Page 45 of Charmed, I’m Sure (Witches of Bellevue #1)

Touché, Dr. Hallows. Touché.

Taylor

“What about this one?” Magnolia asked, plopping down on what had to be one of the most uncomfortable-looking couches I’d ever seen. She stretched her arms over the backrest, a barely concealed smirk playing on her lips.

We both knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that monstrosity was coming anywhere near my house, but I sank—and I do mean sank, because the cushion practically swallowed me whole—down next to her anyway. “Could work. Just needs a little—”

“More stuffing? New fabric? To be burned in a bonfire and never thought of again?”

I gasped in feigned outrage, hand flying to my chest as I met her aqua gaze. “How very dare you. This is a masterpiece.”

“A masterpiece for a dumpster fire,” she shot back with a laugh.

“Hey, you picked it, and I’m a sucker for anything related to you. So, obviously, this is the winner.”

“I know you’re joking. But just for clarity's sake, if this couch goes home with you, I won’t.”

The mischief in her eyes told a different story, so I leaned in, close enough that my nose brushed her ear. “Yes, you would. And you’d love every single second of me sinking you into these cushions.”

A shiver ran down her spine as she turned to meet my gaze, but the quirk of her lips had my smirk faltering. “I think the couch beat you to it, cowboy.”

A laugh exploded from my chest, Magnolia joining in as we both slipped deeper into the cavernous trap somehow marketed as a couch.

“How we doin’ over here, folks?” A bubbly redheaded sales clerk appeared, her grin far too wide to be endearing.

“We’re fine, thanks. Just looking,” I said, stifling a laugh as Magnolia wiggled against the deep-seated cushions, her escape attempts failing spectacularly.

“Well, if y’all need anything, my name’s Katie, and I’ll be around.”

“Thanks, Katie,” Magnolia grunted, still flailing in the couch’s grasp.

“Hang on, sunshine,” I chuckled as Katie walked away.

“She could’ve at least offered to drag us out of this devil’s nightmare,” she grumbled, blowing a stray strand of hair from her face.

Scooting to the edge, I pushed to standing and held my hands out. “Upsy daisy, sunshine.”

“You’re so weird.” Laughter laced her voice as she grasped my hands and let me tug her to her feet.

“Perhaps,” I said matter-of-factly, pulling her into my arms and pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “But then again, so are you.”

“Touché, Dr. Hallows. Touché.” Wrapping her arms around my waist, she kissed me briefly before turning to scan the rest of the showroom. “Want to look at the sectionals?”

Words died on my lips as I took her in. She looked everywhere but at me, oblivious to the way my heart tried to claw its way out of my chest every time she touched me.

I wasn’t sure when this feeling would stop—if it ever would.

I didn’t think I’d ever tire of her presence, of wanting her in my grasp, even if it was just basking in her gaze from across a crowded room.

She’d become a source of light in my life, her smile brightening my days, her wit and sarcasm keeping me perpetually on my toes.

And like a kick to the gut, that elusive four-letter word I’d been fighting back with a goddamn two-by-four came skipping to the forefront of my mind.

“Taylor?”

My name on her lips pulled me from my thoughts.

All I could do was smile. She was simply breathtaking—clusters of freckles dusted across her cheeks and nose like tiny constellations, full lips tinted the barest hint of pink from the lip balm she’d applied before we walked in.

Effortlessly beautiful. And I was the lucky bastard who got to call her mine.

“If you stare any harder, cowboy, you’re going to bore holes into my face.”

“Sorry, sunshine.” I pressed a kiss to her brow. “Can’t help it.”

Despite the snarky roll of her eyes, a flush colored her cheeks. “Come on, Casanova. Let’s find you some furniture.”

We meandered through the store for the better part of an hour, testing every couch that seemed even remotely reasonable.

Magnolia, ever the planner, had brought a measuring tape despite the clearly labeled dimensions—not that I pointed it out.

I loved watching her determination to make my house a home, transforming it from just a space with four walls and a roof into something lived in, something ours.

Little did she know, I would have been happy with just a mattress on the floor and candlelight, as long as she was the one I shared it with.

When we’d—or rather, I’d, since she insisted the final decision was mine—finally settled on everything, Magnolia practically skipped toward Katie with the list of item numbers.

I may be a doctor, but even I was grateful for payment plans as we walked back to my car, my wallet significantly lighter.

I was now the proud owner of a sectional with way too many pillows, a dining table and chairs, a rug I didn’t actually hate, a coffee table, an accent chair—whatever the hell that meant—and some actual bedside tables to replace the boxes I’d been using.

There was still more I needed, but at least the main areas of the house were covered.

“So, what’s next?” I asked as we settled in the car, flipping Magnolia’s seat warmer on since Louisiana had apparently decided to take December seriously this year.

“How do you feel about Christmas decorations?”

I quirked a brow at the giddy smile spreading across her face. “They’re fine, I guess?”

“Fine? You guess?! Taylor, whatever-your-middle-name-is, Hallows—”

“Michael.”

“What?”

“My middle name is Michael, sunshine.”

“Ah, thank you. Taylor Michael Hallows!” She clapped her hands together. “Christmas is the best holiday. The lights, the sparkle, the whimsy!” Each word became more wistful as she listed reasons to love it.

But I only needed one.

And that reason was sitting beside me, waving her hands around in excitement.

“Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me.” I grabbed her hands, pressing a kiss to her knuckles simply because I could—and because it made her cheeks turn a delicious shade of pink. “We can decorate the house.”

The house.

Not my house.

Because the more time I spent with her—the more I didn’t want to ever let her go. And the more those four walls became just as much hers as they were mine.

Magnolia

The smell of freshly baked cookies wafted through the whole of CharCutie, their sweet scent seeping into every nook and cranny—and, judging by the way people paused outside the windows, likely drifting into the street as well.

I loved Christmastime—the food, the festivals, the lights—but this time of year was always carried a bittersweet edge.

The pain of losing my parents all those years ago still lingered day to day, but as the anniversary of their deaths loomed closer, it flared into an agonizing ache.

Christmas had been my mom’s favorite holiday, and she always went out of her way to make it special.

She let Maddie and me help her bake cookies—planting the seed of my love for all things baking—while singing carols and dancing around the kitchen with my dad.

White Christmas played on the TV as we decorated the tree, and we spent hours driving through neighborhoods, admiring the light displays.

After we went to live with my aunt twenty-two years ago, she made sure to keep those traditions alive. She just added the Winter Solstice celebration to the mix when we’d learned about our heritage.

We still decorated a tree, hung mistletoe, baked gingerbread, exchanged gifts, and otherwise made merry like everyone else.

But we also honored something deeper. There were rituals and dancing to ground ourselves in nature’s rhythm, a way to wait for the darkest days to end and the light to return.

It was invigorating. Healing. And this year, I needed it more than ever.

Still, we strung icicle lights—Mom’s favorite—along the porch and watched every cheesy Christmas movie we could find, even though they were all the same story with different actors.

White Christmas still played as we hung ornaments on the tree, each of us taking on a character’s role and reciting their lines—I was always Betty.

And I still sang every holiday song at the top of my lungs like the merriest, most off-key caroler in the history of Bellevue.

Or, at the very least, hummed along—which was what I was doing as I plopped another ball of dough onto the cookie sheet.

It would have been easy to let my grief overwhelm me, to let it drag me into the winter darkness. But it took effort to embrace the joy of the season, and that was what my mom would have wanted. So I did my damndest to try.

Dusting my hands off on my apron, I covered the final tray of prepared cookie dough in cling wrap and slid it onto the rack bound for the cooler. By the time I finished cleaning, the last batch of cookies was ready. And so was I.

Tonight was the town’s Winter Festival, and I was beyond nervous.

I went every year, but somehow, I’d let Taylor talk me into going with him.

Which meant walking through town, hand in hand, in front of everyone.

This wasn’t a soft launch of our relationship—it was a headfirst leap off a cliff.

A giant, blinking neon sign that screamed Look at me!

I’m with Taylor Hallows! It took everything I had not to melt into a puddle of panic.

With a deep breath, I shook out my hands and tried to expel all the anxiety that was determined to take root. Then I hung my apron back on its hook, packed the warm cookies into a box, and headed toward the office to grab my purse and keys.

With the festival happening, all the shops in town were closing early—including mine. And since it was only two in the afternoon, I still had plenty of time to help Aunt Evie and my sisters decorate the tree before Taylor came to pick me up.

Taking a quick glance back out the front windows to make sure there wasn’t anyone standing around outside, I sent a wave of magic through CharCutie, closing the main area for the night.

As the overhead lights and display cases dimmed, the warm white Christmas strands I’d draped across the windows and the flocked tree—complete with bakery-style ornaments and pink crystal garland—beside the door lit the space in a warm, happy glow.

Purse, keys, and cookies in hand, I stepped out the back door—only to halt when it hit something with a dull thud.

I peeked around the edge and found a long, rectangular crimson box resting on the stoop, tied with a white ribbon. A smile tugged at my lips as I let out a soft laugh, already pulling my phone from my pocket.

Magnolia

Gee, I wonder who this could be from *eyes emoji*

I snapped a picture, sent the text, and tucked my phone away before bending to pick up the box.

Something faintly rancid filled my nose as I made my way toward my car.

I glanced around, searching for the source, but decided it had to be the dumpsters.

It sure as hell wasn’t the cookies I was carrying.

After jostling all of my belongings, I slid into my car, tossed my purse onto the passenger seat and gingerly placed the cookies beside it. The moment the engine purred to life, I cranked up the heat and connected my phone, and let my holiday station play.

Settling in, I lifted the lid of the mystery box—

And gagged.

The rancid stench from outside thickened, mingling with something that smelled like dirt.

Every warning bell in my soul blared. My fingers stilled, the lid hovering millimeters from its base.

I should close it and toss it in the nearest dumpster. Walk away. Forget I ever saw it.

But some stubborn, reckless part of me had to know. Had to see with my own eyes what I somehow knew I would find in that box.

Swallowing hard, I took a fortifying breath and lifted the lid the rest of the way.

Nestled inside, on a bed of black silk, lay a dozen long-stemmed, wilted roses. Their petals were coated in dirt and something else—something that made my stomach churn. Tiny movements caught my eye. Something was crawling in the soil.

A strangled noise scraped up my throat. I threw my door open and flung the offending gift to the ground as I dry heaved.

Sweat dampened my brow as I braced myself against the car, breath coming in ragged pants. Who the hell would do something like that?

Anger surged, hot and blinding. My jaw ached from clenching my teeth, from swallowing back the tears that were fighting to get free.

With a growl, I reached down to grab the lid from where it had landed in the footwell. I was about to chuck it out the door with the rest of that disgusting gift—

Then I saw it.

A slip of paper, tucked beneath the ribbon.

You should throw it away.

But I didn’t.

Jaw tight, I yanked out the note and tossed the lid onto the pavement. Someone else could deal with that mess. I wasn’t touching it again.

Shutting my eyes, I took a deep breath and unfolded the paper.

Bonfire Night is coming.

And last time I checked, witches make great kindling.

My breath caught in my throat. My stomach twisted, nausea rising again.

Bonfire Night was supposed to be innocent. A Southern tradition, where fires lined the Mississippi to light Papa Noel’s way. And with one hastily scrawled message, someone had stolen that innocence.

We hadn’t even made our relationship public and it was already starting.

A disbelieving laugh bubbled up my throat, a lone tear streaking down my cheek.

Then my car speakers chimed with Taylor’s reply.

Taylor

Wasn’t me, sunshine. But if I’ve got competition, let me know. *winking emoji*

Can’t wait to see you tonight.