Page 8 of Charmed, I’m Sure (Witches of Bellevue #1)

“Yeah, well.” She shrugged as if that was all that needed to be said. And if I was being honest with myself, it was. She had no reason to be nice to me, and that was something I intended to change.

I had just opened my mouth to apologize again—for what happened at the bar, in high school, anything and everything—when her phone rang, Tennessee Whiskey by Chris Stapleton echoing through the aisle as she dug through her purse to find the device.

Her eyes flicked from the screen to mine before sliding the green dot over to answer the call. “Hey, give me a sec.” Cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear, she grabbed her buggy and walked away, tossing a small wave in my direction as she passed.

“That’s the last of them,” Dad said as he joined me in the open doorway of the makeshift clinic.

For as long as I could remember, my dad—and grandfather before him—would take the drive over to Houma, Louisiana, and open a small clinic one weekend a month.

It wasn’t anything grand, but it was a way to give back to the community that meant so much to our family.

A way for people to get minor ailments tended to or get their vaccines up to date.

It didn’t matter if they had insurance or not; we took care of our own down here.

My grandfather grew up in Houma, and after he became a doctor, he moved to New Orleans and would make the trek over to his tiny hometown to help the community he considered family.

When my dad was old enough, he’d been indoctrinated into the tradition, and while I’d spent almost every weekend of my childhood fishing on the bayou, I’d always found myself wandering into the clinic to lend a helping hand.

That’s what we did down here: Helped our neighbors without expecting anything in return, boosted the community, and did what we could to keep our heritage alive. That sense of purpose and pride in what my family had accomplished is what brought me back to the Bayou State.

We stood there for a moment, both of us staring out over the crowd that had gathered for the annual Rougarou Festival with smiles on our faces.

To anyone outside of this state, it would look like a hodgepodge of chaos, with the parade of Witches and Zombies, Zydeco music filling the streets, costume contests, and food vendors scattered about.

But to me, it was a tradition that I loved to see kept alive and one that benefited the wetlands in the South.

The Rougarou itself was a bedtime nightmare told to little kids who didn’t listen to their parents.

With the head of a wolf and the body of a human, I guess you could call it Louisiana’s werewolf.

As a kid, I was petrified of the damn thing, my grandfather filling my mind with stories of it snatching me out of my bed while I slept if I didn’t eat my collard greens—which I did, begrudgingly.

As an adult… well, it was still kind of creepy, and I now avoided collards like the plague.

“Y’all have a good one!” our charge nurse, Jeanie, said as she passed us and headed out into the festival's crowded streets.

“Thanks, you too,” Dad and I said in unison before he turned to me, “You staying or heading back home?”

“I think I’m going to head—” Pastel pink and blue waves drifted across my line of sight, cutting my words in half.

“Son?”

“Yeah, I think I’m going to stay for a bit. Grab a bite.” I was halfway down the sidewalk that led to the street when I heard him holler behind me.

“No, I’m fine. I don’t want anything. Thanks for asking.”

“Okay, see you back at the house!”

Magnolia

Mother, have mercy. Weaving through the crowd at the Rougarou Festival was a serious pain in my ass. Especially since I had to drag a wagon full of supplies clear across the festival from where Aunt Evie had parked the damn car.

We came every year, setting up a joint booth of her tea blends, candles, herbal remedies, and my charcuterie boards and pastries.

It was always a hit, so much so that we had to minimize the number of days that we attended, opting for only one of the three days.

But that also meant taking multiple trips back and forth to the car to bring all of the supplies to the booth.

This was trek number three and, thankfully, the last one.

“Are you sure we brought enough?” Aunt Evie asked when I finally made it to our aqua blue tent, her brow furrowing as she rearranged the table set up…again.

“Would you stop fidgeting? We do this every year, and every year, you move things around only for them to end up right back where they started.”

“Ugh, fine. Did you get the last of it from the car?”

Nodding, I pulled the wagon into the booth and began handing her the boxes of extras to stash under the table. I’d barely gotten a chance to breathe since we got here, and as I took what seemed like my first full breath, piercing sapphire eyes above a cocky smirk locked onto mine.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were stalking me.”

“And do you know better?” I asked, my brow raising as I crossed my arms over my chest.

Aunt Evie stifled a laugh, busying herself with adjusting the candles to make sure all of the labels were facing outward—they were—before injecting herself into the conversation. “Who’s your friend, Magpie?”

Mother save me.

“Magpie?” Taylor questioned, his eyes sparkling like a kid in a candy store.

“Don’t. You. Dare,” I seethed, cutting him a sharp glare before shifting my attention to my meddlesome aunt. “He’s not my friend.”

“Oh, come on, Magpie. I thought we were best friends after we bonded over ice cream.”

Red. Deep, burning depths of hell red was all that I saw.

“Taylor, I swear to God—”

“Taylor? As in Taylor Hallows?” Aunt Evie cut in.

“The one and the same. Nice to meet you.” He extended his hand toward my aunt, and I watched as the once playful look on her face shifted to one of annoyance.

Should it have brought me an ounce of joy? No. But I was downright giddy, a haughty smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. “Aunt Evie, you remember Taylor, don’t you?”

“Yep.” She popped the p with so much force that I could have sworn it echoed through the crowded lane of booths.

Taylor’s eyes widened, a small flush coloring his cheeks as he palmed the back of his neck.

Was he embarrassed? “Is there something we can do for you, Mr. Hallows, or are you just here to harass my niece some more?”

“I assure you, I have no intention of harassing Maggi—” If looks could kill, the one I just shot him for almost calling me Maggie would have incinerated him on the spot.

Thankfully for him, he noticed and corrected himself.

“Magnolia. I saw her when I was leaving the clinic and just wanted to say hey.” His eyes dropped to our tablescape, and he picked up one of the clamshell containers. “Did you make these?”

“Of course I did. It’s one of my best sellers.”

“Pain au chocolat, right?”

“Yeah, but we just call them chocolate croissants… it’s easier.”

An awkward silence settled over our tiny tent as he continued to peruse the rest of the contents on the tables. He picked up each candle, gave it a sniff, and then set it back down. Releasing a heavy sigh, I rounded the table and asked, “Can I help?”

“Just can’t decide on a scent.”

“Where are you putting it?” I asked as I closed the distance between us, which ended up being a colossal mistake on my part.

Taylor Hallows smelled divine—like a mahogany teakwood Bath and Body Works candle with the tiniest hint of vanilla.

It really should be a crime to look as good as he does, smell like a goddamn man-candle, and be a complete… well, maybe not complete… asshole.

“Does it matter?” he asked, pulling me from the haze.

“What?”

“Does where I’m putting it matter? When it comes to scents, I mean.”

“It can.” My aunt's candles weren’t just your regular, run-of-the-mill wax containers with wicks.

Each had an intended purpose, and whether or not they were used that way wasn’t any of our business.

“The Maiden is lavender and chamomile scented and is for relaxing and bringing love and harmony to the space, so it would be best in an open area like a living room. Then you have The Crone, which is eucalyptus and rain. It’s for clarity and protection from negative energies, so it could go anywhere.

And finally, The Mother, which is her most popular. It’s sandalwood and patchouli.”

“What makes it so popular?” he asked, lifting the amber glass to his nose.

Had it been anyone else, anyone in the world who asked me that question, I wouldn’t have flinched.

Wouldn’t have hesitated. Hell, I answered it a thousand times during this festival alone.

But for some Mother-forsaken reason, saying it’s for inviting love into your life and should be in the bedroom to Taylor Hallows was where my thirty-year-old brain turned into a pre-pubescent one, and my girlie bits decided to sneak into the party.

“It’s for opening your heart and inviting love into your life. You should put it in the bedroom,” Aunt Evie supplied, shooting me a quick, questioning glance when Taylor looked back at the table.

“I’ll take it. Do you have a bag?”

“Which one?” Aunt Evie asked when my voice still hadn’t made its grand reappearance.

“The Mother. And these croissants and one of the personal charcuterie boards.”

Surprise shone in my aunt's eyes for a brief moment before a knowing smirk tilted up one corner of her mouth. “Perfect. I’ll ring you up over there and grab you a bag. Magpie, help out the other customers, please.”

Other customers? I quirked a brow, then turned.

Oh. Behind Taylor was a line of about twenty people, patiently waiting to get to the table.

I was so wrapped up in getting him out of our booth that I hadn't even realized that people had walked up behind us. “Sorry, y’all. I’ll be right with you!

” I called out over the crowd, internally wincing at my lack of observational skills.

As Taylor stepped to the side, he leaned down and whispered, “I guess we’ll have to see if this candle works, won’t we, cher?”

We? Cher? That was the second time he’d called me the Cajun version of sweetheart in as many days, and for some god-forsaken reason, my brain and mouth were still a ball of tangled Christmas lights, so I couldn’t correct him.

When I met his gaze, his eyes reminded me of the blue tips of a flame burning and full of promise.

Heat licked up my spine, and I had to promptly remind my libido that we did not like this man.

We tolerated his presence because he was purchasing goods that we sold and that he was an asshole… even when he wasn’t being one.

Mother above, this was confusing.

Somehow managing to unravel the tangled mess that was my mind around this man, I gave him a demure smile and said, “I guess you will.” Then, I pulled my gaze from his and slipped past him to help the next customer in line.

“You want to tell me what all that was about earlier?” Aunt Evie asked as we loaded the last of the totes into the back of her car.

“What what was?”

“Magpie, I know you’re a natural blonde under all that dye, but you’re not stupid.”

“I think I’m more of a mousy brown now, actually.” Slamming the trunk closed, I skirted the side of the car to the driver’s side door as quickly as I could to avoid the seething gaze I was undoubtedly getting from my aunt.

“Magnolia Bellevue!” she screeched as my hand found the handle.

My head fell back with a groan as I watched the stars twinkle into existence overhead. “Just get in the car, Aunt Evie.”

With a huff, she did as I asked, and I let out a heavy breath, doing the same. At this rate, this was going to be the longest thirty minute trip of my life. She didn’t even wait until the key was in the ignition before she started up again.

“Magnolia, is that boy bothering you again?”

“Yes,” I replied reluctantly before amending, “but not in the same way he used to.”

“Please, be more vague,” she deadpanned, her eyes boring into the side of my face as I merged onto the interstate.

“He just keeps… popping up. Everywhere. The shop, the store, here.”

“You know his daddy runs the clinic at the festival.”

“Yeah, I know. But did he have to be there? What was he doing anyway?”

“Hmmm.” Was her only response, but from the corner of my eye, I could see a smug smirk pulling at the corner of her lips.

“What?”

“Well, honey. When a boy just happens to be wherever you are, it usually means he likes you.”

“Oh my god. What is this? Middle school?”

Aunt Evie’s answering laugh was coupled with a slight shake of her head. “Mock all you want, Magpie. But I’ll be here to tell you ‘I told you so’ when the time comes.”

“Even if you are right, there is no way in hell I would ever date Taylor Hallows.” A faux shiver ran through my body as I said his name, earning me another laugh from my aunt. “I mean it! He tormented me in high school; why would I give him the time of day?”

With a shrug, she said, “People change, Magpie. And from the drool on your chin when you were helping him, I’d say you’d want to give him more than the time of day.”

“I was not drooling!”

“Keep telling yourself that, cher. Yeah, I heard him. But, baby girl, if you make those walls any higher, not even you are going to be able to knock them down.”