Page 94 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
He turns to me slowly, blinking faster than usual. “You really mean that?”
“With every beat of my sappy little witchy heart.”
He laughs, and then, just for a second, his fingers tighten around mine.
“You remind me of your mom,” he says, voice suddenly rough.
That knocks the wind out of me. “Yeah?”
“She always been full of spitfire and heart. Never backed down. Always knew when someone needed a hand to hold, even if they didn’t say it. Just like you.”
“Well,” I say, voice catching, “I had good people to raise me.”
“Yes, you did,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee and smiling as if he knows a secret no one else knows.
We sit there a while, just watching Tate fix something along the dock with that signature Holloway determination.
“He’s just like you, you know,” Pete murmurs. “That’s why you’re both so perfect to run Wisteria Cove and look after everyone.”
I look at him.
“That boy’s been looking for a place to land for years, but he found it. Unlike you, he didn't have an excellent mother to raise him.”
My chest tightens. “Yeah, he got robbed there.”
Pete grins. “Look at him. He’s got his very own stubborn Maren girl and a town full of fools who love him. What else does a man need?”
“A cat in a hoodie pocket?”
Pete laughs and coughs again, wiping at his eye like it’s just wind. “You’re gonna make an old man cry.”
“Better tears of laughter than sadness.’”
Pete snorts and nods.
Tate looks up and spots us. He smiles, with that impossibly handsome smile, and heads our way, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Hey, what’s all this? Please say that's for me?” he eyes the coffee in my hand.
“Willa’s on nurse duty,” Pete says snidely. “And emotional support patrol. Real bossy about it, too, you big mouth.”
“She’s good at that,” Tate says, his gaze settling on me with something soft. “Real good.”
I hand him his coffee, and he smiles gratefully and takes it. “Thanks.”
And just like that, the world feels a little less heavy.Because we’re not alone. Not in grief or in love. And never in the messy life that we get to do together.
By the time Tate and I walk into Marco’s for a big family dinner, it smells like garlic, melted cheese, and heaven.Seriously. If heaven had a scent, it would be the buttery crackle of garlic knots and the yeasty, almost-sweet scent of fresh dough rising under the wood fire. Add in the mouth-watering aroma of tomato sauce, the peppery sizzle of sausage, and the faint sweet smell of basil in the air, and it’s enough to make your knees buckle. Yeah, this is heaven.
Marco himself waves from behind the counter, tossing a disk of dough high into the air like he's conducting a symphony. “Willa! You bring the entire coven tonight or just your favorite boy toy?”
Tate coughs behind me.
I glance back and smirk. “Don’t be jealous. You're second only to pizza.”
Tate leans down, mouth near my ear. “I’m fine being second. As long as I get dessert.”
I flush all the way to my fingertips and nudge him with my hip.
