Page 5 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell (Wisteria Cove #1)

Tate

I don’t know how many screws I’ve driven into this damn porch today, but I can tell you one thing: none of them are fixing what really needs fixing.

Not the thing between me and Willa. I didn’t think coming back here would be easy, but I didn’t expect her to be so angry and indifferent.

She looked like she was seething yesterday.

Lilith and her sisters were happy to see me, but Willa definitely was not.

I pause, leaning back on my heels to wipe sweat off my brow with my forearm.

The sun is relentless, baking the tops of my shoulders on this warmer-than-usual fall day.

My cap is turned backwards, hair damp beneath it, and my shirt’s long gone, draped somewhere over the railing I’m trying to replace.

The boards creak beneath my boots, and I remember her laughter right here, years ago.

I remember the paint splattered across her cheek when we first fixed up this porch together, the way she teased me about my terrible brush strokes.

That light in her eyes. God, I was stupid to think walking away was the right thing to do.

I left before we could ever really be something.

She was my best friend. She was supposed to be my everything.

We both knew it. And I threw it all away because I was scared.

My drill stills, and I can almost hear her saying, “You promised you’d never leave, Tate.”

Yeah, I broke that promise so thoroughly, I’m surprised this porch didn’t fall apart in my absence.

The sound of a car pulling up yanks me out of my guilt spiral. It’s an old pickup, Rowan's.

She steps out before I can even stand, arms crossed over her chest, sunglasses keeping me from seeing her eyes, her stride purposeful. Rowan's always been the most no-nonsense of the sisters, direct, sharp, fiercely protective of Willa. And right now, she’s a woman on a mission.

“Rowan,” I nod, trying to muster a casual tone. She’s having none of it.

“You busy?” she asks, already walking straight up to me.

I have a feeling that even if I was busy, this conversation would be happening regardless.

“Just fixing things,” I answer, as if that explains anything. As if this sweat-soaked apology project counts for something.

She leans against the post I just fixed, eyes narrowed behind those shades. “You know you have a lot more to fix than this railing, right? You didn’t only hurt Willa when you left. We all missed you, Tate.”

Okay, so we’re just getting straight to it. These Maren sisters don’t mess around, especially Rowan, who is known for being the toughest of all of them. My throat tightens, and I grip the drill a little harder, but I say nothing. I know she’s here to let me have it, so I’ll take it. I deserve it.

She doesn’t wait for a response but rolls right on. “You hurt all of us, Tate. You left a crater, and it wasn’t just her picking up pieces.”

I nod slowly, eyes cast down. “I know, and I'm sorry.”

Her voice softens, not by much, but enough that I feel it like a squeeze around my ribs.

“Willa…she’s strong. She won’t admit it, but when you left?

It broke her.” She pauses, lips pressed together like she’s holding back more.

“And when she broke, it broke all of us, too. And you’re an asshole for that, Tate. ”

The air between us is heavy now, loaded with everything unsaid, and I swear it’s harder to breathe.

“I know I have a lot to fix,” I manage, voice low, thick.

She sighs, steps forward. “I won’t pretend I’m not mad at you. I am. Hell, I could throttle you right now.” She reaches out suddenly, surprising me, and pulls me into a fierce hug, tight and no-nonsense.

“But we missed you, Tate,” she whispers. “And I’m glad you’re back. Even if I still want to kill you a little.”

I freeze for a heartbeat before hugging her back. When she pulls away, there’s a shimmer in her gaze, steel and softness wrapped up together. Classic Rowan.

“Be good to her,” she says. “Earn her trust back. You better fix this.”

And just like that, she’s gone, strolling back to and climbing in her truck. The engine rumbles as she pulls out and turns down the road.

I stand there, feeling more feelings than I have in years. And I’m kicking myself for leaving and staying gone. When I left, I felt like I was an outlier. I didn’t have family here anymore. Just ghosts. And I told myself that I needed to go away.

By the time the sun slips lower on the horizon, I’ve got the railing solid, a lot sturdier than when I started. It’s barely a dent in all that I need to do, but it’s something.

The sweat rolls down my back as I put everything away, my muscles tight and tired in that good way, where the physical exhaustion almost makes you forget the exhaustion. Almost.

I stretch my back, wiping sweat from my temple with the edge of my wrist, and lean against the porch to admire my work.

And then I feel it, that tingle at the back of my neck.

I know before I even look up. There she is.

Willa, standing at her upstairs window, half hidden behind sheer curtains, is watching me.

My heart lodges in my throat. She’s beautiful in the golden light, hair loose, face unreadable from this distance, but I swear her gaze is burning holes straight through me. I can’t help myself.

I grin. A slow, crooked, lazy grin, the kind that used to make her laugh and roll her eyes all at once. And just like that, she looks away. Pretends she wasn’t watching. But she was.

I stay rooted there for a second longer, heart pounding, grinning like an idiot at nothing now.

Then I turn back to my tools and finish tightening the last railing bolt, because this isn’t about rushing. Not this time. As twilight falls, I gather my tools and pause at the top step of the porch.

I sit on the steps for a while, elbows on my knees, watching dusk settle over the street. A neighbor bikes past and calls out with a grin, “About time you came home, Holloway!”

I laugh softly, lifting a hand in acknowledgment. Yeah. It was time.

As night falls, I close my eyes, leaning back against the porch post. The smell of her favorite candle drifts down from the open window above, a vanilla scent I haven’t smelled in years but know by heart.

God, I missed her. And I’m not leaving again. I left because I thought she deserved better than me.All I did was make her carry the pieces I shattered. Not this time. I open my eyes, looking up at her window once more.

I whisper to the quiet night, to myself, to her, even if she can’t hear it: “I’ll fix this. Every board, every brick, every damn thing I broke. I’ll fix it all.”

And as I pick up my shirt and sling it over my shoulder, I feel it deep in my bones. This isn’t over.

It’s just the beginning.

I’m still asleep the next morning when my phone rings. I answer it, blinking with surprise at the caller.

“Hey, Lilith,” I say, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“Tate,” she begins, sweet but sharp, like she always is. “I hate to bother you, honey, but my kitchen sink is leaking something awful. It’s practically flooding the entire place.”

There’s a pause.

“And honestly, I think you owe me some neighborly help after disappearing without a goodbye for years?”

That earns a tired smile from me. Lilith doesn’t miss a chance to twist the knife, even if she does it with a friendly voice.

“I’ll be right over,” I tell her.

I walk down Main Street, hands shoved in the pockets of my worn flannel, boots scuffing against cobblestones as a cool breeze sends a swirl of leaves skittering past. Wisteria Cove doesn’t just decorate for fall; it becomes fall.

Every porch is drowning in pumpkins and cornstalks, wreaths of orange, crimson, and brown leaves, along with dried herbs, hanging from every door.

Businesses decorate their storefronts, competing for the most elaborate decorations.

The whole town smells like cider, wood smoke, and nostalgia.

Even Wisteria Books & Brews has gone all in, and honestly, it’s my favorite of them all.

Everywhere I look, it’s cozy fall chaos: lanterns strung between lampposts, corgis in witch hats, scarecrows propped up next to chalk quotes with fall quotes. Wisteria Cove never did simple, and God, it’s beautiful. There’s no other place in the world like fall here.

By the time I reach Lilith’s old Victorian, painted that deep plum color with herbs drying from the porch beams and her willow tree draped in flickering amber lanterns, I already know I’m not here to fix anything that’s actually broken.

Her place is as perfect as ever, leaning fully into its witchy splendor, like the entire yard has been waiting all year for this exact season.

I pause under the branches, breathing it all in, and can’t help but smile.

This town wraps around you whether you want it to or not.

When Lilith appears at the door before I can even knock, a sly smile on her face, I shake my head.

I missed her. But coming home also reminds me that I lost my father and my mother.

Technically, Mom is still alive, but she has never been as warm and welcoming to me as Lilith.

Her house is exactly as I remember it: warm, cluttered, smelling faintly of cinnamon and something baking. A wreath with dried flowers is on the door.

When she holds open the door for me to enter, Lilith is wearing an apron dusted with flour, her long silver hair twisted into a neat bun.

She looks like the small-town matriarch—only make her a witch.

Those eyes have a way of seeing straight through me.

She’s full of intuition and heart. There’s no one I’ve ever met like her.

She has a way of making you feel seen and heard.

“Thanks for coming, sweetheart,” she says, ushering me inside. “The sink’s over there. It’s leaking from somewhere underneath, and I just don’t know what to do.”

I crouch down and open the cabinet door. Barely a drip. I twist the pipe gently. Tight. Dry.

“Lilith…this isn’t leaking,” I say, confused.

She waves her hand in the air. “Oh, it was yesterday. I swear it was. Maybe it fixed itself overnight.”

She smiles too innocently, leaning on the counter as if that’ll distract me.

I smirk, shaking my head. “You made this up to get me over here, didn’t you?”

Instead of denying it, she shrugs. “What can I say? You’re not exactly easy to pin down these days, Tate. No one knows when you’ll be gone again.”

It’s impossible not to chuckle at her ridiculous honesty. I close the cabinet and stand, wiping my hands on the towel she’s suddenly offering me.

“Coffee?” she asks.

She’s already pouring before I can answer.

“I feel like I should charge you for this service call,” I tease.

“Oh, please. You owe me just for breaking my daughter’s heart. And mine.”

I wince at the jab. Even though her tone is playful, it lands. Lilith doesn’t let much go unsaid.

The coffee is strong. We sit at her little kitchen table, and she watches me like I’m a kid who’s come home from college, half proud, half suspicious.

Her kitchen is cozy, with jars on shelves containing teas and herbs. I’ve always felt at home here in the Maren kitchen. Lilith pours herself into everything she does. And every meal she’s ever made me in here was nothing short of incredible.

She stirs her mug and murmurs something, then says, “So, what are your plans now that you’re back?”

I take a breath, weighing my answer. It’s a simple question, but I know it’s not simple for her. Or for me.

“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “Fix up the old place. Maybe stay through fall. I haven’t thought much beyond that.”

Her brow arches. “Mm-hmm. And Willa?”

That name on her tongue hits different. Soft and sharp at the same time. Like a match striking. “What about Willa?”

“Are you planning to fix things there, too?” she asks bluntly.

I sip the coffee slowly, buying myself a second.

“Honestly? I don’t know if I can, but I’m going to try. She’s not exactly eager to forgive me.”

Lilith nods in agreement, leaning back in her chair and studying me.

I run a hand over my jaw. “I messed up.”

Lilith leans forward now, elbows on the table. “Why did you come back?”

That one catches me off guard, not because I don’t have an answer, but because I’m not sure how honest I want to be with Lilith right now. What is it with Maren women confronting me, anyway?

I swirl the coffee in my mug and then set it down carefully.

“I missed it,” I say quietly. “This place. Her. Everyone. All of it.”

Lilith softens at that, her eyes warming. “Well…good. Because this town hasn’t been quite right without you, Tate, whether Willa admits it or not.”

I look around her kitchen, the black lace curtains, the pumpkin centerpiece on the table, the cinnamon sticks in a jar by the stove and realize how much it really hasn’t changed.

It’s as if Wisteria Cove has been waiting for me to come back and pick up the pieces.

Lilith’s watching me again with that look, the one that says she sees every thought running through my head.

“I missed you, Lilith,” I say finally, smirking. “Even your meddling.”

She laughs then, rich and full. “Oh honey, I know. But I figured a little motherly meddling never hurt anyone. Plus, I missed you something fierce.”

I shake my head, stand, and drain the last of the coffee. “Well…consider me officially meddled with. And you can call me to hang out and not pretend you need me to fix anything. But I will always help you fix things if you really need it.”

She follows me to the door, pulling me into a quick hug before I leave.“Willa’s stubborn,” Lilith says with a small smile. “But she’s got a good heart. She just needs time.”

I nod, because I know that’s true. And maybe—just maybe—time will be enough.

Still, loving her from a distance is the only thing I’ve ever really figured out how to do.

I don’t know if Lilith’s words are meant to reassure me, but they do.

Enough to stay. Enough to keep hoping that maybe what I feel isn’t just mine to carry.

I have no doubt Lilith’s working whatever quiet magic she can to see that Willa and I end up together again.

That’s just how she operates, pulling strings behind the scenes, always two steps ahead.

But after the storm, after my dad went missing, my mom drifted away from her.

Something happened between them that night, something I was too young to understand, and whatever it was, it built a wall I couldn’t see over.

The mother I had before the storm and the woman who emerged after? They weren’t the same.

“Okay,” I murmur as I step outside, the cool autumn air sliding over my skin, crisp and clean, sharp with the scent of fallen leaves.

I pause on Lilith’s porch, breath misting in front of me, feeling the tug of this town, the history, the secrets, the way Wisteria Cove never quite lets you go.

And for the first time in a long time, I wonder if I even want it to.