Page 13 of Spellbound & Speechless (Witches of Starbrook #2)

Aspen

I haven’t had a roommate since college, and if I had to choose one now, it wouldn’t be a grumpy werewolf.

There are only two reasons I’m grateful to share a living space with Mac, and each is attached to his shoulders. His strong arms make him the perfect physical protector. I’m not above admitting I need one of those right now.

Anything to keep my family safe.

The view isn’t bad, either. He looks sweet when he’s sleeping.

Sunlight shines on his face, illuminating a line of his cool skin in an orange glow.

Something catches in my chest, a stray butterfly from the old crush I’ve been struggling to stomp out.

My heartbeat falters, and my breath comes to a standstill.

Aphrodite’s presence is powerful in the morning. That’s all it is.

Erie rests in her open cage, cooing, as a reminder of the goddess’s presence. While I may have had a fleeting attraction for Mac, it’s gone now, like anyone I’ve been interested in .

As much as I want to find a long-lasting, perfect partner, it never quite works out like that.

He may be sweet and peaceful when he’s asleep, but that’s only compared to his usual rigid posture and cranky face.

I kneel by his bedside and shake his shoulder. The thick grimoire rests on my lap. “Rise and shine!”

Mac opens an eye, glaring at me. He hates me even when he’s barely awake. I should be offended, but the light shines into his bright iris, and my throat tightens again in a way I don’t understand.

Well, I understand the feeling, but I don’t know why I still feel it for him . He hasn’t done anything particularly charming, not like the others I’ve dated. He hasn’t given me a gift, smothered me in attention, or brought me on a romantic getaway. What do I see in him?

It must be his watercolor eyes. They look like a piece of art in the sunlight.

“What are you doing?” His voice is a deep growl; I swear I feel the vibration between my legs.

“It’s breakfast time.” I pat his shoulder once and stand up. “Come on. You don’t want to miss breakfast.” I glance at him over my shoulder. “You seem like you eat a lot.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

I blink. “It’s a wolf thing, isn’t it? You all seem to enjoy eating.”

“Right, right.”

He groans and sits up, running his fingers through his messy curls. He looks… well, human —as human as any of us can be. The unapproachable facade he puts on slips away, and I fight a strange urge to be the one protecting him .

Not that he needs protecting. The corrupt witch seems to have no interest in the wolf .

“You go,” he says. “I’ll meet you down there.”

Breakfast in the Hawthorne home is almost the same as I remember. Maple’s breakfasts have replaced my mother’s. Instead of the music Mom listened to, usually Fleetwood Mac, Maple plays soft folk music that fills the tiny space with a bright ambience.

My pink robe drags on the floor as I float through the room.

One good thing about working at a bar is that I don’t have to be ready early, and neither do the others. We can all take our time—except Rowan. Rowan sits at the table with her laptop open, typing away, but everyone else moves leisurely.

“Good morning!” I sit next to Rowan. “Our wolf friend will join us shortly.”

Rowan looks at me from the corner of her eye. “I hope we didn’t wake him.”

“You didn’t,” I say. “You did wake me up, but I doubt anyone cares about that.”

“You got more than enough beauty rest!” Maple smiles and pushes a plate of apple pancakes in my direction. “Just look at you. Your skin is glowing. Eat up—and don’t worry, I made extra for our guest.”

“How long will he be staying here?” I pile my plate with pancakes and scrambled eggs. “And by here, I mean in my bedroom.”

“Until we eliminate the threat,” Juniper says. “And until he finds a place to stay. Don’t be stingy. He saved your life—and your magic. ”

“Is this how you’ve been treating my room all along? I didn’t realize you turned it into the guest room.”

“Why shouldn’t we? You weren’t exactly using it,” Juniper says. “You didn’t even come for last year’s winter solstice.”

“Don’t listen to her! We didn’t do anything like that.” Maple chimes in, always the peacekeeper. “We didn’t have a single guest while you were gone.”

I giggle, trying to show there are no hard feelings—but there are. Not my hard feelings, but theirs. My sisters likely still haven’t forgiven me for freezing them out, and I can’t say I blame them.

“It’s fine,” I say. “It could be worse. He doesn’t snore loudly or anything.”

“He doesn’t have any icks?” Laurel lifts a brow. “That’s major for you.”

I shrug. “Not yet.”

He’s a man. His icks will present themselves any day now. Probably in the form of heavy shedding, thanks to his wolf form. Ugh. I hope he knows how to snake a drain, because I don’t.

Mac is surprisingly quiet when he enters the room. He styled his curls and changed into a dark blue turtleneck. It’s a nice outfit; if I liked him more, I would compliment it.

“Were you talking about me?” he asks.

“A little.” I gesture to the chair next to mine. “Good things—mostly. Come on. I saved you a seat.”

It’s the only empty seat. Our table is already huge, meant to accommodate our large family, but if we keep growing, we’ll have to get an even bigger one.

“Where’s Ozzy?” I ask.

Juniper looks down at her plate. “At his place. I didn’t tell him about the attack. ”

“Juniper!” I frown. “Why not? Keeping secrets isn’t good for a relationship.”

“I’ll tell him today. It isn’t a secret, it’s more of a… a delay.” Juniper jabs her fork into her stack of pancakes. “I don’t want him to worry about me.”

“Everyone will worry,” Maple says. “And, actually… I was thinking we should spread the word around town. Other people need to know, too.”

“That’s true.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “I’ll do it. I need to let everyone know I’m home, anyway.”

It’s a small town. Most people will already know I’m back, but they won’t know why. If I don’t tell them myself, they’ll come up with wild reasons for my return. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about taking control of my life, it’s that controlling the narrative comes first.

Rowan clicks silently at her keyboard. I expect her to offer to tag along like she would have when we were young, but she must be busy.

“I’ll go with you,” Mac says.

Everyone turns in his direction, just fast enough to see him petting Timber’s head. Timber likes him. That’s usually a good sign. As much as I’ve been teasing Mac, he may be the only one to keep our family safe. We’re relying on him.

“Are you sure?” Juniper asks. “You’re already doing a lot for us.”

“This is for me, too. I need to get to know more of the locals,” he says.

“If you insist.” I shoot him a cheeky grin.

His gaze is steady on mine. “I do.”

How quickly he went from barely wanting to talk to me to following me around like… well, like a lost puppy, though I’m sure he would hate the comparison. Mac walks a step behind me as if he’s my bodyguard, and I can imagine the flat look on his face. It’s as if I have it memorized already.

“What do you think about putting up flyers?” I glance over my shoulder.

His expression doesn’t change, not even a bit. “Terrible idea.”

Of course, he thinks it’s terrible. I can’t do anything right in Mac’s eyes. I glare. “Why? Because I came up with it?”

“No. Because the corrupt witch will know everyone knows she’s here. It’s better to talk to people face-to-face. Let the town protect itself and catch her off guard.”

“Hm…” I look ahead again and approach the old ice cream shop. “That’s true. You’re kind of good at this.”

“Thanks.” To my surprise, he opens the door for me. He’s more of a gentleman than I expected.

Sprinkles is another place in Starbrook that’s frozen in time—not only from my childhood, but from before I was born. Classic red stools line up along the bar, and a neon flashing sign welcomes us. There’s still a corded landline hanging on the wall, and last I checked, it’s in working condition.

Naturally, this is one of my favorite shops in Starbrook—the ice cream shop.

I shoot Mac an appreciative look before stepping inside, my shoes clicking across checkered black-and-white tiles. “Is this, like, your job? You hunt down corrupt witches?”

“Depends on your definition of job. No one pays me to do this.”

I know nothing about Mac. None of us do, which could make him dangerous, but the only thing he’s ever done is protect us—protect me . I want to trust him, even though I don’t quite understand where the urge comes from.

“That’s a shame. What do you do for work?” I ask.

He presses his lips together. “I’m between jobs right now, but… I’m a nature photographer.”

My eyes widen. “Are you really?”

He nods. “It doesn’t always pay the bills all that well, but I, uh… well, I take stock images. It makes some extra income, and I pick up side jobs wherever I go. Kind of like my gig at the bar.”

He seems to like nature. With his sleeves rolled up, I can see the black ink on his arms—tattoos of pine trees, moths, frogs, and mushrooms that make up entire sleeves.

“Look at that. I finally learned something new about you. Something real .”

As fast as he opens up, he deflects again. “What about you? I know you work at the bar, but…”

“I’m a fashion designer.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

I step in the long line for ice cream. The shop will close for the cold season soon, and everyone is here to take advantage of the remaining days—except me. I’m here on business.

“I guess you look kinda?—”

“Think before you speak,” I say. “You’re about to hurt my feelings, I just know it.”

The last thing I want is to look like someone in the fashion industry, especially after how they treated me. He likely thinks I’m shallow, that I only care about appearances, but that isn’t true. Is it?

“—Fashionable.” He shrugs. “You look fashionable.”

That’s not what I’m expecting him to say. I lift a brow. “Is that a compliment? From Mac…?”

I don’t even know his last name.

He blinks for several moments before he seems to realize what I’m waiting for. “Roth?”

“Mac Roth?” I tilt my head to the side and consider the name. It suits him, but it feels incomplete. “Is Mac short for something?”

“Mackenzie.”

I lift my brows. “Oh.”

“Anyway”—he once again moves on from speaking about himself”—that was a compliment. Don’t let it get to your head.”

I grin. “Too late.”

We finally reach the front of the line. I lean across the ice cream counter and fix Mr. Sprinkles with a warm smile.

That’s not his real name, of course, but it’s what we’ve called him since we were children.

He’s an older Black man with curly white hair and a kind smile that’s lit up many of my days.

His homemade ice cream tends to do the trick, too.

Times are different now. He’s still working at the shop, but he’s no longer alone. His son, Dave, stands a few feet behind him, swirling soft serve onto a cone. He looks a lot like his father, but his complexion is darker and his locs are tied back at the nape of his neck.

“Well, if it isn’t Aspen Hawthorne!” Mr. Sprinkles smiles warmly. “I thought I would never see you again.”

“I see you’re as dramatic as ever.” I giggle .

“What are you here for? Vanilla soft serve with rainbow sprinkles?”

My old usual order. Nostalgia pricks at my heart.

I frown. “Sadly, I’m not here for a cone. Not today.”

Mac takes a step closer. “Actually, we’ll take two of those.”

I shoot him an annoyed look. “We’re working.”

“So what?” He shrugs. “C’mon. It’s my treat.”

Mac’s sudden generosity ruffles my feathers. I lift my shoulders and turn back to the shop owner, trying to collect myself. He waits for further instructions.

“Fine.” My smile tightens. “We’ll take the cones. This is my Mac, my friend. As you can see, he’s easily distracted.”

The older man laughs. “It’s nice to meet you, Mac! Welcome to Starbrook.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” Mac sounds friendlier than he ever has with me.

Rude .

I cut in before they can start with small talk. “We have to discuss something more serious than ice cream.”

“I’ll, um… maybe it’s best for my son to take care of this.” Mr. Sprinkles looks away. “Dave?”

Dave fixes me with a look of concern, clearly overhearing the conversation. “What’s the problem, Aspen?”

While the older owner works on our cones, we’re left talking to his son. Dave was an acquaintance of mine back in high school, but I haven’t spoken with him in years. He treats me like a stranger now, like most people do.

“Well”—I clear my throat—“it’s not a problem with the shop, I promise. We’re the problem. There was an attack at the tavern last night. I’m not sure if you’ve heard about it.”

“I certainly haven’t.” Dave’s dark eyes widen. “Is everything okay? You’re all safe? Your sisters?—”

“There were no injuries—unless you count bruised egos.” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

It doesn’t work. No one laughs. No one smiles.

Tough crowd.

“Do you know anything about corrupt witches?” Mac asks, finally getting to the point.

Dave’s jaw tightens. “I know a thing or two.”

Dave is a witch himself, with a witch mother and a human father. We’ve all heard tales of corrupt witches, even if we rarely meet them. The stories are cautionary tales of what happens when one becomes hungry for power.

“They’re after something the Hawthornes have,” Mac says.

“So, you should be fine.” I beam. “We’re only letting you know so you can up your wards. Stop by Oz’s shop if you need any supplies. He’ll have you covered.”

“Gods.” Dave lets out a long, slow sigh. “Well, thanks for letting me know.”

We collect our ice cream and leave for the next stop, but even the colorful cone can’t lift my spirits.

Starbrook is changing, and I realize now, after years of avoiding the little place, that I took it for granted before.

There’s no saying what it will look like now that corrupt witches are sweeping through our peaceful place.

I may never get to live in the same Starbrook again.