Page 45 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell (Wisteria Cove #1)
Tate
L et me tell you something.
This boat? This was once my father’s pride and joy. Back then, it smelled like diesel and regret, creaked like it hated its own existence, and had more rust and fatigue than anything.
Now? It’s a damn floating storybook.
There’re twinkle lights strung from bow to stern, warm cider in thermoses with crocheted cozies, a little portable heater tucked under the console, and custom wood benches Willa insisted needed “a cozy slouch factor.” She painted them herself in shades called things like Sea Mist and Oyster Pearl, which I’m ninety percent sure are just fancy ways of saying blue and white.
I pilot the boat. She tells the stories. And somehow, it works.
“—and that’s the spot right there,” Willa says into her mic, her voice soft and singsong as we round the bend near Lovers’ Rock.
“Where the lighthouse keeper fell in love with the baker’s daughter.
He lit the lantern every night for her, even after she moved away.
Every single night for twelve years. And if you want to read more, you can buy the book at Wisteria Books & Brews. ”
The group on board gives the appropriate “aww,” a few of them sipping cider, one kid sneaking a second cookie from the basket. Willa winks and hands him a few in a napkin.
I glance at Willa. She’s hired more help at the bookstore and joins me on the tours we schedule. She’s standing near the bow, hair twisted into a messy braid, cheeks flushed from the cold, her scarf trailing in the wind like she’s the main character in a Hallmark movie.
She catches me watching and winks.
Lord help me.
“Fun fact,” she continues. “The baker’s daughter eventually came back and opened a bookstore. Right here in Wisteria Cove.”
A few passengers murmur with recognition.
“Wait,” a woman whispers. “That’s her.”
“Right?” her friend says, clutching her coffee cup. “That’s the couple from the flyers. They’re really married.”
I cough to hide my laugh. We’re not married. Yet.
But I’m not about to correct them. Not when Willa’s glowing with happiness like that. Not when I know, in every bone of my body, that she’s my forever.
We pass the dock, and Old Pete’s there, bundled in his coat and dozing on his bench like some magical sea wizard who’s watching over everything. I swear he still knows more about what’s happening in this town than anyone. He’s hanging in there and he’s getting the best care from everyone.
Remy strolls down the dock with Junie beside him with her own thermos and a balloon sword. She shouts, “GO FASTER!” and nearly drops the thermos.
Remy catches it, unbothered as Junie yells, “YOU GOT THIS, CAPTAIN TATE!”
I raise a hand in salute. “Aye aye!”
Willa rolls her eyes but laughs, the sound curling around my ribs and settling there like it’s home.
I slow the boat as we pass beneath the lighthouse. It’s glowing gold in the late afternoon, casting its beam across the water like something out of a postcard. Willa turns toward me, her hand slipping into mine, her fingers squeezing gently.
“Ready for the next chapter?” she asks.
I grin. “Aye aye, captain.”
Our passengers clap. I think someone wipes a tear.
Honestly? This is the life.
After the tour, we dock the boat and thank our little group of dreamy-eyed tourists, who swear they’re coming back for the Valentine’s cruise we just made up and started planning last week.
Willa hops down to the dock and immediately slips on some water.
“Careful,” I say, catching her before she face plants.
She mutters something, but I kiss her anyway. Right there on the dock in front of everyone.
Old Pete whistles from his bench. “Get a cabin, ya horny sea biscuits!”
Donna, who somehow appeared behind him with a notebook in one hand and a chocolate croissant in another, says. “Oh, I am using that line.”
Willa pulls back, panting. “She’s writing us into her next book, isn’t she?”
“Definitely a strong possibility,” I say. “Should I be worried she called me a horny sea biscuit?”
“Probably.”
That night, back in the cabin, I find her curled up by the fire, cat on her lap, sketching ideas for a new tour, the “Winter Solstice Love Stories” ride. She looks up when I walk in and asks, “Think we can get Remy to dress up like a sea ghost?”
“No,” I say. “But we could probably get Finn to.”
Willa lights up. “Oh my god. Yes. He would. ”
I sit beside her and hand her a tiny bottle.
She tilts her head. “Another one?”
I nod.
She opens it. Unrolls the paper. Reads it slowly, her lips moving.
“Will you marry me?”
She says nothing for a second. Just looks at me like I am her whole damn world. I love it when she looks at me like that.
And then she kisses me like we’ve still got a thousand more chapters to write.
Which, for the record, we do. Because I’m not going anywhere. I’m not drifting anymore. I’m anchored. To her and this town. And I wouldn’t change a thing.