Page 14 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell (Wisteria Cove #1)

Tate

I wake up before the sun, but just barely. Wisteria Cove is just beginning to stir. I close my eyes again, but my phone buzzes on the nightstand, vibrating with a stubborn urgency. I groan as I reach for it.

Mom .

I hesitate but swipe to answer, dragging the phone to my ear.

Before I can even say hello, she launches in.

“Taters. Good, you’re awake,” she says briskly, her voice sharp and familiar in the worst way.

“I wanted to let you know that I need to sell the house and boat. Randy and I are going to put an offer on that new vacation house, and we’re going to use that money. ”

My gut twists hard and fast. I sit up slowly, rubbing a hand over my face. “Mom…” I say carefully, “I live here. I’m fixing up the boat. I was going to work at the harbor again next season.”

There’s a pause, but not the kind that suggests she’s thinking it over, more like she’s waiting for me to catch up. “Yeah, but they are mine, not yours,” she says, matter-of-fact. Like she’s discussing the weather. “Randy and I can’t pass this house up. It’s what we want for our family.”

What they want for their family. As if I'm not part of their family. Which I guess I'm not. I never was. My jaw clenches so tight it aches. It has always amazed me she just up and left after my dad died, like neither of us mattered.

“This was Dad's, too, Mom,” I say softly, still trying to process these blows that she's laying, one right after the other, without a thought of how this is landing.

“He's dead, Tate. And if he cared, he would still be here. He wouldn't have left us,” she says as if he had a choice in when his ship was going down, in whether he wanted to die or not.

“Mom, are you hearing yourself right now?” I ask, wondering if she's legitimately okay. This makes no sense. I just talked to her last week, and she never mentioned anything about selling anything. Why is she all of a sudden selling?

“Tate, you need to be ready. I'm selling them. They're in my name,” she clips, getting frustrated.

“Okay…so where am I supposed to go, Mom?” The words are bitter, raw. My throat feels tight, but I try to keep my voice even, like maybe that’ll keep me steady.

“It’s not my problem anymore,” she says. “It’s time you grew up and figured it out.”

And just like that, she hangs up. No goodbye, no 'I love you'…she just hangs up.

For a moment, I sit there, staring at the phone in my hand, listening to the soft creak of this old house that doesn’t even feel like mine anymore. My breath shudders as I exhale, pushing back the sting behind my eyes.

Time to grow up and figure it out. As if I haven’t spent the past five years doing that without my parents. One by choice and one by death. And that she insinuated my dad had a choice in that is just bullshit. I've always known my mother was selfish, but this takes the cake.

I've maintained the house and boat for the past five years since she left. I've paid for it all. She has paid nothing. And now she's going to take the two things that I have left of my dad.

By the time I’m out the door, the town is bathed in that early-morning glow.

Wisteria Cove is beautiful right now, with boats bobbing and swaying gently in the harbor, gulls screaming overhead, the scent of salt, leaves, and morning fog hanging in the air.

The water’s soft hush should feel calming.

But right now, after talking to my mom, it only makes me feel more lost. Like I'm losing it all and Wisteria Cove, too.

Without thinking, my feet take me toward the one place that’s always felt like a safe space.Lilith Maren’s place.

Her garden is waking up, too, golden light glinting off dew-soaked wisteria vines, petals spilling over the trellises and winding through the gazebo where she sits as if she knew I was coming.

A steaming mug that looks like tea rests between her hands, and her piercing gaze finds mine before I even reach the gate.

“Well, here you are, Mr. Tate Holloway,” she calls, smiling gently but knowingly. “Come sit.”

I don’t hesitate. My chest is tight, and my legs are heavy, but I walk straight to the gazebo, sinking into the chair across from her. I don’t even bother with pleasantries. “I need to talk.”

Lilith nods, setting her mug aside. Her silver hair glints in the light, and there’s a kindness in her eyes that undoes me a little.“Then talk, Tate.”

And so I do.

I tell her about the phone call. About my mother’s selfishness, about how she didn’t even hesitate to tell me to “figure it out” like this whole life I’m trying to build back here means nothing.

Lilith listens the way she always has, quietly, patiently, with no judgment, just presence and intuition.

When I finish, my shoulders sag with relief, and I feel better just being able to share it with someone.

Lilith leans forward. “Grief and healing change people, Tate,” she says gently. “Sometimes it twists them up so tight they forget how to be who they used to be. Sometimes…they’re never the same.”

I swallow hard, staring at my hands. They look rough, calloused from fishing.I wonder if I’ll have to go back out fishing and not stay now. I think about what Willa said about never being with a fisherman.

“I feel like I should know what to do with my life. But right now? I don’t,” I admit.

Lilith reaches out and folds her hand over mine, her touch warm and steady.“You’ve been carrying a lot alone, sweetheart.”

That word, a word my mother’s never used for me, nearly undoes me.

She never called me anything other than Taters.

And now I just hate hearing that. She used to call me that when I meant something to her.

And now I don't. So it all feels like a lie. Because she doesn’t care, and it now makes sense that she never did.

She lets the silence stretch before she asks softly, “What do you want, Tate? Do you really want to fish?”

I stare out at the harbor in the distance.

My dad’s boat sits tied up out there in the harbor, waiting for me to finish the repairs I’d already started.

The thought of spending every day out on that water like I used to…

it should feel right. Familiar. But all I feel is a dull ache.

The tug that used to pull me out to sea…

it feels more like an anchor now. Maybe that's not me anymore and not what I’m supposed to do.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly, my voice rough. “I thought I did. But maybe…maybe I don’t.”

Lilith nods slowly, like that’s an acceptable answer. Like not knowing is perfectly fine.

“Do you actually like living in the house?” she asks next, tilting her head. “Are you happy there?”

That catches me off guard. I shake my head before I even think about it. “No.” The word feels like a confession. “It’s not home.”

Lilith smiles gently, her eyes soft, wise, and understanding. “Then you have things to think about,” she says. “You have so many options, Tate. You’re a strong and amazing man.”

The way she says it, like it’s a fact, not a platitude, makes my throat tighten again.

“You can choose anything, honey. You don’t have to stay tied to a past that doesn’t fit anymore. Not for anyone.”

I let her words sink in as we sit together beneath the gazebo with the wisteria cradling us. The breeze stirs the vines, and the wind chimes clink softly in the distance. I look down the street and see familiar faces beginning their days.

Wisteria Cove isfull of memories, yes. But it’s also full of possibility.

The townspeople nod and wave as they pass by, their dogs on leashes and arms full of flowers or coffee cups.

Even now, when my whole life feels like it’s slipping out from under me, there’s comfort here.

This place has always been a safe space for me.

Lilith gives my hand one last squeeze before pulling away, but she doesn’t leave me hanging.“You’re welcome here anytime, Tate. You know that. I love you as a son. I'm sorry your mom doesn't appreciate the joy that she has.”

“Thank you,” I murmur. And I mean it.

The warmth in her gaze feels like a balm I didn’t even know I needed. I sit a little straighter, breathe a little easier.

Maybe I don’t have all the answers yet. Maybe I don’t know what’s next.

But for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel completely lost.

The sun’s setting when I pull up outside the Bennett house, but the place is glowing. String lights twinkle from the porch railings, soft amber against the night, and laughter drifts through the windows, warm and welcoming.

This house feels like the beating heart of Wisteria Cove tonight. I can already smell the sharp tang of tomato sauce, something cheesy and herby in the air, and a hint of fresh-baked dough.

Inside, the chaos is pure joy. Remy Bennett is at the kitchen island tossing dough in the air with exaggerated flair while his youngest brother, Finn, heckles him from the other side of the kitchen island.

And smack in the middle of it all is Junie, perched on a stool, legs swinging, her hair full of messy curls, bright eyes wide as she holds a tiny paintbrush in one hand and a bottle of glittery polish in the other.

“Tate’s here!” Junie announces excitedly, like this is the best news of the night, which, honestly, makes my chest ache in the best way.

“Finally!” Finn grins, clapping me on the back as I step inside. “Thought you were gonna bail on pizza night. That's sacrilegious, man.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, setting a six-pack of bottled root beer on the counter for our floats later. I hand Finn the bag of vanilla ice cream and he tucks it in the freezer behind him.

“You’re just in time to witness culinary greatness,” Remy declares, tossing the dough again, narrowly missing the ceiling. Junie squeals in delight while Finn groans and reaches to stop the disaster-in-progress.

“Pizza night is very special, Captain Tate,” Junie says solemnly, her tiny feet swinging, polish brush waving. “That’s what Daddy says. And you should never miss it.”