Page 30 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell (Wisteria Cove #1)

Tate

T he Wisteria Cove Quilt Guild is ruthless.

They look like sweet little old ladies with beaded sweaters and glasses on chains, but don’t be fooled, these women could run a small country, plot anyone’s demise, or rob a bank and get away with it.

And tonight? They’ve turned the community center into an all-out fall fantasyland for the annual Autumn Quilt Raffle it’s hard to tell.

I’m here for moral support. Or I was until Pearl shoved a raffle ticket into my hand with a wink and muttered something about “manifesting fate.”

I don’t know what that means, but I’m pretty sure I’ve just been hexed.

“All right, darlings!” comes a voice from the front. Carlene, queen of the Quilt Guild and notorious for once knitting an entire scarf during a town meeting, raises a hand. “This year’s prize is our handmade Pumpkin Patch Memories quilt, stitched with love and just a touch of gossip.”

Everyone claps.

“The Maren sisters inspired this beauty,” she adds. “Willa herself picked the fabrics last year.”

I blink. Wait. What?

Before I can react, Betty Lou calls out the number.

“Ticket 1083!”

I glance at the paper in my hand. Well, hell. I hold it up.

A cheer goes up from the crowd, mostly because Ivy yells, “Tate won!”

Across the room, Willa gapes at me and looks down at her ticket number in disbelief. “You did not just win my quilt.”

I lift a brow. “Looks like I did.”

“That’s the one with the crescent moons and marigold flannel backing,” she says, narrowing her eyes like I’ve stolen an irreplaceable family heirloom.

I smirk. “You gonna thumb wrestle me for it?”

She smirks at me, probably at the same memory that I have of us thumb wrestling for everything with as a kid.

She strides over, arms crossed, lips twitching. “What’s a man like you gonna do with a quilt that cozy, hmm?”

I glance at the prize in my hands, then back at her. “Dunno. Might need it to keep me warm at night.”

Willa raises a brow. “Is that so?”

“Unless…” I lean in a little, lowering my voice. “You’re offering a better option.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “If you needed to be kept warm, Holloway, all you had to do was ask. ”

My grin sharpens. “Well then. I’m asking.”

Her cheeks flush pink, but she doesn’t look away. “Maybe you can share it.”

Oh, she’s good.

Carlene practically sings as she hands me the quilt. “Treat her right, sweetheart. She’s made with love and about a ton of Hallmark movie hours.”

“Sounds like just my type,” I say, just loud enough that Willa hears and scoffs.

But I swear, she’s smiling as she turns and walks off. And I’d follow that smile anywhere.

Later that night, the town square is packed for the outdoor movie night. Blankets are strewn everywhere. Lanterns are strung between trees. Cider steam curls into the crisp air.

I show up with the quilt, and I find her sitting on the grass in a sea of pumpkins, mums, and teenagers in plaid, sipping from a thermos.

“You came,” she says, like she’s surprised.

“You invited me. Sort of. With a veiled threat and mild bribery.”

I unfold the quilt, plop down beside her, and toss half of it over her lap without asking.

“I see you brought my quilt,” she says.

I grin. “It’s our quilt now.”

“I’m letting you borrow it. Temporarily.”

“Sure, you are.”

Her hip presses into mine. I feel her laugh more than I hear it. She’s warm, relaxed, golden in the lamplight. And I’m toast.

The movie plays. Kids run around throwing popcorn.

Ivy accuses someone of a hate crime for putting marshmallows in chili.

Lilith is reading a palm. Rowan’s passing out caramel apples at a little table in the back.

Someone dressed like Bigfoot is flirting with someone dressed like a colonial ghost, and no one’s batting an eye.

Willa leans her head against my shoulder.

I turn slightly, brushing her hair back from her cheek. “So,” I whisper, “about that offer to keep me warm…”

She lifts her head, amused. “You’re really gonna bring that back up?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was joking.”

“I wasn’t.”

Willa bites her lip. “God, you’re impossible.”

“Yet here you are.”

She says nothing. Just stares at me for a second too long.

Then, softly, she says, “You’re trouble.”

“You like trouble.”

“Maybe.”

I tilt my head, brushing my nose against hers. “Then stop pretending you don’t.”

When she doesn’t move away, her lips part, and her breath catches like she’s daring me to keep going.

My mouth crashes into hers, and every ounce of restraint I’ve been clinging to shatters.

She gasps against me, and I take the opening, kissing her like I’ve been starving for years and she’s the only thing that will ever feed me.

Her hands grip my shirt, sliding up my chest, tangling in my hair. I can’t get close enough. I haul her against me, feeling the curve of her body fit into mine like it was made for me. My hand finds her jaw, tilting her up so I can go deeper, claim more.

She’s making these soft, desperate sounds in the back of her throat, and it’s driving me insane. I kiss her harder, like I can pour every unspoken word, every sleepless night, every damn thing I’ve ever felt for her straight into this moment.

When we finally break for air, we’re both breathing like we just ran a mile, our foreheads pressed together, her lips swollen, my heart punching against my ribs. And I know there’s no undoing this. Not now. Not ever.

And I know that this is it. This is the moment the walls have fallen. We’re both in.

The full moon hangs over Wisteria Cove like a spotlight, casting long shadows between flickering jack-o’-lanterns and fog machines that wheeze and sputter outside Main Street storefronts.

The sidewalks are packed with townspeople in costumes, half of them tipsy, the other half high on sugar and nostalgia.

The ghost tour has been an annual tradition as long as I can remember.

It’s like trick or treating for adults and one of my favorite Wisteria Cove traditions.

And here I am wearing a pirate costume.

“You look ridiculous,” Remy mutters beside me, adjusting Junie’s little fairy wings. “And yet somehow, it’s working.”

“It’s the eyeliner,” I say, tossing him a wink. “Women love a roguish man with dark secrets and a sword.”

Junie, dressed in a sparkly green tutu with a plastic crown sliding down her forehead, tugs my sleeve. “Captain Tate, are you really a pirate?”

“Absolutely. I stole a hundred ships and a thousand hearts.” I tell her in my best pirate accent.

“You’re certifiable,” Remy mutters.

“And yet here you are, participating. Nice lumberjack look, by the way. A big hit with the ladies,” I tease.

He glares, “This is just the way I look.”

I ignore him and hoist Junie up onto my shoulders so she can see over the crowd. “Where to, Your Highness?”

“The book shop! Willa has cookies!”

That’s all the motivation I need.

The bookstore is glowing like something out of a snow globe with a warm light in the windows, paper bats flying overhead, a carved pumpkin with a smirking black cat perched on the steps. Ivy stands out front, handing out cider in a cream-colored wrap dress that makes Remy double-take.

Not just a glance. A look . A slow one. With heat behind it. Interesting. I nudge him. “You good?”

“What? I’m fine.” He clears his throat and drops his gaze, busying himself with Junie’s wings. “She always dresses like that.”

“She always make your ears turn red, too?”

Remy scowls. I grin.

Ivy’s face lights up when she sees Junie. “Oh, my little woodland fairy queen! You’re just the cutest sprinkle of magic!”

Junie giggles as Ivy hands her a tiny sugar cookie shaped like a mushroom. “Thank you, Miss Ivy!”

Then the door swings open, and Willa steps out, and sweet hell .

She’s wearing a black corset, a crushed velvet mini-skirt, and fishnets that are doing things to my brain I shouldn’t legally even be thinking about in the presence of a five-year-old.

Her lips are painted plum and her dark hair is pinned with glittering stars, like she just fell out of a witchy pin-up calendar.

She sees me. Smiles. And I am officially a goner.

“You lose your ship, Captain?” she asks, arching a brow as she hands out cookies.

“Looking to anchor somewhere warm,” I say, stepping close enough to smell her cinnamon perfume. “Any recommendations?”

“If you needed someone to keep you warm,” she purrs, “you could’ve just asked.”

Jesus. I nearly drop the damn cookie.

Behind us, Ivy nearly chokes on her cider, muttering, “Y’all wanna dial the heat down to a mild flirt before someone combusts?”

“I vote no,” Willa says sweetly, eyes never leaving mine.

Junie eats her cookie and declares. “You two should kiss.”

Remy snorts. “Okay, time to keep this tour moving.”

We join the stream of costumed chaos down Main Street, stopping at the bait shop where Old Pete hands out gummy worms from a tackle box and tells Junie she looks like a “sparkle bug.” At Donna’s house, she’s wearing a medieval dress and leather jacket and handing out signed copies of her latest novel.

“This one’s for you,” she says, handing one to Willa with a wink. “It’s got a very broody fisherman in it.”

“I think I already have one of those,” Willa says under her breath and gives me a smirk.

I laugh. Junie slides her hand into mine, and we keep moving.

We hit the diner for hot cider and kettlecorn. The liquor store for tiny bottles of whiskey. The ice cream parlor is giving away maple fudge bites and encouraging people to vote for best costume.

And through it all, Willa and I keep brushing hands. Shoulders. Smiles that last a little too long. She laughs as if I haven’t ruined everything. I touch her back like I haven’t missed her every damn second.

We reach the old train depot, which Rowan, and Lilith have transformed into a “Mystic Oracle Tent.” Inside, the air smells like clove and something fizzy.

“Three cards each,” Rowan says, smacking a deck onto the table. “Fates are being revealed tonight.”

Willa chooses a card. The Sun.

“I’ll take it,” she says, grinning.

I choose mine. The Lovers.

Rowan gasps. “Oh my God, it’s happening. This is it. This is the moment. Do you two feel it?”

Remy grabs Junie and backs out of the tent. “We’re out before they start singing Stevie Nicks.”

“I love Stevie Nicks,” Junie cries out as they walk away.

We follow, and the group starts to splinter off with families heading to the bonfire, Donna heads to the church to read spooky poetry aloud to everyone, and Ivy’s eyes trail Remy like a moth to a torch.

That’s when Willa tugs my sleeve and pulls me around the back of the bookstore.

“Shortcut?” I ask, raising a brow.

She doesn’t answer.

Just turns to face me in the glow of the bookstore light, the quiet hum of the night pressing in.

“You look good tonight,” she says, her voice softer than it’s been all evening.

I step closer. “You’ve been looking at me like you want to climb me like a tree.”

“Maybe I do.”

Heat coils low in my stomach. “What’s stopping you?”

Her fingers graze my chest, light and curious. “I think I’m scared.”

“Of me?”

“No.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Of what I’ll feel when I let go.”

I don’t answer. Just cup her jaw and kiss her like I’ve wanted to since the second she walked back into my life.

She melts into it, hands sliding under my pirate shirt, fingers skating over my skin like she’s learning me all over again.

The kiss deepens—sweet, then searing, then desperate.

Her back hits the brick wall and I cage her in, her body warm against mine, lips parted in a gasp when I trail kisses down her jaw.

“Tate,” she whispers.

“I’ve wanted this since the moment we fell apart,” I murmur. “Since the day I left and wished I hadn’t.”

She pulls me back in like she doesn’t care about the past. Only this. Only now.

Behind us, a second-story window creaks.

Lilith’s voice calls out, cheerful as ever. “You’re still within coven jurisdiction, just so you know!”

Willa groans into my chest. “I hate it here.”

And for the first time in a long damn time, I love it here.