Page 39 of Charmed, I’m Sure (Witches of Bellevue #1)

Alas, there’s no knob

Magnolia

“Fucking hell!” I spat through clenched teeth as Taylor poured what felt like molten lava over my knuckles.

“I’m sorry, baby. Almost done.”

“Mother above, that hurts.”

I bounced on my toes, exhaling a shaky breath when he finally stopped and dabbed at my hand with a blue towel he’d pulled from his bag.

“You doing alright, sunshine?” he asked, his tone laced with amusement.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little.”

“You’re the reason I’m injured, and you’re laughing at me?”

“Whoa, now. You were holding the knife, Mags, not me.”

“You startled me!”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My irritation flared, and I fought the urge to slap him—or at least aim for his shins.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said, a note of sincerity softening his voice. Then his lips twitched at the corners, betraying his amusement.

“I can’t believe you’re enjoying my pain,” I huffed.

“No, baby.” His hands were gentle as he smoothed ointment over my knuckles and wrapped them in what looked like a fancy Band-Aid.

“What I’m enjoying is taking care of you.

And maybe”—his voice dipped, sending a shiver through me—“the fact that I get to touch you while my family and their friends are just on the other side of that door.”

His words hit me square in the chest, igniting a flurry of butterflies. His eyes held mine with a tenderness that made my breath hitch. As he brushed a stray strand of hair from my face and cupped my cheek, goosebumps erupted along my skin.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice impossibly soft.

“I think I’ll live,” I whispered. Had he moved closer? His lips hovered a hair’s breadth from mine, his gaze flicking down to my lips and back up, over and over.

“I’d really like to kiss you right now,” he said, his breath warming my skin, “but I don’t want to overstep—or mess up your lipstick.”

“It’s a stain,” I replied, my voice barely audible.

It’s a stain? What the hell was wrong with me?

I was supposed to be mad at him. But one superhero moment, a few sweet words, and I was a puddle of goo.

Being around Taylor Hallows was like riding a rollercoaster: thrilling, unpredictable, and downright dizzying.

“Is that permission?” he asked with a low chuckle, tugging me closer.

I opened my mouth to answer—yes, no? Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I was about to say—when the kitchen door swung open. We leapt apart like shrapnel.

Jae stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, her wide eyes dancing with mischief. “I was going to ask if you needed a sock on the door, but alas, no knob.”

“I cut myself. Taylor was just helping me bandage it,” I said in a rush, my cheeks flaming. Jae’s raised brows said it all. She wasn’t buying any of it. I knew it. She knew it. Hell, the crickets outside probably knew it, too.

“Uh-huh. And did you also require mouth-to-mouth? Because it sure looked like his lips were on yours when I walked in.”

“Jae!” I chided, but she just grinned.

“Fine, fine. I’ll be over here if you need me for more ‘medical emergencies.’”

Before I could respond, Mary Stephens entered, glowing with happiness. “Magnolia! Everyone loved the food. The bride is over the moon!”

Hearing praise for my creations never got old; my heart flipped at the compliment. “I’m so glad to hear it. Is there anything else the couple needs?”

Mary shook her head. “No, they’re winding down out there. The bride sent me to insist you take a break and enjoy the rest of the party.”

“Oh, I can’t—”

“The bride insists,” Mary interrupted, her tone firm. “And what the bride wants—”

“The bride gets,” Taylor finished with a smirk.

Mary beamed at me. “Thank you, Magnolia. You were a dream to work with.”

“So were you, Mrs. Stephens.”

“Please call me Mary. Mrs. Stephens is my mother-in-law, and plus, I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the future.” Her gaze flicked knowingly between Taylor and me before she left.

“Well, you heard her.” Jae clapped her hands together. “Go enjoy the party.”

“But the kitchen—”

“Will be fine,” she cut in. “The waitstaff and I have it covered. Now, go.”

Taylor packed up his supplies, his hand warm on the small of my back as he guided me toward the door. “Shall we?”

“But the kitchen—”

“Will be fine without you,” Taylor said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Bride’s orders, remember?”

I hesitated, glancing around the room. The kitchen was my sanctuary, my refuge in the chaos. Sure, it wasn’t a complete disaster—I cleaned as I worked—but there was still plenty left to do.

Jae seemed to sense my reluctance. “I have your list, Mags. I know what needs to be done and where everything goes. I’ve got this. Go have some fun.”

With a resigned groan, I let Taylor steer me out of the kitchen and into what remained of the party.

Most of the guests had already gone, but laughter still spilled from the living room, where a few stragglers mingled. Taylor’s hand stayed firmly on my lower back, grounding me as he led me past the noise and out into the crisp night air.

The backyard looked like something out of a holiday movie. Twinkling Christmas lights draped across the trees, casting a soft glow over the empty dance floor set up in the middle of the expansive yard.

“Do you think anyone even used the dance floor?” I asked, leaning against the deck railing.

Taylor stepped behind me, his warmth seeping into my back as he wrapped his arms around my waist. I felt his shrug more than I saw it.

“Someone’s about to.”

“What?” I turned, only to find him holding out his hand, an invitation in his eyes.

“Dance with me, cher.”

“But your family—”

“Is either preoccupied or drunk off their asses.” His voice was low, his expression soft. “It’s just you and me out here. Dance with me. Please?”

“But there’s no music,” I protested weakly, grasping for an excuse.

Taylor quirked a brow, pulling his phone from his pocket. Moments later, Norah Jones’ Come Away With Me flowed into the stillness.

“Have you run out of excuses yet?” he asked, his lips curving into a teasing smile.

“I’m sure I could come up with a few more,” I mused, sliding my hand into his.

“But?”

“But I don’t want to.”

His grin widened, and my knees nearly gave out. This—these small, unspoken gestures—was what I needed. Not grand declarations or sweeping gestures, but the little things. The slow dances, the stolen moments, the quiet intimacy of just being.

As Taylor pulled me into his arms and swayed to the music, careful of my bandaged hand, a feeling I hadn’t allowed myself to embrace in a long time unfurled in my chest. His touch was steady, his presence grounding, and the world melted away as the song wrapped around us.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked when the track shifted into another melody.

I hadn’t been thinking much, to be honest—just losing myself in the feeling of being held by him. But his question brought the outside world rushing back in.

“Were you going to invite me to be your date tonight?”

“What?”

“For this. The engagement party.”

His sheepish expression told me everything I needed to know before he spoke.

“Taylor…”

He blew out a heavy breath. “No. I thought it might be too soon to meet my family when we haven’t even been on a public date yet.”

“So why did you ask me out tonight?” I demanded, my voice rising.

Taylor grimaced. “I thought… I don’t know. I just wanted to spend time with you. Alone.”

“Taylor Hallows, tell me you were not planning to ditch your sister’s engagement party.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you,” he muttered.

“Taylor!” I tried to pull away, but he tightened his hold on me, and—sweet baby cheeses—either he’d stashed a salami in his pocket, or…

His smug grin confirmed my suspicions, and I groaned.

“I asked you out tonight because I wanted to show you something,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

Is it the sausage in your pants? My mind veered straight into the gutter, but I managed to bite back the words.

“What do you want to show me?”

Instead of answering, he twined his fingers with mine and started leading me toward the side of the house.

“Wait, where are we going?”

Taylor glanced over his shoulder, his smile sly. “You’ll see.”

I pulled my hand free and stepped back. “Not until you tell me.”

With a low growl, he closed the gap between us in two strides, wrapping me in his arms. His lips descended on mine, and I melted like butter on a hot skillet. Kissing Taylor was intoxicating—my mind hazy, my body light, every nerve alive with sensation.

When he finally pulled back, his breath warm against my cheek, I could barely string two words together.

“Are you going to tell me now?” I managed, my voice embarrassingly breathless.

He shook his head, grinning as he laced his fingers through mine again. “Trust me.”

“Can I at least grab my purse?” I asked, still trying to regain control of the situation—or at least my heart rate.

“It’s already in your car,” Jae called from the doorway.

“Jesus, do you have a GPS tracker on her or something?” Taylor yelled back, exasperation tinging his voice.

“No, but maybe I should, considering how often you try to whisk her away,” Jae shot back, her grin audible in her words.

I stifled a laugh as Taylor pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Would you be nice?” I whispered, nudging him with my elbow.

“Baby, we’ve been interrupted more times than I care to count. Three of those times were by her,” he muttered, nodding toward Jae.

“I thought you weren’t counting,” I teased, earning a playful glare.

He stepped closer, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. The intimate gesture sent a shiver down my spine. “I just want you to myself for once. Is that such a bad thing?”

“No, it’s not,” I admitted, my voice softer than I intended. Rising onto my toes, I pressed a quick kiss to his lips, savoring the way his arms instinctively tightened around me.

“If y’all are quite finished,” Jae interrupted, her tone dripping with mock impatience. “Mags, would you kindly grab your purse so I can go home?”

“Go,” Taylor murmured, tugging me toward the car.

Taylor

“Taylor,” Magnolia drew out my name, her voice tinged with suspicion as I turned onto the winding driveway of my new house. She leaned forward in her seat, squinting into the darkness as if it might reveal my intentions.

I hummed in response, unwilling to trust my mouth—or my brain—to form coherent words.

Nerves prickled along my spine as the gravel crunched beneath the tires.

The feeling caught me off guard. I’d been so sure about this step, about planting roots and starting a life of my own.

But as I stole a glance at Magnolia, her face a mixture of curiosity and unease, one thought consumed me: I hope she likes it.

The headlights illuminated the front of the house, and Magnolia gasped.

“What are we doing here?” she demanded, sitting bolt upright. “Taylor, we can’t be here!”

“Why not?” I asked, fighting back a grin as I put the car in park.

“Because it’s someone’s house! You can’t just show up at someone’s house uninvited!” She was whisper-yelling, as if the homeowners might overhear.

“It is someone’s house, sunshine.” I pulled the keys from the console, dangling them in front of her. “It’s mine.”

Her eyes went wide. “You…you bought the house?”

“I did.”

“But why?”

Instead of answering, I stepped out of the car and rounded to her side, opening her door. Magnolia stayed rooted in her seat, staring at me as if I’d just told her I was the heir to a secret kingdom.

“Taylor, what are you doing?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Sliding my hands up her thighs, I let my thumbs brush the hem of her dress. Her breath hitched, and I leaned closer, steeling myself for what I was about to say.

“I bought this house—this house—because you fell in love with it,” I said, my voice low and steady.

“Because I couldn’t picture anyone else in that kitchen.

I couldn’t imagine anyone else swinging on that porch swing, watching the sunset with me.

I want you here, Magnolia. I want us here. I’m all in.”

The words hung between us, heavy with meaning. My heart pounded as I waited for her response.

Magnolia launched herself at me, her arms wrapping around my neck as her lips found mine. The force of her kiss knocked me back a step, but I recovered quickly, my hands locking around her waist to hold her close.

Her kiss was everything—fierce, desperate, and all-consuming. Weeks of pent-up tension ignited between us, burning away every doubt, every hesitation.

When I finally pulled back, it was only because I needed to hear her say it. Needed to know where she stood when it came to us.

“Everything okay?” she asked, her voice breathless, her hands resting over my thundering heart.

“Mags, what are we?” The words came out rougher than I intended, but I didn’t care. I needed to know. “Are we just…seeing what happens? Are you my girlfriend? Are we—”

“Do you want me to be your girlfriend?” she interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you want to be?” I countered, my heart hammering in my chest.

Her cheeks flushed, and she dropped her gaze, but I wasn’t letting her hide. Tilting her chin up, I held her gaze.

“I want you to be my everything, Magnolia,” I said firmly. “I told you—I’m in this. Both feet, firmly planted, with you.”

“You really bought this house because I loved it?”

“I did.”

Her lips curved into a slow, radiant smile. Then, like a magnet, she leaned into me, her hands fisting in my shirt.

“Well, boyfriend,” she murmured, her voice teasing but her eyes shining, “I guess you’d better show me inside.”

Fucking hell.