“Trying to be,” I finally say, because it’s the only answer I’ve got.
She softens, patting my arm gently. “Well, this place has a way of making you stay…or breaking your heart all over again.”
The truth in her words makes my chest tighten.
She doesn’t ask more, simply offers a knowing smile before disappearing into the kitchen. I take my cue and step back out onto the porch, closing the door softly behind me.
The walk back to my house is quiet, the streets empty and lined with flickering lanterns strung between lampposts, and the scent of wood smoke drifts on the breeze, mingling with the briny tang of the harbor air. The whole town feels like it’s holding its breath, and maybe so am I.
I can’t stop thinking about Willa. The sharpness in her voice, the fury in her eyes, but also the way her fingers brushed mine. The heat between us existed even when she was telling me to go to hell.
I glance back toward the harbor path, my boots scuffing to a halt. The place where we stood earlier feels charged, like I could almost see her standing there again, hair blowing wild in the wind, mouth tight with anger and something else she won’t say.
I shove my hands in my pockets and exhale slowly. I left this place thinking I could outrun all of it, my grief, my guilt, my feelings for her.
But tonight proves it: I outran nothing. It was all waiting for me right here.
I walk the rest of the way home slower than before, each step weighted with the truth I can’t avoid anymore.
I’m still in love with her. Always have been. I always will be.
Chapter 7
Willa
Some nights I wonder if I could have written just one letter to explain why I left, if it would have made any difference. Then I think: you deserved more than a letter. You deserved to have me to stay…and I couldn’t. I’m sorry. So now I'm going to show you.
-Tate
