Page 63 of A Spell for Midwinter's Heart
“Too bad I didn’t bring my suit,” mused Rowan as she settled into a chair next to the fire.
“That’s never stopped anyone from a sauna,” said Gavin with a chuckle. He scrambled to follow up with “There are towels. I didn’t mean to suggest…”
But it was too late. She was already blushing. Towels didn’t alter the equation significantly—they were, after all, flimsy things, prone to gaping or even slipping off entirely. They could be removed so much more easily than a swimsuit.
She shoved a bite of potatoes into her mouth to cover the thought. They were perfect—crisp on the outside, the normally mealy interior of the potato rendered rich and smooth.
“This is delicious,” she said, spearing another potato. “And refreshingly normal.”
“Normal?” asked Gavin, as he settled into the chair next to her.
“Yeah, you didn’t try to sous vide me an egg or something…Sorry, I went on some dates with this guy who ‘liked to cook,’ and what it really meant was he enjoyed collectingcooking gadgets.”
“Mmm. I know the type. Food’s a project, not a meal.”
“Bingo.”
His eyes danced as he said, “So, if I admit I own a sous vide, is the whole thing off?”
Laughing, she shook her head. “It’s clear you are in it for more than the gadgets, so I think we can let that slide.”
The forest was old here. Stately evergreens towered overhead, their boughs covered with clinging piles of snow. Now and then, there was a crack, and a cascade fell from one of those boughs in a sheet. Rowan closed her eyes and breathed it in, realizing how good it was to stop and simply enjoy a moment.
When they’d cleared their plates, she sighed in contentment and said, “Thank you for bringing me out here.”
“I had a feeling you needed it.” He paused before continuing, “To be honest—I needed it too.”
“Speaking of not relaxing, though…” She pulled out her phone and scooted her chair to smash it next to his. “Look at what Zaide, Naomie, and Kel have been up to.”
They had added more posts since the morning. A clip from the vintage puppet theater was the most recent. It featured the hand-painted Santa dueling a grinning Krampus over the fate of a bag of presents beneath a red velvet curtain corded with gold. The audience of children squealed in delight, along with a hopping crow.
“I didn’t realize the festival had any social media,” said Gavin.
“It didn’t—until last night. Naomie’s driven a lot of traffic to it already.”
“Naomie LeGrand? I didn’t realize you two were friends.”
“We didn’t use to be, but I’ve known her grandmother, Birdie, my whole life…” Rowan hesitated before mentioning the old woman’s participation in the coven. Her mother’s warning flashed in her mind, and instead she simply said, “Birdie was my grandmother’s best friend.” At the mention of her grandmother, her voice caught.
Her grief must have been noticeable because his face softened. “You two were close?”
“She and I had a lot in common. Things…no one else really understands.”
A new dimension of her grief revealed itself in that moment—not a new feeling, just one she now had the words to understand. When you lost a person, you lost not only them; you lost who you were to them.
Granddaughter, confidante, partner in magics most foul.
“She could be frustrating,” she finally continued, “but then…I guess so can I.”
“Better to frustrate people being who you are than hide yourself to avoid ruffling feathers.”
“You should tell that to my mom,” she said with a sigh. His forehead wrinkled and his eyes sharpened, and Rowan rushed to defend her mother. “I don’t mean to say that she criticizes everything I do. We just have a few…philosophical differences.”
From his expression, it was clear he didn’t buy her justifications.
How did he always see right through her?
Trying to move the conversation on, Rowan lifted the phone and flashed the image of the festival’s feed. “Mom was totally against this. I don’t know how we’re going to convince her of more…drastic changes.”
