Page 31 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell (Wisteria Cove #1)
Willa
I’ve lost a lot in my life,
but losing you?
That’s the one thing I can’t accept.
Not now.
Not when you’re right here.
-Tate
T he next morning when I come back from a supply run, I see Tate standing in front of the bookstore with a coffee in one hand and a smug look on his face.
The second thing I see is Cobweb. In his hoodie.
Tate’s wearing a dark gray zip-up sweatshirt with one of those built-in pet pockets, the kind you see for women with teacup poodles and no shame.
But instead of a yapping dog in rhinestones, he’s got a black kitten nestled inside the pouch like a king in a hammock. And Cobweb looks thrilled.
“I see you’ve fully committed to your new identity,” I say, biting back a laugh.
Tate sips his coffee. “I am but her vessel.”
Cobweb pokes her little head out, blinking at me like sup, peasant.
Tate strokes the kitten’s ears absently. “She screamed at the window for ten straight minutes. I offered her treats, toys, and cat food. But no. She wanted outside. So, I improvised.”
“You put her in a cat pouch hoodie.”
“Correction.” He grins and holds up a finger. “I made a bonding solution .”
At the Harvest Moon Festival, where we're finishing the last minute set up, they’re instant celebrities.
Everyone wants to check out Cobweb.Tate struts through the cider booth area like a man with a mission and a sidekick.
Cobweb stays tucked against his chest, peeking out at the world like a judgmental baby kangaroo.
A group of retired ladies from the quilting club lose their minds .“Look at that face!”
Junie runs up, wide-eyed. “Can I pet her?!”
“Ask the guardian,” Tate says solemnly, gesturing to the cat like she’s royalty.
Cobweb makes a little chirp and headbutts Junie’s hand like she approves. Ivy wanders over, cider slushie in hand, raises an eyebrow, and deadpans, “I like your emotional support animal.”
Tate shrugs. “She keeps me grounded.”
“She’s wearing your hoodie better than you,” she mutters. “Tragic.”
People keep coming up. Kids squeal. Grown men nod in silent understanding.
Rowan insists Cobweb is “channeling harvest magic.” Donna calls her Madam Meows-a-Lot and insists she wants joint custody.
I'm pretty sure Junie is working hard to try and convince Remy that she needs a cat to keep her company.
I can’t stop looking at Tate—soft-eyed, hoodie-wearing, kitten-carrying—and thinking: I really might be falling in love with the man who wears a cat.
The entire town feels like it’s been dipped in cider and strung with fairy lights. Everywhere I look, something glows. Lanterns hang from tree branches amid wreaths of dried apples and corn husks, and scarecrows wear flannel button-downs stolen from someone’s laundry line.
The festival is tomorrow, and the final touches are going up fast. Ivy’s directing people as if she’s the queen of autumn logistics.
Junie shrugs and drags the pumpkin back into place. Cobweb trails behind her, little tail flicking with purpose, like she’s the official festival supervisor.
I tug my orange cardigan covered in black bats tighter and try not to melt into a puddle of emotion. Because here’s the truth: I’m happy. Buzzing, warm, cinnamon-sugar-coated happy.And if I'm being brutally honest, it scares the hell out of me.
Because when life has taught you that good things don’t last, that people leave or die, and things fall apart, joy feels like a countdown.
A soft, glowing time bomb. And while I know it's not healthy, I'm preparing my heart for that, and I hate that I do it.
Like I can't live in the moment and really enjoy life because I'm afraid it will be taken away.
I push the thought away and turn back to the sign I’m hanging by the bookstore steps. It says Wisteria Cove Harvest Moon Festival: Kisses, Cider, and Community.
The “kissing booth” is positioned exactly fifteen feet from my door, and of course, it was Rowan’s idea, but Finn built it. Finn has been a godsend throughout the entire festival planning process.
“We can make a lot of money for Salt & Root,” she’d told me, wielding her staple gun like a weapon. “It’s all for the cause.”
Then she smooched Finn Bennett behind it and looked surprised when he kissed her back. I waseven more surprised when neither of them moved away after.Now they are both pretending it didn’t happen, but every time they’re always near each other, I feel like I need popcorn and a front-row seat.
Maybe Tate and I aren't the only new lovebirds in Wisteria Cove this magical season.
“Willa!” someone calls, and I spin around to see Donna waving from a folding chair, thermos in hand, lipstick perfectly applied, pencil behind her ear, like she’s ready to reign as queen of Wisteria Cove.
“That banner needs more work. You want it to feel like it's screaming celebration , not grocery store clearance event !”
“On it,” I call back, trying not to laugh.
I grab the twine and pull it tighter, standing on tiptoes to reach the lantern string.
The bookstore behind me smells like cinnamon sticks from the simmer pot I’ve had simmering on the stove since dawn.
Tate and I have been staying there together, tucked up in the little apartment above the shelves, and I swear it's feeling more like home than anywhere else ever has.
Sure, we're cramped, but I feel like it's cozy.
Tate's childhood home is officially on the market. It’s had a few showings already, and rumor has it an offer’s coming in. Finn Bennett’s name has been suspiciously tossed around the real estate grapevine. When I asked him, he just shrugged and acted like he had no idea what I was talking about.
Honestly? I hope it’s Finn who buys it. As a contractor, I can only imagine what he would do with the place.
He'd honor it the way it should be honored.
That place isn't home to Tate, and he's not even sad about it.
He seems like he's relieved, to be honest. I just wish his mom hadn't handled it the way she has.
I turn to help Rowan with her table, and I watch Tate mingle with people. My knees and heart practically melt when I see him laughing with Old Pete.
They’re by the fire pit now, Pete telling some old story, Tate listening with his full body like it matters. Like the moment deserves all of him.
And that’s the thing.He gives all of himself to whatever he does and whoever he’s with. He’s the best.To me, this town, and to everyone.
And I can’t help but feel like… this is what safe feels like.
Not boring. Not perfect. Safe. A flutter of emotion wells up, and I don’t know if it’s love or fear or both.
Because the other shoe always drops, right?
It’s just a matter of time. I don't want to think this could happen, but if I expect less, I won't get hurt.
Later, it’s just the two of us after the last lantern is hung and the finishing touches are on everything, and everything is prepared for tomorrow.
The trees are still lit. The bookstore glows behind us.
And I’m on the top step, arms full of tangled twinkle lights, when Tate says, “Let me.”
He takes them from me, easily untangling them like it’s nothing. We string them across the trees just outside the bookstore, the light catching on the last yellow leaves, the wind soft and chilly.
I don’t realize I’m swaying a little until he catches my hand.
“Dance with me,” he says.
“But there’s no music.”
“There doesn’t need to be.”
I slip into his arms like I belong there. He smells like apples, autumn wind, and pine from working at the tree farm the day before. His hands settle on my hips like they’ve been waiting for me all day.
We sway.
Just the two of us. Lanterns glowing above. The town quiet around us.
“This is my favorite version of you,” Tate says softly.
“Messy hair, and cider breath?”
“Exactly. You in your world. Doing what you love. I love seeing you happy.”
I look up at him. “You’re part of that world now.”
His smile falters, just for a heartbeat, but then it’s back. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
We stop dancing. But we’re still close.
I look at his mouth.
He looks at mine.
And suddenly, we’re not swaying anymore. We’re kissing .Hard. Hungry.His hand cups the back of my neck, pulling me in, and I thread my fingers into his jacket like I’ll never let him go.
We don’t make it far. The door to the bookstore opens with a soft creak, and we stumble inside, mouths still tangled, laughter catching between kisses as we kick off boots and shrug off scarves.
The apartment upstairs is warm and dark. Cobweb followed and is already curled on the couch.
I tug my sweater over my head, the soft fabric catching for a second before sliding free. I drop it to the floor and stand there in nothing but jeans and a thin bra, the air cool on my skin, my pulse thundering. I should feel exposed. Instead, I feel powerful and wanted.
I back toward the ladder, gripping the rail, climbing one rung at a time.
My breathing quickens with every step, my body tingling with the awareness of him right below me.
Tate follows without hesitation, his movements steady, his presence so close it steals the air from my lungs.
Each creak of the wood, each scuff of his boot, coils tighter inside me.
At the top I pause, forcing myself to look down. His eyes catch mine from just a few rungs below, and the sight nearly unravels me. His gaze is sharp and unyielding, dark with a hunger that makes my stomach clench and my thighs press together. He looks at me like I’m the only thing that exists.
His hands come up and catch my thighs, big and firm, halting me on the ladder.
A gasp slips from my lips. I curl forward instinctively, threading my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer even though there’s still space between us.
He doesn’t move except for his hands, rough palms sliding up over the backs of my legs, over the curve of my hips, every inch of me claimed in his touch.