Page 65 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
I chuckle. “The shoes or the smile?”
“Both,” she groans, flopping onto the stool behind the counter. “Honestly, I think I’m meant to go barefoot through life and just talk to goats.”
Tate glances up from where he’s still nursing his cider and what’s left of his muffin. “That bad?”
Ivy rounds on both of us like we’re part of the problem.
“Do you want toknowwhat your mother did?” she says with a look of relief mixed with disappointment.
“What?” I ask, afraid of the answer.
“She made my life miserable for days,” she says with defeat.
Tate shifts on the stool beside the counter, expression unreadable again. A flicker of anger passes through his eyes, but he smothers it and focuses on what Ivy’s saying.
“And then,” Ivy adds, pointing dramatically at herself like a prosecutor before the jury, “guess who gotfiredthis morning?”
I blink with disbelief. “What?”
“Yep. Fired. After dealing with the rudest client, overpriced houses, and coordinating someone’s freaking Botox appointment. Apparently, April told the agent that she couldn’t trust a Maren.”
“Ohhellno,” I snap, straightening up. “Shewhat?”
Tate flinches a little, like my tone caught him off guard.
“She said I was ‘unstable’ and ‘too close to the situation,’” Ivy says, using air quotes so violently she nearly knocks over the tip jar shaped like a cauldron. “I wasliterallydoing everything they asked. I didn’t evenspeak.But apparently, just existing in the same space as their family is enough to get me blacklisted.”
The words hit something deep in my chest. A heavy, molten wave of protectiveness unfurls inside me, hot and immediate.
This isn’t just petty drama anymore; it’s personal. April’s messed with someone’s job and livelihood. My hand grips the counter harder than I mean to.
Ivy sighs. “It’s okay,” she says, voice full of defeat. “It’s not like it was my dream job anyway.”
Tate narrows his eyes. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t minimize it.”
She shrugs one shoulder like she’s trying to make herself smaller. “I’m just saying. Who even knows what a dream job is?”
“Something that doesn’t end with you getting kicked out because of your last name,” Tate mutters.
Ivy gives him a quiet smile. Not bitter, not angry. Just tired.
But I’m not tired. I’mdone.
“She doesn’t get to do this,” I say, loud enough to make them both turn toward me. “Not to you. Not to us. Not inourtown.”
Tate blinks. “Willa?—”
His eyes lock on mine, and the room suddenly feelstoo quiet.Too still.
“You don’t have to fight this battle,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
My throat tightens. “Maybe I want to.”
Ivy’s watching us now like we’re the main characters in a soap opera she didn’t mean to audition for but isdefinitelynot leaving.
“Okay,” she says, sniffling, “I’m still mad, but that was kind of hot.”
Tate huffs a soft laugh, but there’s something watery about it. He runs a hand through his hair and looks at me like he’s seeing something he forgot existed.
