Page 36 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell (Wisteria Cove #1)

Tate

They say the ocean keeps its secrets.

But my secret is simple:

I never stopped loving you.

-Tate

T he sky over Wisteria Cove can’t decide whether or not it wants to storm. I get it, I feel the same. I slept on a couch in the cabin out at the Bennett Tree Farm last night. It’s cold, lonely, and I miss Willa. I even miss Cobweb.

The more I think about it, the stupider it all seems. Why did I even consider that trip? I don’t blame her for being mad. It’s stupid. Just when things are good, I mess it up. And I can’t help but hear my mom’s voice in my head. “There you go messing things up, just like your dad always did.”

I know she doesn’t want me to go out fishing anymore. She worries, and rightfully so after what happened. But part of me can’t help it. It is who I am. But even I’m doubting that now that I’m settling in here and working alongside Remy. Fishing isn’t everything to me, it was just a job.

Willa is everything to me.

Low clouds stack over the harbor like bruises, and wind curls off the water, cutting through coats, sneaking under doors.

The weather feels like it’s coming for something.

I feel it in my chest and in my ribs. A part of me always expects the tide to drag something precious out to sea.

Like I’m not supposed to have anything good.

And I’m trying to let that go and accept the good.

Claim the good, take the good, and not take less than that. I deserve this, and so does Willa.

Rain pounds sideways against the side of the workshop at the tree farm. Inside, I keep my head down. Keep moving. Keep sawing, sanding, stacking, because if I stop, I’m afraid I’ll come undone.

Remy called out today. Junie has a cold, and Donna’s up against a deadline. So it’s just me, trying to keep up with the daily tasks and get ahead on what’s coming. I’m using the distraction of work to pretend like I’m not unraveling thread by thread. Because I am.

This morning, Old Pete came and found me out at the Bennett Tree Farm.

I was surprised to see him, and it made me worry.

Before this, he never came out to the farm.

He sat beside me in the small break room, sipping coffee.

He looked smaller than usual, like the flannel he had on was wearing him instead of the other way around.

I was sipping my coffee when he told me.

“Doc says I don’t have a lot of time left. ”

My chest went tight, and I felt like the air whoosh out of it.

“Lungs,” he said matter-of -factly, like it was a weather report. “Caught up with me after all these years. There’s not much more they can do.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I said nothing, just slid my chair closer and threw my arm around his shoulders, and he leaned into me.

He didn’t seem to need my words, anyway; he just had things to say.

“I know you’ll take care of it. Wisteria Cove.

The harbor. All of it. Just like I would.

You’ve always been special to this place. ”

I was speechless. This moment took me back to when he came and told me that my father and Phil Maren were missing, and they had stopped looking and didn’t think they were coming home.

My mom had screamed and cried. She stayed in bed for a week after that.

I will never forget the look on his face when he told me.

And now? Now he’s telling me that another good man in my life was leaving.

And I know it wasn’t easy for him. He looked wrecked.

He clapped my shoulder once. Like that was that. “You’ve always had a better compass than you think, son.”

Then he left, like he hadn’t just handed me the responsibility of the whole damn town and taken away another piece of my heart.

And now I can’t breathe. I put my face in my hands and cry. Old Pete isn’t just special to me; he’s special to everyone. And this town is going to have a crater in it when he’s gone.

There’s no way in hell I would ever leave Wisteria Cove, not that I think I ever would have. But now? Now I need to make the most of every day with Pete.

I get up and finish up work for the day and sweep the shop thoroughly. Making sure everything is perfect, I glance around, then shut off the light and lock the door. I swallow and exhale a deep breath at the bomb Old Pete dropped on me today.

I make my way to the new-to-me truck I bought and start the engine, my breath in front of me. It’s cold, but I can’t even feel it.

My mom’s deadline is looming. Her texts are brief: “Don’t forget, end of the month.” Like I could. She wants me out. I just thought maybe I’d have more time. Time to figure it out. But time doesn’t wait. Life keeps on moving, and there’s never enough time.

And now Pete is dying. And Willa…God, Willa. She hasn’t spoken to me since our fight. Since she told me to go. She’s going to be devastated about Pete.

She thinks I want to leave. But the truth is, I just don’t know how to stay without breaking something. Without being the one who ruins it all.

I lose everything. My dad. My mom. And now Old Pete. The man who stepped up for me when my dad died. His boat is going to be gone soon, too. The last place I called home. Every time I reach for something good, I lose my grip. It’s like there’s a hole inside me that nothing can fill.

I sit on the steps of the cabin, boots wet, flannel soaked through, head in my hands. Rain pelts the roof above the porch like it’s trying to punch through.

I want to scream. Instead, I sit on the steps and let it all wash over me.

I think about the night my dad died. How we’d argued before he left.

How I told him I wanted to go out with him on that trip.

I had a feeling that something wasn’t right.

And part of me blames myself for not telling him that I had a bad feeling and trying to make him stay.

But I know that he probably wouldn’t have listened.

And I know that I probably let him down.

He wouldn’t have wanted me to run away like I did.

My dad never ran from anything. He faced things head-on and took care of his family.

And I know he fought for us even when he was going down.

I know he did. I feel it. That’s the man he was.

That night I watched him and my mom fight. She didn’t want him to go out on that trip, either. But she never wanted him to go out on trips. She screamed at him when he left and told him to not even bother coming back.

And I’ve carried that ever since. I’ve carried him. For a while I thought maybe she carried guilt for her words. But now, looking back, I don’t think she ever did.

Every decision I’ve made since he went missing has been a half-hearted apology.

Some punishment I thought I deserved for living when he didn’t.

I sometimes wished I’d gone out with him.

Even when I joined that Pacific crew with the rough waters and hard runs, I told myself I was just doing what I had to.

I never feared being out on the water, because I know what the water is capable of. I know the risks.

But there was always guilt. And now I’m drowning in it again. I shouldn’t have left, and if I hadn’t, I’d have had those years I was gone with Pete. Now who knows how much time we have with him.

I don’t hear the Jeep pull up beside the cabin until Willa steps out into the storm and walks around towards the front of the cabin.

She’s soaked in seconds. Wet hair clinging to her cheeks. Her eyes are wild and shining, and she’s never looked more like every dream I’m too scared to want.

“What are you doing ?” she yells over the rain.

I stare at her, blinking water from my eyes. “I could ask you the same thing.”

She moves closer. Angry, fragile, and fierce. “Why are you pulling away? Why are you shutting me out?”

“Because I’m losing everything,” I snap. “My mom’s pushing me out. I’ve got no savings, no backup, and the only good thing in my life just told me to leave.”

I don’t tell her about Pete yet, because honestly, I’m not sure he wants me to, and I know it will gut her.

“I told you to leave because you even considered it in the first place!” she shouts, voice cracking. “You won’t let yourself be happy! Do you know what that feels like? To want this and wonder if it will work out?”

I look at her, chest heaving. “I don’t know how to stay, Willa. I don’t know how to believe something good that I have won’t vanish like everything else.”

Her face crumples. “So you don’t believe in us.”

“It’s not you. It’s just…” I cut myself off, the words twisting sharp in my throat. “It’s everything.”

The wind howls around us. Rain pelts the porch.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I tell her. “But I will. That’s what I do. That’s what happens.”

She steps back as if I slapped her.

“You said you’d build a life with me,” she says, voice quiet and shaking. “You left messages in bottles. You kissed me like I was it for you. And I wanted to be your home. I want you. And now you’re what, scared of being loved?”

“I’m scared of losing you,” I rasp. “And if I stay and mess it up, that’s exactly what will happen.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t get to sabotage things because you’re afraid.”

I look away. The storm crashes harder.

And then she turns and goes back her Jeep.

I don’t follow her. Because I don’t deserve to.

My hand trembles slightly as I reach for the empty bottle on the shelf. It’s the same kind I’ve used for weeks now, tiny, curved glass with a cork top.

But it’s also the only way I’ve ever been able to say the things that terrify me and don’t know how to speak out loud. Things I couldn’t say to her when she was looking at me with those angry and betrayed eyes.

I uncork the top. Slide the bottle closer. Then I take a breath and grab my pen and paper. And start to write.

Willa,

I told myself I wasn’t going to write to you again. Not like this. Not in a way you might never read.

But the truth is, I don’t know how to say what I need to your face without breaking apart. So here it is. All of it. The real truth. What I couldn’t say out loud.

Because when I look at you, I see a life I never thought I deserved. Laughter in a kitchen. Cobweb stealing my pillow. Coffee on slow Sunday mornings in bed, and your sleepy voice reading to me from a romance novel you claim is “just okay.”

And I want it. All of it. But I don’t know how to trust that I get to have it.

Everywhere I’ve ever landed, the ground’s eventually crumbled beneath me. My dad. My mom. My home. The ocean, I thought, was where I belonged. And even more things I can’t tell you yet. I feel like it’s all been washed out to sea.

You were the first person that felt like I could have something real and safe. Maybe I couldn’t lose you, because you were the one real thing. The one that mattered.

And then I panicked because I kept thinking, this is too good. This can’t be mine.

I reached for the life I knew to survive. Not the one I want. Not the one I’d give anything to keep.

And worse, I know I hurt you to protect myself. I never want to hurt you. I love you so much it hurts.

You didn’t deserve any of it. You are the softest thing I’ve ever known. And yet somehow the strongest.

I just don’t know how to believe. But I’m trying.

And if there’s even a sliver of you that still wants me, if you ever read this, just know that I would spend a lifetime undoing what I broke. That I would carry your fears with mine, and your grief. I promise I will never stop fighting to get things right.

I love you. And I will always choose you, even if I have to do it quietly, from a distance. Even if I never get to hear you say it back again.

I will never leave again. I am your anchor. And you are my harbor.

Tate

I don’t bottle the message. I fold it once, twice, three times until it fits in the pocket of my coat.

And I keep it there. Close to my heart. I’m going to show her everything I was too afraid to say.

Until then, I’ll carry it like a compass, pointing me home.