Page 83 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
“We got remarried,” she says simply. “Twelve years ago this Christmas.”
My hand wraps tightly around the edge of the counter. “That’s beautiful.”
“It wasterrifying,” she says with a laugh. “But the truth is, real love isn’t safe. It’s a damn gamble every single day. You just have to decide if it’s worth going all in.”
I nod slowly, fingers tingling.
She walks over to the romance shelf and picks up a book by an author I know always delivers on a good happily ever after.
“I’ll take this one,” she says. “And maybe one of those scones. This looks like the kind of place that has good scones.”
I blink back a tear. “We do. And I’ll ring up this book for you.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she says softly. “And if there’s someone you love...don’t wait too long to tell him.”
I nod again, speechless.
Because the truth is, I think I already did.
The bookstore’s quiet again by the time the sun dips past the harbor.
I climb the stairs slowly, every step creaking like it wants to warn me of what’s waiting. Cobweb brushes against my ankle as I reach the top, her little black tail flicking like she knows I need company tonight.
The apartment still smells like him. Just traces of woodsmoke, aftershave, pine needles.
It feels like home when he’s here. Or what was starting to feel like it.
I pour myself a mug of tea and wrap both hands around it, then sink onto the couch. I should be texting Ivy back, foldinglaundry, or working on this week’s book order, ordoing literally anythingto distract myself.
But instead, I reach into my pocket where I’ve been hiding the messages Tate’s left me over the past few weeks.
He left me little glass vessels. Each one with a note curled inside like a secret. Like a pumpkin spice love spell.
I read the first one. I smile, but it doesn’t reach my chest.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Because he meant it. I know he did.
And still…when it came down to it, he didn’t know if he’d stay.
Hehesitated.
The door creaks as the wind pushes against it, and for a moment I imagine he’ll walk through.
Smiling, tugging off his boots, asking what book I’m reading tonight.
But it’s just the wind.
And the sound of my own heartbeat.
I curl deeper into the couch, Cobweb climbing onto my chest, purring like a lullaby I don’t deserve.
“I want him to stay,” I whisper to the dark. “I want him to choosethis.Choose me.”
The tea’s cold. My chest aches. But even now, surrounded by his words, I don’t know if it’s enough.
Because I’ve had people choose me before. And leave anyway.
Chapter 24
