Page 19 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
I step into Town Hall and immediately feel trapped: every folding chair full, every town elder ready with clipboards, and the unmistakable scent of coffee, cinnamon cookies, and muffins on a folding table, and impending obligation hanging heavy in the air.
Rowan and Ivy are already here, seated in the back row, with matching smirks when they spot me. They know exactly what’s about to happen. We’re going to be helping in any way my mom needs us.
At the front of the room, Donna and my mom, Wisteria Cove’s unofficial queens of community organization and small-town guilt trips, wave me up front. “Willa, darling! There you are! Come sit right here next to us.”
Oh shit. No.
I must look like a deer trapped in someone’s headlights, and I hesitate for half a second before Donna pats the empty seat beside her again pointedly and I know that I'm not getting out of this. I sigh and weave through the crowd to sit beside her, smoothing my cardigan over and bracing myself.
I’m saying no this year. No volunteering. No getting dragged into this madness.I have a bookstore and coffee shop to run and an emotional mess with a broody fisherman I am trying very hard to ignore.
And then, because this is just how my luck works, Tate walks in. Late. Ball cap pulled low. His faded jeans are worn and perfect. His sleeves are shoved up, and forearms casually flex as he leans against the back wall, arms crossed with another of his worn and soft-looking flannels over a white T-shirt.
His gaze flicks to me immediately and lingers for just a second too long, sending an irritating and completely involuntary flutter straight to my chest and down my body. Iforce myself to move, turning to sit reluctantly by Donna, unsure of what my punishment is about to be.
The moment I lower myself into the chair, a shiver ripples through me. Not from the draft sneaking under the door, but deeper, stranger, like someone just brushed cold fingers along my spine. The air thickens, scented with the faintest trace of woodsmoke and something sharper, metallic, like the snap before lightning strikes.
It prickles across my skin and makes the tiny hairs on my arms lift. My senses sharpen, as if every whisper, every shuffle of paper and creak of a chair echo louder than they should. I’ve felt this before. It’s my gift tugging at me, my own private weathervane. Something is coming. Change, big and unshakable. The kind that rearranges more than just calendars and agendas.
Donna claps her hands cheerfully, the sound bright and oblivious against the hush of my nerves. “Now that we’re all here, let’s begin!”
She breezes through a few updates, shares reports about town traffic and tourism (up twelve percent thanks to the changing leaves, apparently), her voice rising and falling in a rhythm that doesn’t match the pulse in my chest. By the time she clears her throat dramatically and reaches the agenda item labeledHarvest Moon Festival Chairperson,the tingling sensation is nearly humming through my bones.
I don’t need her to say it aloud. I already know. This is where everything shifts.
“Of course,” Donna says with a bright smile, “we have a very special situation this year! Our dear Lilith, who usually chairs the festival, has unfortunately decided she’s not able to chair this year.”
A murmur of sympathy ripples through the room. My mom, who wears a smirk on her face, nods.
“So,” Donna continues, her smile widening as her gaze settles right on me, “we’ll need capable hands to take the lead. And I am so delighted to announce that our Lilith has gotten Willa Maren and Tate Holloway to co-chair this year’s festival!”
What the hell.
The entire room erupts into applause. Actual applause and a few whistles. My stomach drops.
Rowan claps loudly from the back row…traitor. And Ivy follows it up with a sharp wolf whistle. Even my mom nods approvingly, her expression smug and witchy, like the mastermind she is behind all of this.
I’m frozen for a beat before I scramble to recover. “Donna, wait—I didn’t agree to?—”
But Donna is already talking over me, completely undeterred. “Now, now, Willa, we all know the festival happens right in front of your lovely bookstore and coffee shop. It’s practically your front yard! And we couldn’t ask for a more perfect team than you and Tate. You’ll both make sure everything shines!”
I turn my head slowly toward Tate, willing him to intervene, to object, to save us both, but he doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t. He’s leaning casually against the wall, arms still crossed, looking entirely too entertained by my panic. When our eyes meet, he tilts his head slightly, almost like he’s saying:go ahead and fight this…but you won’t win.
My mom chimes in next, her voice warm and cheery. “You two’d be doing me a big favor. I hate not being able to see this through. I just couldn’t make it happen this year.”
I scoff and resist rolling my eyes. My mom looks no older than forty-five and is spry as a squirrel.
And that’s it. Because no one says no to Lilith Maren. Especially not me. Especially not when half the town is nowclapping enthusiastically, murmuring to each other, and already crafting a new chapter in the Tate and Willa saga.
Someone from the back calls out, “They’ll finally work things out while planning!”
The whole place laughs. My cheeks burn. Tate finally pushes off the wall and strolls forward. He stops next to me at the front of the room, standing far too close, smelling far too good, and projecting that quiet confidence that’s been undoing me since the minute he came back.
“Guess we’re partners again,” he murmurs, low enough only I can hear.
I stiffen. “Don’t get used to it.”
His mouth curves into that crooked, almost-smile that makes my breath catch for a stupid half second. “Oh, I’m counting on it,” he says, eyes gleaming.
