Page 18 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell (Wisteria Cove #1)

Tate

T he salty harbor air slaps me in the face the second I step off the dock, full of sharp salt, cold wind, and a chill that cuts straight through your clothes and into your bones.

The old boat groans beneath my boots as I step on deck, wood creaking like it remembers me.

Like it knows this might be one of the last times I touch it.

I crouch low, fingers moving to the dock lines out of muscle memory.

Dad drilled it into me: tight knots, strong grip, no slack.

You take care of what you love, and it'll take care of you.

Dad was meticulous about safety and keeping things right.

That's why losing him made no sense. He and Mr. Maren did everything by the book. Whatever happened out there had to have been bad. They didn’t take chances.

This boat was his pride and joy. His escape and his kingdom. Now it’s just another thing my mother’s trying to sell off, like it doesn’t mean a thing. Another ghost she wants to bury while pretending none of it ever mattered.

I pull the line tighter. Not because it needs it.

I do it because just the thought of someone else’s hands on this deck, someone else’s name on the papers, someone else driving her out into the sea while I’m stuck watching from the shore burns deep down in my chest in a way I'm not ready for.It’s not just a boat for me.

It’s the last piece of him I have left.And I’m not ready to let it go.

I look at the supplies stacked, ready for the remodels and repairs. I’m still going to do them. Because someone is going to get this boat and appreciate it. And somehow it will live on for my dad—just with someone else. And I’ll admit that it makes me sad.

Finn hops down beside me, brushing sawdust off his sweatshirt. “She's holding up all right for an old girl,” he says, running a hand along the weathered wood.

“Yeah, what do you think about rebuilding that rotted wall?” I nod to the side.

“Not a problem, I can help you,” he offers. Finn is a great carpenter and a magician with building things.

Junie’s already climbed into the wheelhouse, pretending to steer, her curls wild in the breeze. “Aye aye, Captain Holloway!” she shouts.

I manage a smile and tell her as I step past, “Careful, Captain Junie, keep her off the rocks.”

Finn chuckles and then glances at me again, probably taking in the sadness I'm trying my damndest to conceal. “You all right?”

I shrug, settling onto the bench at the stern. The water laps against the hull, slow and rhythmic, like it’s trying to rock me into admitting something I’m not ready to say. “Yeah, just thinking about what I’m going to do when this gets sold.”

Finn leans back on the railing, arms crossed. “Have you given any more thought to Remy’s offer of the job at the tree farm?”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “It was nice of him to offer it.”

Finn raises an eyebrow. “Nice? He’s running himself ragged. You’d be doing him a favor taking that job. He’s burning the candle at both ends. He needs a manager and a nanny. But he is not good at hiring help. He’s too proud. But if he’s asked you, trust me…he meant it.”

I scrub a hand over my jaw. “I don’t know if I'd be any good. All I know is fishing. My whole life, it’s been fishing. What happens if I take the job and let Remy down?”

Finn shrugs easily. “You could always take it until you figure out what you want to do. At least you know Remy. You know he'd be good to work for.”

Junie drags a piece of cloth behind her like a pirate flag and tells me, “You won’t mess up, Captain Tate.”

I look down at her, her face full of absolute certainty.

“Everyone loves trees,” she adds wisely. “Even pirates.”

Finn snorts out a laugh, and I can’t help but grin. “Even pirates, huh?”

She nods, all seriousness. “Daddy said so.”

I lean forward, elbows resting on my knees, watching the gulls wheel overhead. “It’s more than just the job. My mom...she’s selling the boat.”

“The pirate ship?” Junie gasps, wide-eyed.

I nod slowly. “Yeah, kiddo.”

Junie’s face crumples a little as she looks at me. “Why?”

I sigh, unsure how to answer that in a way that makes sense to a five-year-old, or even myself. “I guess she doesn’t see much point in keeping it around.”

Junie puts her tiny hand on mine, her expression soft and earnest. “That makes you sad. I can tell.”

Her words catch me off guard. She’s right, of course.

“Yeah,” I admit quietly. “Yeah, it does.”

“Are you coming tonight?” Junie asks suddenly, swinging her legs as she looks up at me. Her tone brightens, like she’s decided that a change of subject is exactly what’s needed. “Daddy has all the pumpkins ready. And a big bonfire, too.”

“Pumpkin carving?” I ask.

It’s been a town tradition for decades. Pumpkin carving at the Bennett Tree Farm. Remy’s working today, so Finn’s got Junie, and I invited them out on the boat. We're not sure how many more rides we’ll get, so we’re taking advantage of this one.

She nods enthusiastically. “You have to come. It’s tradition.”

I glance at Finn, who gives me a knowing look. “Come on, man. You know you want to. Wisteria Cove bonfires are practically a requirement.”

I laugh under my breath, but there’s this tightness in my chest that won’t let go. The kind that feels like hope trying to claw its way back in.

“Okay,” I tell Junie finally, nudging her shoulder gently. “I’ll come carve pumpkins tonight.”

Her face lights up as if I just promised her buried treasure. “Good! And you can sit next to me!”

Finn grins. “Better be ready. Junie’s competitive. You're going down, Holloway.”

I glance out over the water, watching the gulls swoop and the sunlight shimmer across the waves. This cove has always felt like both a home and a prison at times. Every creak of the boards, every rope and knot, every salt-slicked memory—it’s all wrapped up in the person I thought I’d be.

But tonight...pumpkin carving. Bonfire. Warm cider. Laughter. Maybe a little bit of Wisteria Cove magic to remind me that home can be more than salt, wood, and ghosts.

Junie’s hand tugs at my sleeve, small and insistent. “And we’ll save a seat for Willa too. She has to come.”

That catches me off guard, but in the best way.

I smile at her. “Yeah. Willa, too.”

When I wind down the road later that evening to the Bennett Tree Farm, it glows like a damn postcard.

Strings of fairy lights crisscross between the tall pines, flickering gently in the cool breeze.

The smell of wood smoke drifts from the giant fire pit in the center of the clearing, where a makeshift s’mores station is already set up.

Picnic tables stretch out under the trees, each one covered in pumpkins of all shapes and sizes, carving kits, and paper towels.

Thermoses of cider sit ready on every table, steam curling into the chilly night air. It’s a fall wonderland, Wisteria Cove at its most charming, and honestly, it’s exactly what I need.

“About time you showed up,” Remy calls from near the fire pit, grinning as he drops another log onto the flames.

I lift a hand in a lazy wave and spot Junie immediately. She’s perched on top of one of the picnic tables, swinging her legs as she surveys the pumpkins like a general about to declare war. She sees me and beams, waving so hard I swear she’s going to fall right off the table.

But it’s not Junie who steals my breath. It’s Willa.

She’s standing off to the side near the cider table, bundled in a deep maroon sweater tucked into the front of her jeans, her worn brown boots making her taller than she is, her hair falling loose around her shoulders.

She’s laughing at something Ivy says, head tilted just so, and when she turns and sees me…

Yeah. There it is. That familiar flicker. The one that’s been humming between us since the day I rolled back into this town like a storm front.

I raise a brow in greeting, and she rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t look away.That’s progress, right?

Junie barrels into me a second later, grabbing my hand and tugging me toward the pumpkins. “Come on, Tate! I saved us a spot!”

“Us?” I ask, letting her drag me along.

She nods, completely serious. “Me, you, and Willa. You have to sit next to her.”

Oh, subtle, Junie. Real subtle.

I glance over and catch Willa’s eye again. Her lips quirk like she’s fighting a smile as she walks over, carving tools in hand. “Looks like we’ve been assigned specific seating.”

“I guess we have to go where we’re told,” I say, dropping onto the bench beside her.

The second I sit, it hits me, a memory sharp and unbidden.

I used to sit right here at this very table, years ago.

I remember carving pumpkins with Willa when we were kids, laughing and teasing each other because mine always ended up looking like a disaster.

Her dad would tease us gently from across the table, carving with an expert’s hand while her mom handed out cider and called us “the pumpkin pirates.”

Those nights felt easy and safe. But that was before it all went wrong. Man, I'd give anything to go back to that time just for a little bit. I miss those times.

Willa’s voice pulls me back. “You’re staring into space,” she teases, a hint of warmth in her tone.

“Just a memory passing through,” I reply, picking up a carving knife and spinning it idly between my fingers. “Remember when I used to carve way better pumpkins than you?”

She smirks. “Yeah, right. I’ve had years of practice since you left.”

That last word hangs in the air for a beat too long, but she doesn’t seem angry tonight. Just…teasing. Comfortable.

I can work with that.

I lean in a little, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “Careful. You keep looking at me like that, and people are going to start talking.”

Her eyes flash, but she doesn’t back down. “People are already talking, Tate.”

God, she’s good at this. At banter, at keeping me just slightly off-balance, at making it feel like we’re right back where we left off, and yet somehow on brand-new ground.

Junie plops a pumpkin in front of me, nearly knocking over a thermos of cider. “Here! This one is for you, Tate. I picked it special.”

I grin and move it closer, “What makes this one special?”

“It’s big and bumpy like a pirate’s face,” she says proudly.

Willa lets out a snort beside me that’s sharp, unexpected, completely unfiltered and it hits me like a damn sucker punch. That laugh. I swear, it does more damage to my heartbeat than a storm on the open water.

She leans in, close enough that her shoulder brushes mine, her voice low and warm against my ear.

“She’s adorable,” she whispers.

And just like that, I’m wrecked.The scent of her wraps around me with the familiar cinnamon and vanilla, soft and sweet, like home if home ever felt safe. It fills the small space between us, and I breathe it in for a second, just to stay in the moment.

God help me, I don’t think she even knows what she does to me.

Luckily, Junie fills the table with laughter and jokes, and we get to work, the three of us squeezed together on the bench, pumpkin guts flying, tools clattering, cider steaming.

The clearing fills with chatter and laughter, with the occasional burst of applause as someone finishes an impressive jack-o’-lantern.

Junie insists that I carve “the scariest face ever” on mine, but I’m hopeless, as usual. Willa leans over at one point, eyebrow raised. “You call that scary? Junie, you should have just given him a Sharpie. He probably could have handled that better.”

Her shoulder brushes mine, warm and solid, and suddenly the air feels different. Charged.

I smirk. “Want to help me out, expert?”

She leans in, fingers guiding mine as I carve. She’s so close I could tilt my head just slightly and brush my lips against her temple.

Dangerous.But I don’t pull away.

“I think you secretly like being terrible at this,” she murmurs, smiling.

“Maybe I just needed an excuse to have you this close,” I murmur back, watching the flush creep into her cheeks.

Before she can answer, Junie yells, “Piggyback ride! Captain Tate! Please!”tugging on my sleeve, her face alight with excitement. “Please? Please-please-please?”

I glance at Willa, who’s watching me with amusement, arms folded as if she’s trying not to look too pleased. “Guess I have duties to attend to,” I say, rising and swinging Junie onto my shoulders.

She squeals in delight, and I jog a quick lap around the fire pit while she waves dramatically at all the other kids like she’s queen of the world.

When I circle back to our table, Willa is watching me with a soft and thoughtful look that nearly undoes me. Her eyes trace every move like she’s seeing me for the first time.

I set Junie down gently and meet Willa’s gaze.

“What?” I ask, teasing.

She shakes her head, but that smile lingers, tugging at the corners of her mouth in a way that feels dangerous and promising all at once.

“Nothing,” she says lightly. “Just…didn’t expect you to be so good at this.”

“At what?” I prompt.

“At…this.” She gestures vaguely to the whole scene, pumpkins, cider, firelight, me with Junie on my shoulders. “At fitting in again.”

Her words hit me harder than I expect.Because I don’t just want to fit in. I want to stay. And it's starting to feel a lot more like home than it ever did.

Even if part of me still feels like a mess of guilt and grief…here, at this table, with Willa’s knee brushing mine and Junie laughing and the entire town glowing with fairy lights, I almost feel whole.

“Maybe this is where I was made to be,” I say, voice softer now.

Her eyes meet mine, and for a second, it feels like the entire world narrows to this one perfect moment.The fire crackles, and Junie hums as she adds triangle eyes to her pumpkin.

And Willa smiles, and I swear I’d carve a thousand crooked pumpkins to keep that look on her face.