Page 19 of The Witch’s Shifter (Season of the Witch #3)

Alden

AS EVENING ROLLS AROUND, I find myself walking the streets of Wysteria.

The lamp lighters have already been through, and flickering firelight bathes the city in warm illumination.

Unlike last night, when everyone was chased inside by the storm, tonight people are out in droves, enjoying rowdy pubs, candlelit cafés, and ale-scented taverns.

The air is heavy with fragrances, each competing to pull me in a different direction.

But I know where I’m headed, even if I’m still not so sure why.

I find the town square easily enough—if most of the streets didn’t lead here, all the patrons would’ve guided my way.

Indeed, as Belinda mentioned, there’s a great statue in the center of the square, a glittering bronze stag with antlers reaching high toward the night sky.

Tiny flickering lanterns set about its hooves cast it in an orange light, making the metal glimmer.

Just past the statue is Boar and Badger—the large sign outside, paired with carvings of a boar and a badger, makes it easy to pick out of the bustling places of business. It’s a two-story building made of wood and stone, and the windows on both levels glow with warmth.

I approach with a feeling of trepidation swirling in my gut.

It’s not that I’m uncomfortable having dinner with Belinda; it’s that I don’t understand her reason for inviting me, or some of those looks on her face when I bumped into her in the yarn shop.

But I suppose the only way to figure it out is by going inside.

The arched wooden door swings open, and three people step out, clasping their cloaks about their necks as they go. I move aside on the cobblestone walkway to let them pass, then grab the door and slip through before it can close.

Immediately, heat washes over me, chasing the chill from my nose and fingers. The tavern smells of woodsmoke, heady tobacco, and fragrant dishes, and if not for the din of patrons laughing and drinking and dining, I’m sure everyone would hear the great grumble my stomach gives out.

As I remove my cloak and step into the main seating area, my gaze scans the crowd. Most of the tables are full, and overhead, on the second level, people lean against the thick wooden banisters, chatting amongst themselves while sipping from oversize tankards of ale.

I don’t see Belinda on my first sweep, but on my second, I spot her sitting in a far back corner, gaze out the dark window beside the table. It seems she hasn’t spotted me yet. And so, I have a moment to regard her from across the crowded room.

The look on her face is contemplative—this is one I’m familiar with.

I used to find her sitting on the porch of my cabin, cup of tea in hand, rocking slowly while staring out into the trees.

When I first noticed her doing this, I assumed she was just lost in thought, but as the weeks and months passed and she became more deeply embroiled in her thoughts, I came to realize the look on her face as one of yearning—yearning to be somewhere else, to experience something other than the quiet life we lived each day in Faunwood.

To see it on her face now, when she’s surrounded by such energy and liveliness, makes me wonder if she’s once more daydreaming of other places, other lives. .. other people.

“Evening,” I say after making it through the crowd and stepping up to her table.

She starts, a hand going to her chest. “Oh, Alden. I didn’t see you there.”

“I imagine not”—I drape my cloak along the back of the chair across from Belinda, and the wood groans as I sink into it—“what with the way you were staring out that window. See anything interesting?”

The smile she gives me is small and only partly entertained.

Now, as I look about the table where we’re seated, I realize her daughter—Sophie, if I’m remembering correctly—isn’t here. And, perhaps even more surprising, neither is her husband.

“Where’s the rest of the family?” I ask while casting my gaze once more about the lively tavern. “Thought they might join us.”

“No.” Belinda shakes her head. The firelight from the lanterns and roaring hearth makes her wavy brown hair gleam. “It’s just us tonight.”

Though I expect more of an explanation, she offers none. I suppose it’s none of my business anyway.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

“Not at all.” She rests one elbow on the table and quirks her head to the side. “I’ve only been here a short while. I did order us drinks though.”

As if summoned by Belinda’s words, a tavern maid sweeps through the crowd and up to our table, two frothing mugs of ale balanced upon a tray.

“Here you are, dears.” She sets them down with a flourish, then props the tray on a hip. “You eating tonight?”

My stomach grumbles again. This time, I think Belinda and the tavern maid hear, because they both smile.

“The potato soup please,” Belinda says. “For both of us. And a full order of cheese bread too.”

Just like old times, she doesn’t even have to ask what I want.

“You want the bread out first?”

Belinda meets my gaze, and I’m struck by how familiar her honey eyes are, even after these years spent apart.

“Definitely,” I say.

With a nod, the tavern maid disappears back into the ruckus, leaving me and Belinda alone.

The way she’s looking at me, gaze soft but focused, makes me squirm, and I reach for my ale as a way to give my hands something to do.

There’s thick froth atop the mug, but once I get through that, I’m rewarded with the mild toasty sweetness of the ale.

It slips easily down my throat, and after I’ve had a deep drink, I set the mug back onto the table with a thump.

And Belinda is still staring at me. I’m starting to get even more confused about why I’m here—and why her family isn’t.

Does she really just want to catch up for old times’ sake?

Or is it because she still feels guilty about leaving me?

I’m not sure. But maybe I’m overthinking everything.

It wouldn’t be the first time in regard to her.

While Aurora is open and vulnerable with her feelings, Belinda was often obscure with her emotions, leaving me constantly guessing at what was going on inside her head.

Now that I’ve had time away from her, I realize how taxing that was on me, how hard I always had to try to understand her. It was exhausting.

“So...” I clear my throat and glance away. “You come here often?”

Her laughter is light, and she finally sits back from the table and takes a sip of her ale. “Is it to be small talk, then?”

My cheeks heat a bit. “All right.” This time when I glance her way, I lean forward, bracing my forearms on the wooden table. “Why are we here?”

How’s that for small talk?

She doesn’t laugh this time. Rather, the smile slips from her lips, and she takes another drink from her mug, honey gaze sliding away from mine and into the crowd. It takes her a moment to answer.

“I was surprised when I saw you at the shop today. At first, I thought I was seeing things. But you’re still you.

I’d have recognized you anywhere.” She glances at me, then away again.

“I suppose I just... wanted to talk. Reconnect.” As she lifts a hand to tuck a wavy strand of hair behind her ear, the ring on her left hand winks in the light. Not that I need the reminder.

“Reconnect?” My eyes narrow. “Why?”

“ Why? ” This time when she looks at me, one of her brows is arched, and there’s a tilt to her lips I remember from our bantering and arguments. “Can I take that to mean you don’t feel the same way?”

Her words make me blink in surprise. Didn’t expect that.

“Feel what way?” I ask, then realize afterward that a sharp edge slipped into my tone.

I sit back from the table. “Belinda, you called off our engagement. You packed up your bag and moved away. You married another man and have a child with him. And now you want to reconnect?” I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

The quirk in her lips transforms into a scowl, then a frown. Her shoulders rise as she takes a breath, then sink when she lets it out. “I’m sorry. I suppose I don’t understand it myself either. I just saw you today, and it... brought back a lot of memories. Good and bad.”

Memories. I know all about those.

When Belinda rode away in the wagon, headed for her shiny new life, she left me with the memories of her existence—the teacups with the strawberries painted on the sides, the hair ribbon she left in the drawer of the bedside table, the empty chair across the table from mine.

She didn’t have to deal with those memories— I did.

And now she’s, what, finally remembering the years we spent together?

Remembering that we were supposed to be man and wife?

I’m not mad at her anymore—haven’t been in quite some time—yet I feel frustration rising in my stomach, hot and uncomfortable.

Thankfully, before I can say something foolish, the tavern maid arrives with our cheesy bread. The fresh-baked loaf steams as she sets the platter in the center of our table, and the cheese melted atop it is still bubbling. My mouth waters at the sight of it.

Belinda and I take turns cutting slices and placing them on the smaller plates the tavern maid brought over. I’ve got my mouth full when she says, “So, tell me more about this Aurora. How’d you meet her?”

“I did some work on her cottage.” I take another bite of the cheesy goodness, then wash it down with a hearty swallow of ale. “She moved in this past spring.”

“And that lovely yarn you bought, will she be knitting you something with it? Green has always suited you.”

I’m so enraptured by the warm bread, I don’t even think before saying, “No, she’s been knitting for the baby.”

Belinda’s mug stops halfway to her mouth. She blinks. “The baby ? You’re having a child with her?”