Page 46 of Charmed, I’m Sure (Witches of Bellevue #1)

Southern winter wonderland

Taylor

Growing up in Bellevue, I’d never been one to get excited about the Winter Festival.

The glittering lights suspended from poles, zigzagging across the square before coalescing at the gazebo in the center, never filled me with the joy they seemed to bring others.

I didn’t understand the need for sparkling snowflakes, garland draped with baubles, or the craving for the copious amount of sweets that lined the streets, their scents wafting from the tents and thickening the air.

It never made any sense to me. Didn’t strike me as a necessary experience to be had every. Single. Year.

Until I saw the joy this time of year brought Magnolia.

I’d never forget her excited skips through the rows of Douglas firs as she scoped out each one in search of what she deemed perfection.

Or the way her eyes would flutter closed as she broke off a few needles and inhaled their piney scent.

How the Christmas lights she’d convinced me to hang sparkled in her aqua-blue eyes as we swung on my porch, or the sound of her laughter as she twirled to ridiculous Christmas songs while we hung ornaments on my tree.

She’d shown me what Christmas meant to her. And, in turn, the joy she bared for the holiday had begun to seep into my Scrooge-like heart.

At least, it had—until today.

If someone asked me to make a list of words to describe Magnolia Bellevue, quiet wouldn’t even be in the top fifty. And yet, that’s exactly what she’d been since I picked her up from the manor.

Quiet.

Not the comfortable kind, like when we sat on my porch, wrapped in an easy silence, or when we drove home from an errand.

No, this was the other kind. The kind that made your head spin with all the terrible things that could be spiraling in your partner’s brain—but you’re too chicken shit to ask what’s wrong because if nothing is wrong, then you’ve just created a problem by assuming one existed in the first place.

And I hated it.

The ride to the festival had been eerily silent, which I might’ve attributed to her being tired from work—except I knew better.

It was the way her gaze stayed trained out the window, how she leaned as far away from me as possible, that had my mind spinning through an obnoxious amount of—likely irrational—scenarios.

Every answer was minimal. One or two simple words. A hum to signal she’d heard me. There may have been a smile stretched across her crimson-painted lips, but it was forced and subdued, never quite reaching her eyes. And those sparkling winter blues I loved so much? Dim.

Not even the sight of the town decked to the nines in a Southern winter wonderland seemed to lift her spirit. She just looked on with indifference, a gray cloud hovering over her head as we made our way toward the vendor stalls.

When I helped her out of the car, I’d tried to take her hand—she shoved hers into her coat pockets so fast I barely saw the movement. When I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, she stiffened before sidestepping around a puddle and away from me.

I had no idea why she was so tense, but I was bound and determined to coax her shoulders away from her ears and bring some ease back into her uncharacteristically rigid frame.

The smell of spiced cider filled my nose, and I nearly groaned, my mouth watering at the scent.

Resting my hand on the small of her back, I didn’t miss the way her muscles tightened, her eyes pinching shut for the briefest second before she relaxed—just barely—into my touch.

Ignoring the pang of hurt in my chest, I plastered on a smile and asked, “Would you like some?”

“Hm? Oh, uh, sure. Sounds good.”

She met my smile with a hesitant one of her own before her eyes flicked around the booths. I wasn’t sure what—or who—she was looking for, but whatever she saw had her stepping away from my touch, curling in on herself.

“You okay, sunshine?” I asked as we stepped forward in line.

“What?” It came out in a nervous breath, her eyes roving cautiously over our surroundings before settling back on me. Whatever she saw there made her gaze soften, and she pulled her hand from her pocket to grab mine.

“Sorry, I’m just a little—”

“Distracted?” I questioned, raising a brow.

“Yeah,” she answered sheepishly.

“Baby, what’s going on? You’ve been in your head since I picked you up,” I asked in a hushed whisper, tightening my hold on her hand. Now that I had her in my grasp, the last thing I wanted to do was let her go.

Unfortunately for me, she didn’t seem to share that sentiment.

“It’s just been a long day.” We took another step forward, and she sucked in a sharp breath as she glanced over my shoulder. “I, uh… I need to use the restroom.”

I quirked a brow at the rapid—and random—shift in conversation before scanning the area for signs pointing to the porta-potties. But before I could point her in any direction, she patted my chest.

“I’m just going to run down to the shop for a minute. Meet me there?”

CharCutie was a good block and a half away, and while I didn’t think anything would happen, it was dark. And bad shit still happened in small towns.

“I can walk with you.”

“It’s not that far. I’ll be alright.”

Before I could respond, she pushed up onto her toes, pressed a kiss to my cheek, and was off.

I’d been standing outside CharCutie for what felt like hours—but had realistically only been about ten minutes—when the front door finally swung open.

Only, instead of the cotton-candy ball of sunshine I’d been hoping for, I was met with a sober-faced Jaelyn, her caramel eyes boring into me with a mix of irate anger and sympathy.

It was confusing, to say the least.

“Hey, Jae. How’s it going?”

Her brows shot up, and she just stared at me for a moment. “How’s it…? Seriously, Hallows?”

“You know something.”

“And obviously, you don’t.” She blew out a breath, muttering, “Fuck my life,” before scrubbing her hands down her face.

“Jaelyn, if there’s something I should know—”

“Slow your roll, Westley.” She exhaled sharply. “Look, I don’t want to be the one to tell you, but it doesn’t seem like ya girl is going to. So, here’s the facts.”

Rage wasn’t an accurate word for the emotion coursing through my veins as Jaelyn relayed the information Magnolia hadn’t seemed inclined to share with me. My eyes widened with each revelation, jaw tightening until my teeth ached.

When she finished, only one word, one burning question, spilled from my lips in a growl.

“Who?”

Jaelyn’s eyes softened, her head shaking slowly. “She didn’t know. But you need to pull it together, Taylor. There’s a reason she didn’t tell you. And it probably has something to do with the look on your face right now.”

“The look on my face?” I ground out, forcing my fingers to loosen around Magnolia’s cup of cider.

“Yeah. You know, the one that screams ‘I will seek retribution for the wrongdoings against my woman.’” When I quirked a brow, she smirked. “Don’t get me wrong, we all love a cinnamon roll turned villain, but I don’t know that morally gray is your color.”

“What?” I barked.

“Pick up a book other than a medical textbook, Dr. Hallows. Your world will be a lot more colorful.”

With a pat on my shoulder, Jaelyn skipped away, leaving me staring after her—more confused than when this night started.

Dead roses.

Ominous notes.

Morally gray?

I didn’t know why Magnolia hadn’t told me about the flowers. Didn’t know why I hadn’t pressed her. But at least now, part of the puzzle was solved.

And it was about damn time this town got the memo.

Magnolia Bellevue was mine.

And I was hers.

Whether they liked it or not.

Magnolia

The cider Taylor had gotten me had long since chilled, abandoned in my grip as my stomach twisted itself into knots so tight I was scared anything I tried to consume would come right back up.

After hiding in my office at CharCutie for the better part of fifteen minutes, spilling my guts to Jaelyn about what had happened, I’d finally emerged—only to find Taylor leaning against a lamppost. A smile was on his face, but there was something else in his eyes. A simmering ember of anger.

At what, I wasn’t sure.

But if I had to guess, I’d say it was directed at me.

Not that I could blame him—I was terrible company tonight.

We walked around for about an hour, but the longer we stayed, the more overstimulated I became.

My back ached from how tightly I’d been wound since I left work.

The music blaring from the loudspeakers sounded like rusted gears grinding in my ears, and it took everything I had not to slap my hands over them to block out the noise.

Every brush of an arm against mine as we wove through the crowd made me want to crawl out of my skin.

Even when Taylor—poor, sweet, wonderful Taylor—tried to gently guide me with a comforting hand on the small of my back, every muscle in my body locked up, bracing for something.

And he felt it. I could see it written all over his face, even when he tried to hide it behind a smile. A smile that never reached his eyes. A muscle in his jaw jumped with the effort.

I felt awful. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. Even as anxious as I’d been, I never wanted it to turn out like this. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Couldn’t ignore how the crowd split whenever we passed, giving us a wide berth.

And I sure as hell couldn’t stop noticing the eyes that watched our every move.

Blessed Mother, there were so many eyes.

Glares and sneers trailed us as we walked. Whispered words—much too loud to be inconspicuous—swirled around me, growing into a deafening roar that drowned out everything else. The laughter of happy couples and children. The music. All of it, gone.

What is he doing with her?

She’s not good enough for him.

She’s got him under some kind of spell.

I’d heard it all before. I would hear it for as long as we were together. Hell, even if we weren’t. It was always the same story, no matter who was on my arm.

But it still stung.

It didn’t matter what I did or how nice I was to the crotchety people in this town—I was, and always would be, less than. Never good enough. Always too much for their delicate sensibilities.

“Dance with me, sunshine.”

Taylor’s deep timbre cut through the whirlwind in my head, slicing through the storm like a blade of sunlight piercing the clouds. His sapphire eyes held me captive as he extended his hand.

I hadn’t even realized we’d made it back to the gazebo—the center of the entire festival. A giant spotlight, shining right on us, ensuring that everyone could see.

I shrank under the weight of it, curling into the nobody this town was so determined to make me.

Trying desperately to keep the rising panic out of my voice, I whispered, “Everyone is staring, Taylor. I… I don’t think this is a good idea. Maybe we should just leave.”

He didn’t look away. Didn’t check to see if I was right.

He just held my gaze.

And in those eyes—steady and warm, filled with unwavering adoration—I felt my chest tighten.

“Let them.”

Linking our hands together, Taylor pulled me in, his voice clearer than crystal as he said, “Even if they are, all I see is you, Magnolia. All I ever see is you.”

Cupid takes aim… fires…

“Taylor, I—”

“Please, sunshine.” His hand came up, fingers warm as they cradled my cheek, his thumb sweeping soft, soothing lines along my cheekbone. He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me.

“I don’t care if they’re watching. They can look all they want, because it’s about damn time they learned—I don’t care what they think.

I don’t care what they want. What I want is to dance with the woman of my dreams. To hold her in my arms while I tell her that I am falling head over feet in love with her. ”

Straight through the heart. Hook, line, and sinker, folks.

Before I could even begin to form the words his confession deserved, his lips were on mine—soft and slow, like we had all the time in the world.

And in that moment, we did.

Because the world, the festival, the people—it all fell away as he pulled back, guiding us toward the open lawn beside the gazebo.

All I saw was him.

His eyes, glowing beneath the warmth of the Christmas lights strung for the festival.

His smile, bright enough to make even the Grinch love Christmas.

An instrumental version of Christmas Time Is Here played over the loudspeakers as I followed him into the grass.

But the only thing looping through my mind was the sound of his voice—telling me he was falling in love with me.