Page 38 of Charmed, I’m Sure (Witches of Bellevue #1)

Come here often?

Magnolia

Taylor

Good morning, beautiful.

Magnolia

Oh, so you do still have my number.

Taylor

I see you’re still upset with me.

Magnolia

One orgasm does not equal forgiveness, cowboy.

Taylor

What about multiple?

Magnolia

*Side eye emoji*

Taylor

It’s okay, sunshine. I’m a patient man.

I wore you down once, I can do it again *winking emoji*

“Delivery!” Jaelyn sing-songed sardonically over the chime of the door. “ Again.”

I looked up to see a massive bouquet of flowers obscuring her face. “Another one?”

Between the arrangements Taylor had sent to CharCutie and my house, I looked like I was running a florist shop. It had been cute and sweet the first couple of times. Now? Ridiculous.

“That boy is working overtime for your forgiveness,” Jae quipped, setting the vase on the kitchen counter. “What is this? Number five?”

“Seven, actually.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.” I popped the p with enough force to make it echo. “He’s been sending them to my house, too.”

“Geezums, Mags. What did he do that he thinks requires drowning you in flowers?”

I walked around the counter and buried my face in the petals.

Roses the color of a sunset, deep-pink daisies, crimson chrysanthemums, and a few blooms I recognized but could never remember the name of, brushed against my cheeks.

The floral scent was heady, intoxicating.

Of all the bouquets so far, this one was my favorite.

“He ignored me for days,” I muttered, pulling the card from the center.

A reluctant smile tugged at my lips as my eyes skimmed the messy scrawl: I could totally go for some you right now.

Persistent didn’t begin to cover it.

“So, what? You’re ignoring him back?” Jae’s caramel eyes sparkled with mischief as she waggled her brows.

“Not exactly. But a little groveling never hurt anyone.”

“God, I love when you’re in your villain era.” She laughed.

Sliding the card back into its holder, I carried the flowers to the office. Just as I returned to the kitchen, my phone vibrated, Taylor’s ringtone spilling through the air.

“Do you own a monopoly on flowers or something?” I asked instead of greeting him.

“Hello to you, too.”

“Taylor, you need to stop. This is too much,” I chided lightly.

“Have you forgiven me yet?”

Had I?

I flopped into my chair, swiveling back and forth as I propped my elbow on the armrest. It had been a week since the incident—and the orgasm.

I could understand freaking out over Addy confronting him.

I might have done the same. But shutting me out afterward?

That still stung. And no amount of flowers could fix it.

“I’ll take your silence as a no,” Taylor surmised. There was a lightness to his tone, though, one that told me he wasn’t giving up anytime soon. Against my better judgment, a small smile crept onto my lips.

“You can’t buy forgiveness, cowboy. And as pretty as the flowers are, they’re not really… me.”

“What do you need me to do, Mags?”

I exhaled heavily. “I need communication, and ours is absolute crap. If this is—if we’re—going to work, we have to talk.”

“So, there’s still a chance?” he asked animatedly.

I groaned, and the line went silent for a beat, then two, before he spoke again. “Sorry. I know you’re right. But it’s something we’ll have to work on—both of us.”

“I know,” I admitted softly. I wasn’t blameless. I had my walls—thick, reinforced ones, built from a childhood full of letdowns. My sisters always said I was like a grimy window: people had to scrub away the dirt to find the clear glass beneath.

Maybe they weren’t wrong.

“Are you busy this weekend?” Taylor asked hesitantly.

“I have a catering job on Saturday,” I said, grateful for the work. Business at the shop had slowed to a crawl, and every little bit helped.

“What about Friday?”

“Prepping all day. Sunday?”

“That should work. Brunch?”

“Mags, do you want me to lock up so we can go to the store?” Jae hollered from somewhere in the shop.

“Yeah, that’s fine!” I called back. Returning to the phone, I added, “It’s a date.”

“Great. I’ll text you the details.”

“Bye, cowboy.”

“See you soon, sunshine.”

“Can you fix the tablecloths on the banquet table and adjust the centerpieces on the high tops, please?” I asked one of the waitstaff as they passed.

They nodded briskly, and I thanked them profusely before heading back to the kitchen.

I was a nervous wreck.

This was the biggest party I’d ever catered, and the sheer number of moving parts had me two seconds away from hyperventilating into a paper bag.

“Ms. Bellevue?” A smooth, lilting voice interrupted my spiral.

“Oh, Mrs. Stephens! Hi, hello. How are you today?” My nerves seeped into every syllable, and I internally groaned. I was supposed to be a professional, and I was quite certain I looked like a floundering idiot.

“I’m well, dear. Thank you.”

Mary Stephens looked like the archetype of an uptight principal, with her slicked-back bun, pressed slacks, and small, rimmed glasses perched on her upturned nose. But she was one of the sweetest people I’d ever had the pleasure of working with.

“Everything looks gorgeous out front, and the food smells divine. You’re going to make my clients very happy, of that I’m sure.”

“I can’t wait to meet them,” I replied with a nervous smile.

I still had no idea who this party was for, and that was seriously unnerving. Mary had been the middleman for every step of the process, from the tasting menu to the final selections. All I knew was that the clients were a young engaged couple hosting an intimate gathering.

A delighted squeal from the backyard drew our attention. Mary turned back to me with a grin. “Guess now’s as good a time as any to introduce you.”

Taylor

My mother was going to kill me.

I should have been here over an hour ago. She’d been blowing up my phone, alternating between angry texts and increasingly impatient voicemails.

But I’d finally gotten the keys to the little house Magnolia and I had looked at over a month ago.

The entire day had been spent hauling boxes, unpacking, and making lists of all the things I still needed to buy to fill that very empty house.

Sure, I had some stuff in storage, but it was all broke med-student and barely-ever-at-home residency furniture that was practically falling apart when I picked it up off of one of those buy, sell, trade pages on the internet.

So yeah, I was late.

“Fuck me,” I muttered, pulling into my parents’ driveway. Cars lined up and down the drive, and halfway down the street. I hit the call button on my steering wheel. “Call Dad.”

“You better be lost or dying, son,” he answered with a chuckle.

“I’m here. Where am I supposed to park? Did Mom and Addy invite the whole damn parish?”

“Feels like it. She blocked off parking near the shed. I’d hurry, though. She’s about to send out a search party.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be in in a minute.” Hanging up, I navigated toward the family parking area—complete with a sign, because of course, there was.

Christmas music assaulted my ears as I stepped out of the car, and I groaned. For weeks, my mom and sister had tortured me with their carefully curated playlist.

I wasn’t a Scrooge. I liked Christmas. But my mom was basically Mrs. Claus with a southern accent as soon as Thanksgiving dinner ended, and Addy was her protégé. So naturally, her engagement party was Christmas-themed.

At least it was December and not in the middle of the summer.

Bing Crosby’s White Christmas filled the air as I rounded the house.

Strings of white lights crisscrossed the backyard, framing a makeshift dance floor.

The oaks at the yard’s edge shimmered under their own strands, and a giant fake tree stood in the living room.

They’d really gone all out, not that I was surprised in the slightest.

My dad spotted me first. He gave a quick head shake toward the bar before I could greet him.

I barely turned when my mom’s voice cut through the crowd. “Taylor Michael Hallows, you’re late.”

Sighing, I spun on my heel and met the harsh, disapproving gaze of my mother. “Hi, Ma. You look lovely tonight.”

“And you’re late,” she repeated, her tone still sharp.

Crossing the distance, I kissed her cheek and felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders. “Sorry, I got buried in boxes and lost track of… time.”

I trailed off as a familiar flash of pink and blue caught my eye. My breath hitched.

What she doing here?

“Taylor, are you even listening to me?” my mom demanded and I pulled my attention from where I could have sworn Magnolia was chatting with one of my cousins.

“Sorry, Ma. What were you saying?”

She groaned, threw her hands up, muttering something about no one ever listening to her, as she stalked off.

By the time I looked back, the flash of color was gone. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me.

Convinced it was my imagination playing tricks on me, I headed toward the bar. If I was going to have to hug and make small talk with a bunch of extended family that I only saw for major life events, I was going to need a drink… or three.

“What’ll you have?” the woman behind the bar asked as I approached. She looked twelve, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from asking her if she was old enough to even be near alcohol.

“Whiskey neat.”

“Can I get a glass of cab, please?”

My head snapped toward the voice. Aqua-blue eyes locked with mine, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips as she held my gaze.

She was stunning.

Her high ponytail fell over her shoulder, the black bow tied at the top making her look effortlessly playful. But her eyes—god, her eyes—had always been my undoing.

“Come here often?” she teased, one brow arching as the bartender handed her the wine.

Before I could answer, Addy’s voice rang out. “Tay Tay!”

Magnolia bit her lip, no doubt hiding a smirk as Addy threw herself into my arms.

“You made it!” Addy beamed before gesturing toward Mags. “And I see you’ve met my fabulous caterer.”

Magnolia’s lips twitched. “Tay Tay?”

“Watch it, Magpie,” I warned. “Only Addy gets to call me that.”

Magnolia’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the ire they’d held the last time I saw her was missing. The lights from the tree danced in their aquamarine depths, and I had the overwhelming urge to kiss her. Right there. In front of everyone I knew.

Instead, I gave her a wink and shifted my attention back to my sister, nearly missing the faint blush that colored her cheeks as I turned. “You look beautiful tonight, sis. You and Mom certainly outdid yourselves.”

“Oh, please. I tried to scale it back, but you know Mama.”

That I did. Our mother couldn’t do anything less than two-hundred percent, and her only daughter’s engagement party—and subsequent wedding—was no exception.

Addy, oblivious as ever, continued gushing about Magnolia’s food. When she called it “orgasmic,” Mags sputtered, nearly choking on her wine. The ensuing blush on her cheeks nearly undid me.

“I—I’ll just go check on the kitchen,” she stammered before hurrying off.

I watched her weave through the throng of people, then once she turned in the direction of the kitchen, I snapped my gaze back to my sister. “You really couldn’t come up with a better adjective?”

Addy shrugged. “I’m going to go hunt down my future hubby. Make sure he’s not cornered somewhere by nosey aunties.” Then with a wink and a jerk of her head toward the kitchen, she disappeared into the crowd.

Fucking sisters, man.

After dodging relatives for close to an hour, I slipped into the kitchen.

The noise hit me first—a chorus of “Yes, Chef” echoed as Magnolia directed her team. She moved effortlessly, checking sauces, tasting dishes, and adjusting plating with the precision of an artist.

I leaned against the wall, captivated.

This was her element, and aside from seeing her put together charcuterie boards at the one Meat-Cute I’d been to, I’d never seen her like this.

She was flawless as she flitted back and forth from the stove, stirring and tasting before moving back to her cutting board on the island.

I’d seen my mom cook when I was growing up, hell, even I knew my way around a kitchen, but watching Magnolia was like watching a dance—fluid, graceful, and every step done with a purpose.

When the staff cleared out, I broke the silence. “Come here often?”

Magnolia jumped, dropping her knife. “Shitfuckgoddamnit,” she groaned, clutching her hand to her chest. Her eyes were pinched closed as she bounced from foot to foot.

“Mags?” I closed the distance in seconds. “You okay?”

“No, I’m not okay! Don’t you know better than to sneak up on someone with a knife!?”

“You cut yourself?”

Magnolia’s eyes flew open, her gaze crashing into me with fury blazing in their depths. “No, asshole, I just felt like doing a little jig in the middle of the kitchen while spewing expletives.”

“At least your vocabulary’s intact.”

“Bite me.”

“Love to, cher. But first, let me see your hand.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to finish chopping off your finger, obviously. Now, let me see it.”

She finally unfurled her fingers. Blood coated her palm.

“Run it under cold water. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you—wait. Don’t get your dad. I’ll die of embarrassment.”

I smirked. “Why would I get my dad?”

“For stitches?”

Shaking my head, I turned to retrieve my medical bag as confusion twisted her features. “Keep your hand under the water, I’ll be right back.”

When I returned, she was hunched over the sink.

“Alright, that’s probably good,” I said, resting my hand on the small of her back.

Magnolia groaned and stood upright, wincing as she examined her fingers. When I placed my bag on the counter, her brows quirked and she asked, “What’s that?”

“It’s a medical bag.”

“Just because your dad is a doctor doesn’t mean you are, cowboy.”

“You’re right,” I said with a chuckle. “But my doctorate in emergency medicine and job at West Baptist does.”

“Wait… what?”

I opened the bag and started pulling things out. “Okay, lemme see.”

“Woah, hold up. You’re a doctor?!”

“Mags, baby, you can ask me all the questions you want to while I look at your hand. Now, let me see it.”

Magnolia hesitantly placed her hand in mine, and I cautiously dabbed away the water and blood as it began pooling again. “It doesn’t look too bad,” I explained as I gently rotated her knuckles in the light. “Good news is that you don’t need stitches.”

“Is there bad news?” she asked.

“I’ll have to wrap it.”

She groaned, her head falling back in exasperation. “But I need my hand.”

“I know, I’m sorry. You’ll still be able to bend them, but the more you do, the more the cuts will reopen.”

“Great,” she groaned. “Anything else?”

“The antiseptic burns like a bitch.”