Page 50 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
“Still getting sold,” he says.
“And the house?”
“Same.”
She narrows her eyes, all mock-detective. “I heard you’re going to work for my son at the tree farm.”
The words hit me sideways. I blink, turning sharply toward Tate. “Wait—you are?”
He shifts a little under the weight of my stare, but he doesn’t deny it.
For a moment, I can’t find my voice. The thought barrels through me that he’s not leaving. Not disappearing out to sea for months at a time. No more vanishing into storms and silence. He’ll be here in Wisteria Cove. Close enough that I could see him every day if I wanted to.
My stomach twists. Relief, sharp and sweet, rushes in first. Then something deeper, warmer, that I shove down before it can take root.
“You didn’t think to mention this?” I manage, my voice lighter than I feel, though my heart is thudding wildly.
His eyes meet mine, steady, unreadable, and for a long beat I just…look at him. At the man who’s haunted my memories for years, now tethering himself to this town.
“What are you going to do about the boat and house?” she asks, too casually. “You gonna fight it? Buy it?”
I snort into my tea, because this is what Donna does, interrogates people with a smile and somehow gets away with it.
Before he can answer, the front door swings open again. And the whole air in the store changes. I don’t have to look at Tate to know he feels it too; his posture tightens like a rope pulled taut.
April Holloway—or whatever her new last name is. Tate’s mother. And she’s not alone. Randy is right behind her, along with two kids I’ve never seen before.
They all bring in the cold with them.
“Surprise,” April singsongs. “Thought we’d come check the house and boat before everything is sold.”
“Why didn’t you call, Mom?” Tate asks, voice even.
“It’s fine,” she says with a shrug. “We’re going to stay at the house for a bit. Used the spare key.”
My spine stiffens. Used his spare key? Without asking? My hand tightens around my mug.
“It’s your house,” he says flatly.
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” she waves him off. “It’s just for a few days. We’re already unpacked.”
Randy chimes in, cheerful in that fake way that makes my skin crawl. “We even stocked the fridge. Real homey now. You don’t have to live like a bachelor anymore.”
Tate’s jaw works, but his hands stay hidden behind the counter. I can tell he’s holding himself together with every ounce of willpower.
“This place is quaint,” Randy adds, scanning the room.
“It’s Willa’s,” Tate says, steady as stone.
April’s lip curls. “Willa? As in Willa Maren?”
The way she says my name makes something old and bitter twist in my stomach. I turn toward the window, mouth pressed tight, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
“It’s a great place,” he says, looking straight at them. “It’s a cornerstone of this town. And yes, it’s Willa’s. She built it herself. Every single customer who walks in here walks out better because of her.”
The air freezes. I don’t move. Can’t. But heat blooms across my cheeks, not from embarrassment. From pride. From the way he says it like it’s gospel.
Donna clears her throat, breaking the tension. “Well. I’ll leave you to your little family ambush.” And just like that, she’s gone, probably plotting her next book with this exact scene.
