Page 34 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell (Wisteria Cove #1)

By the time the raffle winners are called and the band plays their last song, the night’s winding down. I feel like I’ve lived a hundred moments in these few hours, each one weaving into something bigger.

“You good?” she asks, her voice soft in the fading noise.

I smile, something loosening in my chest. “Better than ever.”

The crowd starts to thin as families herd kids toward cars, arms full of prizes and leftover kettle corn. But the Ferris wheel is still running, its lights glowing soft against the indigo sky. Willa glances at it, then at me, her lips quirking.

“What?” I ask.

She shrugs, curls bouncing. “You think we’re too old for a ride?”

“Never.” I lead her toward it before she can argue.\

The guy running the wheel smirks as he helps her in, and I climb in beside her, the metal seat rocking under our weight. The bar comes down with a clang, and then we’re rising, the ground falling away, lantern light shrinking into a patchwork of gold below.

The air up here is sharper, cooler. The whole town glows beneath us, the harbor a black mirror rimmed in silver moonlight. I glance over at her. She’s staring out, eyes wide, lips parted.

“Beautiful, huh?” I murmur.

She looks at me instead of the view. “Yeah.”

Something twists in my chest.

The ride pauses at the top to let more people on, leaving us suspended and swaying slightly.

She shifts, her thigh brushing mine, and I can feel the heat of her even through our jeans. I reach for her hand without thinking, lacing our fingers together.

She squeezes once, then leans her head against my shoulder. The world goes quiet up here. Just the creak of the wheel, the distant murmur of laughter below, and her breath warm against my neck.

She looks up at the lanterns, her voice soft. “Feels like the kind of night you wish you could bottle up and keep forever.”

I lean down, brushing my mouth near her ear. “Bottle it? I’d put our label on it. That way I know it’s always ours.”

The wheel jolts, starting to move again, but she doesn’t lift her head. We circle down, lantern light brightening around us, and when the ride ends, I help her out, keeping her hand in mine.

We wander toward the edge of the festival, where the crowd has thinned. Music drifts faintly from the stage. Someone’s still laughing at Old Pete’s wild sea tales, but the sound is softer now, muted.

Willa pulls me toward a quiet spot near the firepit, where the lanterns hang low and the shadows deepen.

She takes one of the donuts from the bag, tears it in half, and hands me a piece.

Sugar dusts her lips as she bites into hers.

I can’t help it. I lean forward and kiss the sweetness from her mouth.

She gasps softly, eyes fluttering shut, then kisses me back, slow and lingering, like the whole night has been building to this.

When we part, the lantern light glows gold on her face, and I know I’m done for.

“Come with me,” she says suddenly, tugging my hand.

We walk behind the bookstore where the trees are strung with lights and the wind is soft and slow. She pulls out her phone, hits a button, and music starts playing, slow, acoustic, folky.

“Oh, now you have music?” I tease as I brush her lips with mine.

We dance. Right there, just us. Hands at the small of her back.

Her forehead against me. The smell of leaves and cider and the slight citrus of her perfume.

I’m memorizing everything about this moment.

This right here is what I never want to forget.

Whenever I am afraid of what’s to come, this is the memory I’m going to come back to.

“I love you,” I breathe into her hair.

She tilts her face up, eyes locking on mine. “I love you, too,” she says, and it’s not a whisper. It’s steady, warm, like she’s been carrying it just as long as I have.

My hands cradle her face before I know I’m moving, thumbs brushing the heat of her flushed cheeks. I kiss her, hard, like the air between us might vanish if I wait another second.

Her lips are soft but urgent against mine, tasting faintly of cinnamon and the cocoa we shared earlier. She gasps into my mouth, and I take the sound, deepening the kiss until I’m half-wild with it.

Her fingers dive into my hair, tugging me closer, pulling a low sound from my throat I don’t even try to hide. My palms slide down her spine, feeling the shiver that runs through her as I press her fully against me.

The lanterns sway overhead, their glow casting golden light over her skin. I catch flashes of her lashes lowering, the slight part of her lips between kisses, the way she leans into me like she’s giving me all of her.

Every sense is lit up. The faint chill of the night air clinging to her jacket.

The way her body fits perfectly against mine.

The thud of her heartbeat in sync with mine.

I kiss her like I’m memorizing the shape of her mouth, like if I stop, the moment will dissolve.

And with every brush of her lips, every curl of her fingers into my shirt, I know this—she—is it for me.

By the time we break apart, we’re both breathing hard, foreheads resting together. The lantern light halos her, her lips swollen and glistening, her breath mingling with mine.

The wind’s picking up, curling around the edges of Wisteria Cove like it’s looking for a way to be shaken up. Leaves blow everywhere, and it’s a never ending battle to keep them cleaned up on the side of the street that has maples.

I step away from the front door of the bookstore where I’m repairing one of the awnings that has been flapping in the wind, phone buzzing in my pocket.

I know the number as soon as I see the Pacific area code.

It’s my old boss, Luke. Voice like gravel and sea salt.

The man I spent years trying to impress was hard to walk away from.

That man gave me a home and a place to work when I needed it.

A brother that I needed during that time away.

I answer anyway and put it on speaker phone and set it beside me. “Luke.”

“Hey, Holloway,” he says, casual. “You still alive?”

“More or less.”

He chuckles. “Listen, I’ll make this quick. One of my guys bailed last minute. I’ve got a crew headed north for a six-week haul. It’s rough, but it pays out good. Real good. I need you, man. If you say no, I’ll double it. Whatever it takes to get you here.”

I swallow. My throat’s dry. There’s no way I can go out again, but I don’t want to say no to him outright after all he’s done for me, and it’s good to hear his voice.

“I thought you were pissed I left,” I mutter.

“I was. But I figured you could use some ocean air, so I’m giving you another shot to come back. You know I need you. You’re the best worker I’ve ever had. And you know I don’t tell everyone that.”

It hits me like a fist to the ribs. This would be easy. An easy way to work for six weeks.

But, I love it here. I love what Willa and I have now. I love the tree farm and working with Remy.

And yet it’s still new. Unfamiliar.

And fishing is familiar.

Some days this still feels like I’m trying on a life I’m not sure fits. But it’s a life I love.

“I’d have to think about it.”

“You don’t have to answer now. You’ve got two days. I’ll call you soon.”

“Thanks,” I hang up without saying anything else.

I feel like I’m standing in two places at once, here on the chilly evening of Wisteria Cove, watching the trees sway, and back on a boat, boots soaked, face windburned, nothing but water and fish and noise.

“Tate?”

I turn and Willa stands a few feet away, her jacket pulled tight around her, her face unreadable. I know that look. That tightness. That stillness. She heard me.

Her voice is careful, soft and sharp all at once. “Are you leaving?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, honest and hating it. “It’s a lot of money. I could do it real quick and come back.”

There’s a beat of silence. She blinks once, slow. “Real quick,” she echoes, like the words taste bitter. “What about Remy? What about the tree farm? This is his busiest season. He’s counting on you.”

“I know, I just?—”

“And what about me?” Her voice cracks now, high and tight and wounded. “What about us? You’re just going to up and leave?!”

I take a step toward her, but she steps back as if I lit a match. “Willa?—”

“No,” she says, breathless. “You don’t get to do that right now.”

I feel like something is sliding out from under me. The ground is tilting. “It’s not like that,” I say, desperate. “I’m not trying to leave. I just…I don’t know, okay? It’s good money. It’s familiar. I’m good at it.”

“You’re good at a lot of things,” she snaps. “You’re good here. With me. But you’re afraid. So you’re looking for an escape hatch.”

I freeze. She’s wrong, but now she doesn’t trust me. And that makes it worse.

She exhales sharply, and the wind blows her hair across her face. She doesn’t move to fix it. “I thought you were choosing us,” she whispers. “I thought we were building something. But if you’re already looking for ways to walk away...” Her voice fades.

She shakes her head. One hard shake like she’s clearing me out. “I guess it didn’t mean anything. Then go,” she says. Quiet and final. And she turns and walks away. She doesn’t look back.

I stand there, useless, the cold sinking into my skin like it belongs there. She’s right. I am afraid.

Afraid that if I stay, I’ll screw it up. That I’ll let her down. That I’ll find a way to fail the one thing I want most.

It’d be easier to leave. But God, I don’t want to. I just don’t know how to trust that staying won’t blow up in my face.

And now? Now I might’ve messed up everything.