Page 40 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell (Wisteria Cove #1)

Willa

You were the lighthouse the whole damn time, weren’t you?

Even when I was too blind to see it.

You kept shining.

And I’m finally ready to sail home for good.

-Tate

T he smell of old books and cinnamon lingers in the air, but my eyes aren’t on the stack of books beside me.

They’re on the dock, and more specifically, on him.

Tate Holloway’s wearing that navy flannel that makes my knees weak, sleeves rolled to the elbows, hair a little wind-tousled from the harbor breeze.

He’s laughing, a full-belly, eyes-crinkling, head-thrown-back kind of laugh, as Old Pete yells something at him from the bench near the bait shop.

But I know there’s a heaviness behind those eyes.

It’s a heaviness of what’s coming, but I know he’s soaking up every minute that he can right now.

Pete gestures wildly with his hand while Tate ties something off on a skiff like he’s finally chosen this place and let himself take root. The knot in my chest loosens a little more. And my heart breaks a little, wondering how many more moments we’ll have like this with Pete.

I tuck a blanket under my arm, grab two steaming to-go cups of hot coffee behind the counter, and head for the door. Cobweb meows from her window perch as I pass, flicking her tail like she approves.

The chill hits me the second I step outside, but I don’t care.

The path to the dock is layered in golden leaves and the harbor hums with life, seagulls crying, water slapping against boats, someone hammering in the distance.

Wisteria Cove is calm and alive, a reminder that life goes on even after storms.

Pete sees me coming before I say anything. “Well, if it isn’t the prettiest book witch in the harbor.”

“You only say that when I bring you coffee,” I tease, passing him a cup.

He sniffs dramatically. “Ah, perfection in a cup. What’s the secret to your coffee, Willa?”

“A pinch of cinnamon in the grounds,” I tell him, not even hesitating as I unfold the blanket and lay it across his lap. “And this is so your knees don’t turn to brittle sea glass by lunch.”

“Rude.” He playfully rolls his eyes, but he tucks it around him anyway. “Now, I know something is up. Because you’d never tell anyone your coffee secrets unless they’re dying.”

I give him my best smile, even though I feel my eyes ping with a sting of tears and scoot in closer next to him. “Someone’s gotta keep you safe.”

“Thought you’d be glued to your shop, guarding your spell books and carrying that cat everywhere.” He says, obviously not ready to talk about it yet.

“Cobweb can hold down the fort for a few minutes.”

We both watch Tate for a moment, the soft creak of the dock settling beneath our weight. He’s working and getting his boat cleaned up from last night; it looks like.

I glance at the old man beside me. His cheeks are ruddy from the wind. His hands shake a little as he lifts the mug. But his eyes…they’re bright. Sharp. Holding more stories than the entire second floor of my shop.

Pete doesn’t look at me. “You know, don’t you?”

I rest my hand gently over his on the bench between us. “I know that you're sick.”

He stiffens for half a second. Then sighs. “Big mouth. Knew he couldn’t keep that to himself.”

“He did. He didn’t tell me right away. I could just…tell something was weighing him down.” I squeeze his hand. “You’ve always been the anchor of this town, Pete. The cranky, salty, slightly terrifying anchor.”

“I prefer charmingly cantankerous.”

I smile. “Sure, that works, too. Seriously, though. We’re not gonna let you carry this alone. Whatever you need, I’m here. We all are. No one in this town is going to let you go at this alone. You’re not alone in this.”

He swallows hard, and I see the flicker in his expression, like he’s not sure whether to cuss me out or cry. “Damn it, Willa.”

“I know.” I lay my head on his shoulder, and we both stare out at the harbor.

He clears his throat, takes another sip of coffee. “I’m not used to this whole ‘people giving a damn’ thing.”

“Well, too bad. You’ve spent your whole life taking care of this place. Now it’s our turn to take care of you.”

He turns to me slowly, blinking faster than usual. “You really mean that?”

“With every beat of my sappy little witchy heart.”

He laughs, and then, just for a second, his fingers tighten around mine.

“You remind me of your mom,” he says, voice suddenly rough.

That knocks the wind out of me. “Yeah?”

“She always been full of spitfire and heart. Never backed down. Always knew when someone needed a hand to hold, even if they didn’t say it. Just like you.”

“Well,” I say, voice catching, “I had good people to raise me.”

“Yes, you did,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee and smiling as if he knows a secret no one else knows.

We sit there a while, just watching Tate fix something along the dock with that signature Holloway determination.

“He’s just like you, you know,” Pete murmurs. “That’s why you’re both so perfect to run Wisteria Cove and look after everyone.”

I look at him.

“That boy’s been looking for a place to land for years, but he found it. Unlike you, he didn't have an excellent mother to raise him.”

My chest tightens. “Yeah, he got robbed there.”

Pete grins. “Look at him. He’s got his very own stubborn Maren girl and a town full of fools who love him. What else does a man need?”

“A cat in a hoodie pocket?”

Pete laughs and coughs again, wiping at his eye like it’s just wind. “You’re gonna make an old man cry.”

“Better tears of laughter than sadness.’”

Pete snorts and nods.

Tate looks up and spots us. He smiles, with that impossibly handsome smile, and heads our way, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Hey, what’s all this? Please say that's for me?” he eyes the coffee in my hand.

“Willa’s on nurse duty,” Pete says snidely. “And emotional support patrol. Real bossy about it, too, you big mouth.”

“She’s good at that,” Tate says, his gaze settling on me with something soft. “Real good.”

I hand him his coffee, and he smiles gratefully and takes it. “Thanks.”

And just like that, the world feels a little less heavy.Because we’re not alone. Not in grief or in love. And never in the messy life that we get to do together.

By the time Tate and I walk into Marco’s for a big family dinner, it smells like garlic, melted cheese, and heaven.

Seriously. If heaven had a scent, it would be the buttery crackle of garlic knots and the yeasty, almost-sweet scent of fresh dough rising under the wood fire.

Add in the mouth-watering aroma of tomato sauce, the peppery sizzle of sausage, and the faint sweet smell of basil in the air, and it’s enough to make your knees buckle. Yeah, this is heaven.

Marco himself waves from behind the counter, tossing a disk of dough high into the air like he's conducting a symphony. “Willa! You bring the entire coven tonight or just your favorite boy toy?”

Tate coughs behind me.

I glance back and smirk. “Don’t be jealous. You're second only to pizza.”

Tate leans down, mouth near my ear. “I’m fine being second. As long as I get dessert.”

I flush all the way to my fingertips and nudge him with my hip.

Our group floods the front like a pack of joyful chaos. Junie darts straight toward the vintage Ms. Pac-Man machine with Ivy on her heels. “Let's do this!”

Finn, already in a backwards cap and hoodie, is hooting and slamming buttons on the pinball machine like a grown child. Remy groans, but smiles. He follows behind with a parental slouch that says, this is my circus and yes, these are my monkeys .

Rowan slides in beside me, shaking leaves from her curls. “Are we feasting or summoning spirits tonight?”

“Why not both?” I laugh.

Lilith and Donna are already making a beeline for Marco’s favorite booth, the one by the big front window with the deep red leather seats and cozy candlelight.

Old Pete stayed home tonight, said something about his knees and Netflix.

I think he just wanted to be horizontal by seven, and honestly, respect.

He's been through a lot. He hasn't told anyone else yet, and we're waiting for him.

I suspect Donna knows because Pete and Donna have been close friends for years.

Donna, Pete, and my mom are like the caretakers of the town.

They know everyone and look out for all. Not much gets by those three.

We all pile into seats and corner booths, coats flung onto hooks, scarves hung on chairs.

Wisteria Cove is rapidly descending into the colder season, and the weather is brisk tonight.

The table stretches out in mismatched chairs and elbows, and Marco himself slides over with the first round of garlic knots so hot they steam.

Tate grabs one, breaks it in half, and offers the bigger piece to me with a wink. I accept it like it’s a diamond ring. Because honestly? In this town, a warm garlic knot is a love language. The garlic knots are perfection.

“Okay,” Ivy says, bouncing in her seat as she plays Tic Tac Toe with Junie on her paper menu. “We are ordering everything.”

“Agreed,” Finn says. “Appetizers are just a warm-up lap. I’m here for the buffalo chicken pizza and the meatball sliders.”

“And the prosciutto fig flatbread,” Rowan chimes in, eyes glittering. “We’re feral tonight.”

Tate raises his hand like we’re in school. “And a full order of fried ravioli. It’s not a real Marco’s night without that.”

“Can confirm,” I add. “Also, we’re going to need a takeout box before the food even arrives.”

Junie tugs on Ivy’s sleeve, looking up with big brown eyes. “Can I have more quarters?”

Ivy glances toward Remy.

But before he can even dig into his wallet, Tate pulls out a handful from his flannel pocket and hands them over like a vending machine prince.

“What?” he says as Junie squeals and runs off. “Everyone knows you can’t come to Marco’s and not play the games. It’s like a childhood rite of passage. Just passing the baton here.”

I lean closer to him, heart turning into a puddle. “You’re such a softie.”

He smirks and whispers in my ear. “Only for you. And pizza. Also, there’s nothing soft about me when I think of you.”

Town gossips are definitely watching us from the other tables. You can feel it, the curious glances, the subtle smiles, the phrase “finally” whispered between shared appetizers and sneaky glances in our direction.

Lilith sips her iced tea and chats with Donna and watches us with satisfaction as if they’ve been planning this for decades. Wisteria Cove friendships exist on a whole different time line, seasons and soup nights, and gossip is shared like sacred rituals.

I catch Remy watching Ivy as she and Junie huddle over the claw machine by the window. There’s something in his expression that’s not just fondness.Interesting.Very interesting.

The appetizers land, and we’re all ready to dig in. Piping hot fried ravioli, bubbly marinara, meatballs nestled in soft bread with a mountain of melted cheese, and arugula salad with shaved parmesan and lemon oil that smells so good it doesn’t even count as healthy.

We pass plates and steal bites. There’s laughter, overlapping stories, forks clinking, and enough warmth to melt the fall chill still clinging to my skin.

Marco drops off the pizzas himself. “One mushroom truffle. One buffalo. One margarita. And one special, which is Tate’s favorite. Bacon, sausage, jalapeno, and a secret, very special ingredient.”

Tate lifts a slice like it’s holy.

We eat until we’re full, and then we eat some more. Everyone wraps up leftovers to take home, except Finn, who’s still picking at his like a hungry raccoon.

“I’m gonna need a nap and a full moon detox after this,” Rowan groans, stretching.

Donna dabs her mouth delicately and says, “Well, you do need to stay in good health. I might write you into my next book.”

The table goes silent.

Then Ivy gasps. “Wait. What?”

“You heard me.” Donna’s eyes sparkle. “You never know when I’ll be inspired by someone I know. Especially when they act out a real-life love story right under my nose.”

She doesn’t even look at me, but I feel the heat crawl up my neck anyway.

“Oh my god,” Rowan groans. “If she writes you in, it’s happening. That’s the Wisteria Cove spell!”

“I don’t make the rules,” Donna says with a sip of her iced tea. “But I do write them.”

Ivy snorts and grins. “Does that mean if you write me in, I finally get a happy ending?”

Remy chokes on his soda.

Donna arches a brow. “I think you mean happily ever after, honey.”

Ivy flaps her napkin dramatically. “No comment!”

Rowan wiggles her eyebrows and murmurs. “Someone needs to get laid.”

“Rowan!”

“Oh please,” she says, waving a breadstick. “We’ve all seen the way Derek is. You need a real man.”

Tate leans into my ear again. “What the hell is happening?”

“Chaos,” I whisper back. “Absolute, beautiful chaos.”

The dinner winds down, plates scraped clean, dessert offered and declined only because no one can move. We bundle up and head into the night with takeout boxes and full hearts.

On the walk home, the town is quiet again. Leaves crunch under our boots, and the smell of wood smoke curls in from chimneys along the harbor.

It’s just me, Tate, Ivy, and Rowan now. The four of us in a loose row, full of carbs and chaos.

Donna peels off toward her house, calling, “Good night, darlings! Don’t do anything I would write about. Wait a minute, definitely do that!”

“Ivy,” Rowan says slyly. “Do you need a ride home? Or are you gonna sneak onto the tree farm and climb some trees?”

We all know she’s talking about Remy. The energy between those two has always had sparks.

Ivy’s still with Derek, but they’re so on again, off again.

We are all rooting for the off part. Derek doesn’t treat her right and never has.

You won’t find him at these dinners because he doesn’t like any of us, and he doesn’t mind letting that be known.

The last time he came to dinner he had so many digs about witches and how bad we all were.

Ivy was so embarrassed, and he hasn’t been back since.

“I hate you,” Ivy mutters, but she’s smiling.

Tate wraps an arm around my waist as we climb the steps to the bookstore. “This town,” he says.

I smile. “I know.”

He leans down and kisses the top of my head. “Remind me never to leave it.”

“Deal.”

And just like that, we disappear inside, back into the glow of the bookstore’s light. Safe. Full. A little ridiculous. But entirely, wonderfully home.