Page 38 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
“At what?” I prompt.
“At…this.” She gestures vaguely to the whole scene, pumpkins, cider, firelight, me with Junie on my shoulders. “At fitting in again.”
Her words hit me harder than I expect.Because I don’t just want to fit in. I want to stay. And it's starting to feel a lot more like home than it ever did.
Even if part of me still feels like a mess of guilt and grief…here, at this table, with Willa’s knee brushing mine and Junie laughing and the entire town glowing with fairy lights, I almost feel whole.
“Maybe this is where I was made to be,” I say, voice softer now.
Her eyes meet mine, and for a second, it feels like the entire world narrows to this one perfect moment.The fire crackles, and Junie hums as she adds triangle eyes to her pumpkin.
And Willa smiles, and I swear I’d carve a thousand crooked pumpkins to keep that look on her face.
Chapter 13
Willa
Your laugh is my favorite sound in this town.
I think it always has been.
-Tate
The rain starts just after I lock the front door and step inside. My mom took a trip up to New Hampshire for the night with Donna and asked me to house-sit for her. One moment, the wind is tugging at the porch mums, and the next, it’s like the sky splits open and sheets of water come down in silvery waves, battering the windows and drumming against the roof of the old house.Lightning flashes, illuminating the living room in ghost-light, and then thunder cracks, low and rolling.
The power flickers but holds. Barely.I wrap the knit throw tighter around my shoulders and light the last of the pillar candles on the mantle. My mom's house is already warm and cozy in that cluttered, witchy way only she can pull off. Bundles of dried herbs hang near the windows. The wood stove clicks as it warms, and there’s a faint scent of orange peel and clovessimmering from the tea I made, which is still a little too hot to drink.
It should feel peaceful and safe.But instead, I feel unsettled and restless. I blame Tate Holloway.
Because ever since pumpkin carving night, when he made me laugh more than I have in months, and then sat beside me like he belonged there, with Junie on his shoulders and firelight in his eyes, I can’t stop thinking about him. And the possibility of there being an us.
And now, while I’m curled up in my mom’s living room in the middle of a rainstorm, the thought of him out there somewhere makes my chest ache in a way I didn't expect.
I jump a little when there’s a knock on the door.Three short raps, then one pause, then another. Like a code.
I pad across the wood floors, heart hammering for reasons I absolutely refuse to unpack right now, and open the door a few cautious inches.
Tate stands there, soaked to the bone, rain dripping from his hair and jacket. For a heartbeat, his expression flickers, surprise lighting his eyes when he spots me standing there. But then the corners of his mouth curve, soft and unguarded, like he can’t help himself. He’s smiling at me, even through the storm.
“I need your help,” he says, and slowly opens his coat to reveal a small, wriggling bundle of black fur, clinging to his flannel chest.
My jaw drops. “Who is this?”
“A stowaway,” he says. “Found her down by the docks. She was shivering so badly I couldn’t ignore her, and I wanted to bring her to Lilith.”
I open the door wider. “Get in here before you get sick.”
He steps inside, gently cradling the kitten against him as I shut the door.The house smells like cloves, cedar, and rain now, earthy and warm, and a little like Tate. I don’t know when hispresence became that familiar, but it hits me full force as he kneels in front of the fire, gently unwrapping the kitten.
She’s tiny. Soaked and shaking, with matted fur and wide green eyes that blink up at us like we’re the strangest thing she’s ever seen.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I whisper, grabbing a dry towel and crouching beside him. “You poor baby.”
Tate hands her to me with so much care it makes my throat catch. “She’s freezing,” he murmurs. “I had her wrapped up inside my shirt. Took me a while to catch her, but I couldn’t leave her out there.”
“Of course not,” I say softly, glancing up at him as I carefully pat the kitten dry. “I’m so glad you brought her here.”
His eyes meet mine, and something warm and wordless passes between us.
