Three hundred years ago, four witches ventured into the forest to cast a protective spell against the encroaching darkness threatening their town. But they were too late.
November 1, 1722
With her back firmly turned toward the first hint of sunrise, Cassia listened to the creaks and groans of the wagon wheels fading into the distance, watched the faint outline of her sisters in magick blur through tears. Their absence settled over her like a second layer of skin—cloying, heavy, and impossible to remove.
Not since the day she’d gently closed her mother’s lifeless eyes had she felt more alone.
Dew dampened the hem of her skirts as she turned her back on loss and faced the path that led to Haven. Minutes passed in a haze, the rising sun making useless the lit lantern she still carried, but Cassia noticed nothing, until a spear of sunlight illuminated the topmost window of the library crafted to fit Dahlia’s vision.
Church-like in architecture, built from stones shaped by the magick running through Laurel’s husband’s blood, the structure was as different from every other unassuming structure as a black swan swimming in a bevy of white. Three years of toil by the blooded and unblooded alike, the tall and the small had a hand in its construction from spreading the mortar to placing the stones by might and power. The library would stand for as long as time. Today, Cassia took no solace in it.
The village no longer felt like home, though she had spent every day of her life there. It had become a husk to her, hollowed out by guilt and loss. In seeking to protect, she had exposed loved ones to the forces of evil.
Laurel’s death rested heavy on her heart and shoulders. A burden Cassia expected to carry until her final breath and probably beyond.
Being tethered to this place and the magical lines that held the barrier intact was a fitting punishment—while Dahlia and Hyssop had not earned theirs. She should have been the one cast out, cast away into the night to make her way alone and unprotected. That would have balanced the scales. But Cassia also knew she could not falter; if she did, the thin veil of protection she and her sisters had wrought would collapse, leaving Haven to be devoured by the darkness they sought to banish.
But what was left for her now? A coven reduced to one.
“Breathe,” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling in the twilight. “Breathe, and take the next step.”
The next step took her forward, but not toward the village.
The circle was quiet as she entered, the sky above painted with streaks of gray and lavender. Smoke still rose from the smoldering remains of Laurel’s pyre, a bitter scent that curled in her nostrils and twisted her stomach. The sight of the blood-soaked ground where her sister had fallen was a lance that lodged in her mind, heart, and soul as she removed what she needed from her satchel.
With herbs carefully chosen for the task, Cassia performed a ritual of cleansing that would allow Laurel’s spirit release. Following her intuition, she used her bolline to etch a line across her palm, wincing at the sudden pain. Spilling blood and intention, she set a repulsion spell around the perimeter of the circle.
None but the chosen would find Laurel’s final resting place, and only when it was their time to prove. Dahlia had not told her such protection might be needed, but Dahlia didn’t know everything.
As quickly as the rebellious thought flared, Cassia ruthlessly tamped it down. If not for Dahlia’s visions, they might all be dead. If not for Dahlia, no one would be left behind to watch over the village since, for Laurel, Haven had turned out to be anything but.
In the days that followed, Cassia buried herself in the work of protecting and the fading hope her work would bring atonement. The barrier still hummed at the edges of her consciousness, its power drawn from the crystals and the unyielding will of her coven’s blood. Rather than face her neighbors, she flitted through the village after dark, carving protections into the door posts of cottages, leaving behind potions to soothe restless children. Cassia cared for the people without having to see them.
A year passed, but nothing she did could shake the memory of what happened in the clearing. Over and over she watched Laurel’s light dim. She relived the moment the dark thing had risen up from her own skirts to take form. Its claws still tore at her mind, its laughter haunted her dreams. Even the waking ones.
Unable to sleep, she prowled the night-dark forest harvesting the plants she would use in the potions she brewed. One for the cauldron and one for her garden, she thought as she dug the delicate shoots of a lady’s slipper from the ground to replant by her back steps.
Her garden expanded inch by inch while her world contracted at the same pace until the day Nathanial Hawkins rapped brawny knuckles on the rough pine of Cassia’s door. Given the shuttered windows and utter stillness coming from inside, he didn’t expect the door to open, but it did.
“What do you want?” Her hair in tangles, her eyes clouded from lack of sleep, Cassia stared at the man on her front stoop and ignored the spark of interest that made her aware of her appearance for the first time in months.
“Goody Brown sent me,” he said, gentling his voice to avoid spooking the woman who looked ready to take flight at the slightest provocation. “She said you make a healing salve.”
Goody Brown had said more than that, but Nathanial wasn’t one to indulge in gossip.
Nodding, Cassia left him standing outside the open door while she fetched her salve jar and a small pot, which she filled with practiced hands. “Wash and dry the injury thoroughly then apply a thin layer,” she warned. “Use soap. A dirty wound tends to fester. Do you need soap?”
Did he look like he never bathed? Nathanial accepted the pot she offered and wondered what had put such sadness in the poor woman’s eyes. “Just the salve. It’s for my daughter. She burned her arm, it must be nearly a fortnight ago now, and it isn’t healing well.”
He wasn’t sure why he’d told her that. Or why he hadn’t just thanked her and left her to her misery. Something about her called to him.
Cassia tilted her head and told him to wait. She retreated into the darkness and returned with a stoppered vial that held a spoonful of green liquid. “Have her drink this. All of it. Use the salve for two days. If the wound looks no better by then, have your wife bring her to me.”
Taking the vial, he tucked it into his pocket. “My wife died in childbirth. I’ll bring Adelaide along if this doesn’t help.”
“See that you do,” Cassia said, stepping back and getting ready to shut the door in his face. What little was left of her heart went out to him and the care he showed for his young daughter, but the healing concoctions were all she had to give.
Still, he lingered. “Are you well? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“And if I do mind?”
“Seems a bit late since I’ve already put the question out there.” Patient with her as he was with his horses and his daughter, Nathanial waited for an answer because even though he wasn’t sure why, he needed to know what she would say. She seemed to be carrying the weight of the world, and he had the irrational urge to offer his shoulder to lighten her load.
“I’m well enough to be getting on with. If that’s all, I’ll wish you good day, sir.”
“Good day to you, Miss Sullivan.”
“And to you, Goodman…”
“Hawkins. Nathanial Hawkins.”
Cassia nodded and gently closed the door, giving Nathanial no other option but to leave her alone with the voice singing in her head.
“All the witches are to blame.”
It wasn’t Cassia’s voice, but she only disagreed with it on one count: all the witches weren’t to blame. Only her.
Tansy Shackleton wiggled her toes until damp sand formed a hump under her arches, then rocked her feet back and forth to ease some of the ache. Her day had started with baking cookies, worked its way through a shift at Haven’s Rest, followed by slapping down an ancient evil threat. It would end with a bonfire ritual. All in all, a Litha to remember.
As a group, they’d faced the Shadespawn and while they hadn’t escaped fully unscathed, they’d lived to fight another day. Best of all, Rue had found and lit the first crystal. One down, three to go. But that was future Tansy’s problem. Present Tansy had some celebrating to do.
The sand under her feet felt almost as good as a massage—better since it cost her nothing.
A slowly ebbing tide lapped softly at the edges of the fire circle, moonlight glittering off the water like someone had spilled diamonds across the surface. Logs cracked gently in the fire pit, their embers winking like sleepy stars. She drew in a long breath and exhaled slowly, letting the air wrap around her, humid and salted and full of summer. Her shoulders relaxed for the first time in what felt like hours. A light breeze teased a few stray bits of glitter from her hair.
“More wine?” As it always had, the sound of Connor’s voice tickled a path from her ears to her center with a detour through her heart. She knew that voice in every shade it came in—quietly amused, achingly tender, ragged with need—and right now it hit notes all three.
Given the state of their marriage, she should have thanked him and turned away.
She didn’t.
He held the bottle out with that easy, lopsided smile that had once made her say yes to forever without hesitation. And maybe it was the firelight or the wine or the way his hair had gone all unruly from salt air and sweat, but he looked so damn good it made her breath catch in her throat.
“Are you trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?”
“Me? Never. I’m not that kind of guy. Is that glitter in your hair?”
Leave it to him to notice. Even in the writhing shadows cast by the flickering bonfire, the man paid attention—to everything. To her. Always to her.
“Probably. I had a shift at Haven’s Rest. You can’t say you’ve really lived until you’ve witnessed a pole dancing class for seniors.”
His brow lifted and his smile deepened until it made her stomach tighten. She wasn’t imagining the warmth in his eyes. It was there—open and unguarded, like he hadn’t spent the last year trying to understand what had gone wrong between them.
“Hence the glitter?”
“Hence,” she said, nodding. “The things I’ve seen—I can’t even tell you, but I’m sure I’m scarred for life.”
“Worse than facing the Shadespawn?” Rue asked from her seat on the other side of the dwindling fire.
“Possibly. Seraphina Morgan stripped down to a thong.” Tansy took a slow sip of wine, then added, “And not just any thong. Sequined. Purple. With fringe.” She shuddered for effect. “There was choreography. And a chair involved, and I swear to every goddess that ever existed, no one who saw the performance will ever be the same.”
Poppy choked on her drink. Rue suggested a brain bleaching spell.
“Whose idea was that?” Bella wanted to know.
“No idea, but I’m telling you,” Tansy went on, “that woman hit a split that defied both her age and several laws of physics. I’m not sure if I’m horrified or deeply impressed.”
Connor snorted, clinking his cup gently against hers before taking a sip. His gaze didn’t leave her face. She felt it on her skin like a caress, soft and careful but full of memory. The glint of amusement there unraveled something small but stubborn inside her.
She remembered exactly what it would feel like to slide her tongue into that adorable dimple in his chin. It had been nearly a year since she’d let herself get close enough to her husband to want him this badly. The separation hadn’t been easy on her or him, but it had done nothing to dim the fire between them. If anything, it had made her more aware of how badly she missed what they’d had—before it all fell apart.
What are you thinking? The voice in her head was not fully hers, and it wasn’t particularly pleasant. You let him back in, you’ll hurt him again.
Maybe another sip of wine would shut up the asshole who wouldn’t stop talking and let her have her little fantasy in peace. So Tansy drank. And then drank some more.
“They’re hotter than the bonfire.” Poppy nodded toward Tansy and Connor as she asked the question quietly enough only Bella could hear.
“Makes you wonder why they’re not together. She ever explain it to you?”
“Nope.” Bella shrugged. “Maybe Rue knows.” When asked later, Rue admitted she did not.
The night softened and blurred at the edges—like the universe had given the coven a moment carved out of time. Sparks floated up from the fire and vanished into the dark. A few fireflies blinked lazily above the grass near the dunes. Bella conjured a violin from thin air and set bow to string.
When Poppy refilled her cup, Tansy didn’t argue.
“Dance with me.” Well and truly sloshed, when Bella’s bow sent a haunting waltz into the night air, Tansy rose and reached for Connor’s hand.
She didn’t give him time to think. Just tugged.
He shouldn’t. Getting that close to her would mess him up for days. But when she smiled like that, tipsy and reckless and shining from the inside out, the word no lost all meaning.
Instead, he let her pull him from his seat on a hunk of driftwood and did his best to tamp down the hope that flared when her arm slid around his neck, and the whole damn world tilted.
His best intentions didn’t stand a chance. Not when the scent of her clouded his senses. Not when her warmth slid into his chest like it belonged there.
Her body folded into his like it remembered how. Like it wanted to forget every inch of distance they’d put between themselves. She smelled like moonlight and desire and sugar and sweat. His hands settled at her waist, tentative at first—then firm when she didn’t move away.
Tansy pressed closer, her lips brushing the edge of his jaw as she breathed him in—salt, warmth, and the kind of masculine comfort that made her knees a little weak. Gods, she’d missed this. Missed him. And maybe it was the wine, or the music, or the way his hands slid over her hips like he remembered every curve, but she didn’t feel like pretending tonight. Not about how her body lit up just from touching him. Not about how badly she wanted to lose herself in the heat of his skin and the press of his mouth. Just this once, she wouldn’t hold back.
As Bella’s plaintive melody soared into the sky, Connor closed his eyes and let himself fall again. She was warmth and softness and power, and he’d never stopped wanting her. Never would. She’d owned him since their first kiss. He’d been hers far longer than a single lifetime and would be hers for any that came after this one.
Her hair brushed his jaw, strands of it catching on his skin, and he turned his head just enough to breathe her in. The flecks of glitter clinging to her temple caught the firelight like stars. But it wasn’t magick that held him there.
They swayed in a slow circle, footsteps half in rhythm and half in memory while the world slowly shrank around Tansy until nothing else existed. Connor’s fingers traced lightly along the dip of her spine.
It was him.
It had always been him.
Sighing, Tansy rested her cheek against Connor’s chest and listened to the wild, uneven beat of his heart. It matched the one thudding in her own chest, discordant and messy and far too fast.
She wanted him. She wanted the feel of his skin under hers, the press of his mouth, the sound he made when he came undone. She wanted the anchor of him. The weight. The wonder.
And based on the way his arms tightened, he wanted all of that too.
What would it hurt to take what she needed—just this once? Just for tonight? The alcohol in her blood said it would be good and fine and worth the cost.
Don’t do it, her mental gremlin insisted.
Screw you, she fired back. And when he dipped his head toward hers, she didn’t stop him. Instead, she lifted her face and kissed him.
Just a little. Just enough to break the spell of distance between them.
But there was never just enough when it came to him.
Heat flared between them like a spark to dry pine, and Connor groaned into her mouth before pulling her tighter. He kissed her like she was breath and water and everything he’d gone too long without.
Forgetting the distance he’d felt forced to keep between them, he poured himself into her.
“I want you,” he murmured, voice rough against her lips. “Always. Endlessly.”
It might have been the wine. It might have been the taste of victory still strong inside her. It might have been the wanting that washed the past away—at least for the moment.
“Take me home,” she whispered.
He lifted her without a word, her legs hooking around his waist as he carried her from the beach.
Watching them go, Bella gave Poppy’s leg a barefooted kick to get her attention. Poppy passed the gesture along to Rue, so all three of Tansy’s coven watched as Connor deposited his wife on the front seat of his Jeep and drove away.
“Go, Tansy,” Poppy toasted. “Get you some.”
“Hear, hear,” Rue raised her wine tumbler and hoped Tansy knew what she was doing.
Tansy would have hoped the same thing if she’d been thinking clearly. Though, let’s face it, if she’d been thinking clearly, she wouldn’t be whizzing through the night with her estranged husband’s hand sliding high along her thigh.
But she wasn’t thinking clearly. Alcohol and hormones were running the show. And for the moment, she didn’t care. As long as he didn’t stop touching her tonight, tomorrow could take care of itself.
She nearly whimpered when the Jeep slid to a stop outside her front door and Connor leaned across to take her mouth in a kiss that made her curse the gearshift between them.
“You sure?” His voice whispered along her skin, then his mouth followed a blazing trail along her jaw. “If you want me to stop, tell me now while I still can.”
“Don’t stop.”
His mouth left hers, the door slammed behind him. Befuddled by drink and by Connor, Tansy fumbled at the door handle, then sighed when it opened, and he was there, yanking her out of the seat and pressing her against the side of the Jeep while his mouth ravaged hers.
“You destroy me,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”
“I couldn’t if I tried.”
The trip inside turned into a blur of sensation that swamped both body and soul. Tansy wasn’t sure where she ended and Connor began, and she didn’t care. All that mattered was this moment.
Connor woke first, the weight of her beside him more than familiar—it was home. She’d turned toward him in sleep, let herself be tucked against him, one arm thrown across his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. For a long time, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe too loudly. As sunlight traced its slow path across the bedroom wall, he let himself believe—for the first time in months—that maybe they’d turned a corner. Maybe the wall between them had finally cracked enough to come down entirely.
Sometime around four in the morning, limbs tangled, skin still cooling, they both drifted toward sleep. Connor hadn’t said anything then, not out loud, but the truth had curled up in his chest and settled there with something close to reverence. They were married by every law in the state. But last night? That had felt like something beyond even vows. A surrender. A bridge back to the life they’d almost lost.
Because she demanded it of him, he’d spent months watching her from across a chasm she refused to name. Months pretending he could live without her warmth, her laughter, her love. And now, with her here again, hair mussed, one leg draped over his, he let himself feel what he’d denied himself for months: hope.
When sunlight drifted across her face, he watched the shape of her lips as she murmured something in her sleep. The little crease between her brows softened when he brushed the backs of his fingers over her temple. The air in the room smelled of the smoke from last night’s celebration that clung to the clothes they’d shed between the door and the bed, but underneath it, there was her—the familiar smell of her skin and her hair making every part of him feel tethered.
He remembered the way she’d looked at him. The way she’d touched him. The way she’d said his name like it was the only thing in the world that could save her. All these combined into the thing he’d tried not to let himself feel—hope.
She stirred. Her leg shifted lower, and her foot instinctively nudged against his calf, the press of it familiar, unthinking. She was still asleep, and for a little longer, he got to pretend that this morning was like any other they used to share: long and quiet, full of unspoken ease and lazy affection. He would have given anything for it to stay that way.
Instead, he watched the change happen in slow motion. First her breathing hitched. Then her body stilled in a way that meant she was no longer asleep but not fully awake, either. Connor kept still, waiting, hoping she’d relax and let him kiss her awake the way he used to, let him believe they’d stopped running from each other.
Inside Tansy’s waking dream, the Laurel Haven marching band led the parade down the center of town, the boom of the big bass drums getting louder as they went, stomping feet slapping the pavement like a metronome.
Except there was no parade. Tansy wasn’t standing on the sidewalk, and the echoing drumbeats were coming from inside her head. Her mouth tasted like drought-parched soil and bad decisions.
Slitting one eye open, she winced as daylight speared directly into her brain, slammed her eye shut, and flung one arm over her face. The ceiling above her swam out of focus, blurred by sunlight slanting through gauzy curtains that fluttered gently in the breeze slipping through the open window.
Make it stop, she meant to say, but what came out was, “Mpfbmf.”
Trying to think past the hammering hell to figure out what accident had befallen her only made the pain worse. Had she been hit by a car? Or worse, attacked by the Shadespawn? Was this what dying felt like? If so, she only wished it would happen faster.
But, no.
A memory surfaced through brain fog. Rue had defeated the evil son of a bitch—at least temporarily, and then, they’d…shit…she hadn’t been in an accident, Tansy realized, the headache currently making her want to roll over and whimper was self-inflicted. Rue had found and powered the first crystal, and once the dust settled, they’d celebrated Litha in style with fire, music, food, and wine.
Too. Much. Wine.
As she stirred, Tansy realized her leg rested against something warm and yielding. Almost of its own accord, her toe explored what it had found: a length of a shin that shouldn’t have been in her bed. Bare skin, lean muscle, the faint brush of coarse hair. Recognition came instantly.
Sighing, she relaxed into the familiarity. The tentative touch became a caress as her world righted—just for a moment, just long enough to pretend everything was normal. That they were normal.
And then it tilted again when memories came rushing back. The past few months hadn’t been a dream. The man in her bed shouldn’t be there. Remembering why he was set her entire body on full alert, which made her head pound all the harder. What good was all the magick in the world if it couldn’t protect a witch against a hangover? Or from making stupid decisions.
Tansy blinked her eyes open, shifted onto her back, and winced against the daylight. She squinted up at the ceiling, her brow furrowing against the steady throb of what had to be a world-class hangover. A low groan escaped her throat, one of those unconscious sounds a person makes when confronted with pain. She lifted one arm and dropped it across her face, shielding herself from the sun and—intentionally or unintentionally, he couldn’t tell—from him.
For a few blissful seconds, the illusion of well-being remained. Her body stayed close, the length of her still pressed against him as the awareness of morning replaced night. She shifted slightly and let out a sigh that carried no weight at all. Connor dared to breathe, to let the illusion wrap around him and pretend they were still inside whatever magick the night before had conjured between them.
But it didn’t last.
He saw the moment it all came rushing back. The jolt of regret traveling down her spine like a live wire, and how she sucked in a sharp breath as memory clawed its way back. Her eyes flew open—wide now, unclouded by sleep—and locked onto his. Light seared her retinas, but it was nothing compared to the jolt that ran through her when he didn’t look away.
“Morning.” Shifting to lean on one elbow, Connor Shackleton ignored the painful tingling in the arm that had lost feeling while he watched his wife sleep for the past half hour. Knowing the angles and planes of her face so well, he charted her mood as her features tightened with regret.
He clocked the instant she remembered whose idea it had been for him to spend the night. It might have been better for them both if he’d had enough willpower to walk away, but dammit, he wasn’t a saint and when the woman he loved plastered herself all over him and whispered naughty suggestions in his ear, should no longer mattered. He’d taken her home and done every delicious thing she’d asked of him and more.
He had no regrets.
Tansy had enough for both of them.
“This isn’t…” she began. “It doesn’t mean—”
“Maybe not to you,” he cut her off and propped his hands behind his head. His voice stayed even, but his jaw twitched—just once. “But it meant something to me. You mean something to me, Tansy.”
She meant everything, but she didn’t want to hear that from him, so he kept it to himself.
“I know.” Her voice came out quieter than intended, and she hated the flicker of vulnerability it exposed. He needed to hear that he still mattered, and for more than just because of the night they’d shared together. That she still loved him. That the months apart had taken a toll on her, too. It nearly broke her to disappoint him because all of that was true.
“But you have to go. This was a bad idea.”
Worse now that her mind had cleared enough to remember the feel of him, the way he’d tasted, and the way he’d filled both body and soul. The ache bloomed again, low and wide and full of loss. Was she an idiot for kicking her husband, her soulmate, the only man she would ever love out of bed? Probably.
If not for the fleeting moment when he’d seen the truth flicker in her eyes, her utter dismay would have cut him into tiny pieces.
“Is that what you really want?”
No.
Tansy tamped down her immediate response and said what she had to say to get him to leave before she broke down and begged him to stay. “It’s what I need.”
“What about what I need? Does that matter at all?” Knowing what her answer would be, he kept his voice quiet, almost rhetorical, and threw off the covers. The sheet whispered against his skin. “I’ll go, but you know we can’t keep going like this, right? We can’t live in limbo forever. I can’t.”
He was right. She knew he was, but the time spent in his arms hadn’t calmed the hunger. It had poured gasoline on the flames of it. Just thinking about the way he’d put his mouth on her tightened her skin, shortened her breath. And so, Tansy turned her head away, refusing to look at him but also hiding the shine of tears until she got them under control.
“Last night was a mistake.”
“Seemed pretty deliberate to me,” Connor turned his head to pin Tansy with a look. “And I didn’t hear you complaining while I had you under me. Or on top of me, for that matter.”
His words evoked a memory that sent more throbbing through Tansy’s head and some sensitive places lower in her body as well. Heat rose to her cheeks, chased by fresh embarrassment. Ruthlessly, she dragged her mind back from the memory of what they’d done in the dark before she could give in to the temptation of a replay in the light.
Closing her eyes, Tansy pressed her palm to her forehead where the throbbing ache refused to dull.
“Let me.”
Gentle hands pushed hers away. Moving close, he sat back down on the edge of the bed and smoothed his fingertips against her skin, drawing out the pain. Some he took into himself as the price for easing hers, the rest he sent down into the grounding heart of Mother Earth. His touch still carried reverence. Still carried love.
“Better?”
“Much,” she admitted, not looking him in the eye. “But you still need to go. We…I made a mistake. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I have already.”
If he didn’t leave soon, she might break.
Tansy felt Connor’s weight lift from the mattress and had to bite down on her cheek to keep her face impassive. The sound of him sliding into his clothes tore at her, digging hooks into her self-control and sending the part of her that craved a solution to every problem into overdrive.
Letting Connor go the first time put a weight on her chest that hadn’t let her take a full breath since. Letting him go again added more, but not enough to break her resolve. He might not like it, but this was what she had to do. Even if it killed something inside her.
“You didn’t mean to hurt me then, but you’re doing it on purpose now,” he said in an even lower tone than before. Dressed, he opened the bedroom door to leave. “I love you, Tansy.”
“I know.”
One word from her and he would have slid back under the covers, but she clamped her mouth shut and let him go. She’d nearly killed him once. It was better to push him away than take a chance it might happen again.
“Damn it.” Tansy dropped the cookie sheet on the table with the loud clatter of metal against metal, then sucked the thumb she’d inadvertently burned when the pot holder slipped. “Stupid cookies.”
The kitchen smelled like her grandmother’s always had. Sweet and rich and at this moment, utterly unwelcome. Even after a dose of Luke’s hangover potion finally stopped the drumming in her brain that had returned after Connor had gone—probably because he had—Tansy’s mood had not improved.
She deserved a day of lying around in bed, feeling sorry for herself, eating ice cream straight from the carton, watching sad movies with predictable endings, or curling up with a book that had nothing to do with ancient evil or disappointed exes. She’d earned the luxury, hadn’t she?
Of course, she had. But the damn people in this damn town needed their damn cookies, and Mrs. Hart’s laundry wouldn’t wash itself. Then there were dogs to walk at the animal shelter, and she always took the Tuesday shift at Haven’s Rest. Because if she wasn’t doing something—anything—the grief and guilt would find a way in. And they always did.
Maybe with enough work to keep her too busy to think, she’d wipe away the horrible mood that had settled over her like smoke after a fire. She hadn’t wanted Connor to stay, but she hadn’t expected him to take the dogs with him, either. That part stung. More than she wanted to admit, and just enough to shift a load of blame onto him for her bad mood. Because, on top of everything else, coming home to an empty house would just cap off this shitshow of a day perfectly.
“Put some balm on that,” Rue ordered as she entered the kitchen to find Tansy glaring at her blistered thumb like it had personally betrayed her. “Better yet, go home and take the day off. You look like you could use a nap.”
“And let the customers go without their chocolate chip cookies? How would that look?” Frustrated, Tansy retrieved the balm from the first aid drawer, applied it to her thumb, and watched Luke’s magical concoction soothe the blister away.
“I’m fine now, see?” She brandished the healed digit in Rue’s direction. “All set to give the people what they want.”
“The people survived without daily access to your cookies up until I came to town. They’d probably manage without them for a day or two. If I hadn’t had that shipment coming in this morning, I’d have closed for the day, anyway. But I did, and I didn’t, and you don’t have to pay for my mistakes.”
Rue didn’t need a vision to see a burned thumb wasn’t the thing bothering her friend. Her spine was too straight. Her eyes too flat. And the way Tansy had marched through the bookstore and into the kitchen without saying more than two words spoke volumes. A quiet Tansy was a troubled Tansy, and Rue had a pretty good idea what—or who—was the root of the problem.
“Things go okay with Connor last night?”
“Define okay.” Ignoring the suggestion to go home, Tansy scooped another batch of cookie dough onto the cooled baking tray with fast, frustrated motions.
“The two of you seemed…friendly last night,” Rue understated. The heat between the estranged couple had put the bonfire to shame.
“I drank too much wine and slept with my ex. It happens. What’s the big deal?” Choosing anger over pain, Tansy slammed the oven door so hard the utensils in the drawer rattled.
“No big deal.” Rue held up both hands. “It just looked like you might be patching things up.”
“Well, we weren’t. Look, that was the last batch. Just take them out in about eight minutes. I think you’re right. I shouldn’t be here today.” White-blond hair fluttering behind her, Tansy whipped off her apron, hung it on the hook near the door, and walked straight out of the shop.
The whirling chaos of her thoughts directed her steps away from anyone who might need or want something from her. At the moment, Tansy had no somethings left to give.
Mrs. Hart could handle her own washing for a change. Goddess knew her ankle had been healed for at least two months now, but she not only allowed Tansy to pick up her basket of dirty clothes every week anyway, she expected it.
“Maybe I don’t want to fluff and fold your old-lady panties,” Tansy railed as her feet carried her in the opposite direction. “Did you ever think of that, Mrs. Hart? Maybe I have better things to do. ”
Fuming, Tansy admitted to herself that she was the only one at fault for her current mood, but she couldn’t muster up so much as an ounce of give-a-shit. Everybody wanted something from her, and most of the time, she didn’t mind. Most of the time, helping the people of Laurel Haven gave her internal Miss Fix-It the kind of boost she’d come to rely on.
The overwhelming need to make things perfect hadn’t been such a problem until the past year. Sure, she’d always been the type to offer a helping hand, but those impulses were just that. Urges. That they’d turned to compulsions over the months since the big split wasn’t up for discussion. Not even internally.
Without her thinking about it or directing them, Tansy’s feet changed course and carried her into the library where Hazel sat behind the research desk using a specialized potion to coax faded ink back to life on a yellowed page.
“Mix me up another bottle of this when you get a chance. I’m almost out,” Hazel ordered, then looked harder at Tansy with her typical blend of shrewd kindness. What she saw had her cocking a brow.
“What’s stuck in your craw?”
“Stupid decisions,” Tansy sighed and slumped into the chair opposite the desk like a sack of flour with abandonment issues. She tossed one leg over the arm and earned herself a pointed look from Hazel. “What’s a craw, anyway?”
Hazel snorted and capped the potion bottle before carefully setting it aside. “It’s where chickens store their food before it gets digested. So, what you’re telling me is, you’ve swallowed something stupid, and now it’s sitting there, making you miserable?”
Looking away, Tansy admitted, “Basically.”
Hazel offered a steady look over the rim of her glasses, waiting. When Tansy didn’t immediately elaborate, she leaned back, arms crossed, the very picture of a woman with all the time in the world.
“You know you’ll tell me eventually, so you might as well get on with it.”
“It’s sensitive information. Of a private nature.”
“Pfft,” Hazel snorted. “Since when has that stopped you from telling me your problems?”
“I don’t tell you everything.” Sullen as the teenager she suddenly felt like, Tansy looked away. “Not when it has to do with sex and stuff.”
“You think I came down in the last rain? I am aware of the concept. Or do you think you’ve made some new and special mistake?”
“Maybe not new,” Tansy huffed. “But one of my worst. I slept with Connor.”
Where Tansy expected surprise, Hazel only deadpanned, “And?”
“And what?”
Hazel rolled her eyes.“And was it terrible? Did he suddenly develop a second head? Did the earth crack open and swallow you whole?”
Scowling, Tansy said, “No, it was…It was fine.”
“Fine,” Hazel repeated flatly. “That’s the word you’re going with? Honey, if you’re gonna lie to me, at least put some effort into it. Underneath that hair shirt you wear like a second skin, even an old lady like me can see the man greased your wheel.”
At first reduced to blinking in shock, Tansy then covered her face with her hands. Mostly to get the weird mental image out of her head.
“Fine. It was amazing. He was amazing. Just like always. Are you happy, now?”
Amusement flickered in Hazel’s eyes, her smirk pure satisfaction. “Well, that doesn’t sound so stupid to me. In fact, it sounds downright delightful. Been a lot of years since I rolled around with a man in my bed, but I remember what it’s all about.”
A groan slipped from Tansy’s throat as she pressed a palm to her forehead, already working to erase an even worse mental image than the last one. “It wasn’t delightful. It was a mistake. It shouldn’t have happened.”
Leaning forward, Hazel didn’t miss a beat. “And why not? You are married to the man.”
With a slow, deliberate motion, Tansy let her hand fall and met Hazel’s gaze. “You know why.”
“I know why you think it was a mistake.” Hazel’s head tilted, eyes narrowing with intent. “But I also know you. Have done since you were a twinkle in your father’s eye. And I know how damn stubborn you are. You get something in your head, and you convince yourself it’s law.”
Jaw tightening, Tansy barely breathed the words. “He deserves better.”
“Oh, for the love of—” Hazel slapped the desk with her palm. “Tansy Mae Shackleton, you listen to me, and you listen good. That man spent twenty years married to you, and he’s still hanging around, trying to find a way back in. You think he doesn’t know you by now? You think he’s confused about what he wants? By who or what you are?”
Unable to meet Hazel’s direct gaze, Tansy looked away. “It’s not just about what he wants.”
“No,” Hazel said, softer now. “It’s about what you want. And that’s the part that trips you up every time. You’re allowed to have good things. Wanted things. You want the man, don’t you?”
The denial caught in Tansy’s throat. “You don’t know what I did. I don’t deserve him.”
Her expression gentling, Hazel shifted her tone to match. “Darling, love isn’t something you earn like a merit badge. It’s something you choose, every day. And if you love him—and don’t you dare sit there and tell me you don’t—then the only thing stopping you is you.”
No answer came. Just the sound of silence tightening between them as Tansy sat frozen in place.
Taking a moment to frame the rest of what she wanted to say, Hazel reached out and wrapped Tansy’s hand in a grip that was equal parts comfort and anchor. “Go ahead and wrestle with it, if you must. But don’t take so long that you let a good man slip through your fingers. Life’s too damn short for that.”
“Shorter still if I can’t keep my temper in check.”
Letting go of Tansy’s hand, Hazel sat back, tilted her head, and stared over the glasses that constantly wanted to slip down to the end of her nose. “You ever watch a rodeo?”
The unexpected question elicited a frown. “Once, maybe. On TV.”
“Then you know the bull rider can’t win the prize if the bull never gets out of the pen. You won’t ever learn to control it if you always keep it in a box.”
“You’re batshit crazy.”
The insult slid off Hazel’s skin without sinking in. “Maybe so, but—”
“But nothing. People get hurt when I don’t lock it down.”
Removing her glasses, Hazel set them on the table while she considered Tansy through wise but kind eyes.
“You were thirteen. Almost fourteen—just coming into the fullness of your magick and at the mercy of your hormones. You saw a grave injustice and acted without thinking. Do you seriously think you’re the only adolescent who ever made a bad, split-second decision? It’s not like you killed the boy.”
“No. But…” Tansy trailed off.
“Everything that comes after but is bullshit.” Hazel’s light tone belied the sentiment.
Unable to hold Hazel’s gaze, Tansy looked away. “You don’t understand. It’s so much worse than a situation getting out of hand.”
“Because punishing a bully made you a monster?”
“No.” The dam broke and Tansy released the one thing she’d never told another living soul. “Because it felt powerful, and I liked it.”
“Well, then. You truly are a monster, aren’t you? By all means, turn yourself inside out trying to atone for something you would give grace to anyone else for doing. While you’re at it, keep punishing your husband, too. He obviously deserves it for having the temerity of falling in love with the likes of you.”
“That’s a low blow.”
Lines of age deepened around Hazel’s mouth as her lips pressed together. “I wonder if the impulse to self-flagellate comes down through the blood.”
“You mean from Cassia?”
“You’re not the first in your line to mistake martyrdom for selflessness. Or to take on more than a body should.”
Tansy sat in silence for a moment before finally shaking her head. “I came in here for a book, not a lecture.”
“And yet, here we are.”
A breathy half-laugh escaped her as Tansy rose to her feet.. “Fine. I’ll mix you up another batch of that potion.”
“Good girl.” Hazel’s eyes twinkled. “And while you’re at it, mix up a little common sense for yourself, why don’t you?”
Tansy didn’t dignify that with a response. But as she left the library, Hazel’s words followed her, settling into the cracks she didn’t want to acknowledge just yet.
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