24. Riggs
I’M GETTING USED to the controlled chaos of Magnolia’s home. The splashes of color everywhere, the way the energy in the house ebbs and flows like a physical tide, shifting and rolling around me every time I enter. The tea.
Willow absolutely tried to get me earlier this week, handing me something that smelled closer to hot chocolate than tea. Right as I lifted it to my lips, mere seconds from taking a sip, Magnolia walked in and screeched.
I’d been so startled that I nearly dropped the cup and saucer to the hardwood floor, but managed to grip it tightly.
She’d pointed to Willow. “Are you seriously trying to give him Truth Tea?”
Her sister shrugged, wholly unapologetic. “I want to be sure he’s worth all this.”
Magnolia glared at her as she poured the tea down the sink. “He is.”
I still wasn’t sure what “all this” meant, but I was also getting used to not knowing everything. I figured it was best if I didn’t, something that Ava had confirmed over lunch.
“They’re witches, Riggs,” she said. “You don’t want to know all the things they’re up to. Granted, it’s weird that Mags is taking part, because she used to never take part. But—” she hesitated.
“But what?” I prompted.
“But she’s changed. In a good way,” she hurried to say. “So if she says whatever she’s doing is important, then it’s important.”
I’d nodded and smiled like a good boy. Because that’s what you do when you’re a man and you’re ninety percent certain you’re supposed to understand what the woman in front of you is talking about.
Now that I’ve got three weeks of school under my belt it’s time to see Pops. With Magnolia.
She opens the door before I can knock, another standard occurrence with the entire family. She leans in for a kiss, and like always, I want to stop time to get my fill: lush curves pressed against me, long, wavy hair tickling my hands, her green apple scent surrounding me. I tighten my grip around her waist, growling into the kiss as our tongues slide together. She whimpers, tipping up on her toes as her nails scratch the back of my neck.
In seconds, it feels like I’m standing on the surface of the sun while my insides boil. I break away from her, gasping for air and feeling more than a little sweat beading on my brow. “Um, babe?”
The rosy blush that stains her cheeks and neck is nothing short of spectacular. “Sorry. I’m trying to get that under control.”
I laugh and pull her to me, resting my hand on the small of her back. The ‘that’ is how her emotions can influence just about everything around her: people and the environment. “I kind of like knowing that’s the effect I have on you,” I say.
She swats at me. “Yeah, well, tell that to my students.”
I smirk. “I’m going to start docking your pay for all the broken beakers that have suddenly met their untimely death around you,” I tease.
“Shut up.”
“Hi Riggs,” Willow calls as she walks to the front. She stops and gives Magnolia a big hug, and I watch as Magnolia melts into it. She’s like a well-trained dog with touch. Craves it beyond belief, yet holds herself apart. Once you touch her—once you let her know you want to be touched and want to touch her—it’s on.
“I’m heading to the shop,” Willow continues. “Stop by for some tea blends on your way?” she teases, winking at me.
“You’re incorrigible,” Magnolia says. As Willow drifts past me, Magnolia hesitates.
“What is it?”
“Do I—do I look okay? I know it’s silly to worry about it, but…” she trails off, her eyes sliding toward the ground.
“You’re gorgeous. Always. And you look like a dream, Magnolia.” I twirl her around so her new knee-length skirt, dark purple with polka dots, can flare around her. She’s also in a dark purple T-shirt and cute white sneakers.
She smooths her hands over the skirt. “I wanted to try something different. So I raided my sisters’ closets.”
“You could have chosen a paper bag and Pops would still think you were a goddess,” I say. “And he’d be right.”
Pops won’t let goof her hand. We’ve been here an hour and he’s as enchanted by her as I am, sitting right next to her with hardly an inch separating them. I can’t be upset about the moves he’s making, though, because he looks so good. Being here has done wonders for him. His eyes are bright and aware, his lined face is full of color. He’s happier now than I’ve seen him in years, and I couldn’t be more grateful. I wish I could have convinced him to move here sooner, but I shove that guilt down as Pops takes a drink of his lemonade and turns back to the woman of the hour.
“Tell me how you two met,” he says, finally releasing her. He knows the story, but I don’t interrupt as Magnolia speaks.
She smiles. “We met at karaoke. Surely he’s told you.”
Pops scoffs. “Of course he’s told me, but he’s a caveman. I’m lucky I got more than some grunts and a few sentences out of him.”
“Is that right?” Magnolia laughs. “Well, he’s a caveman with an amazing voice.”
“That he is,” Pops beams.
“Let’s see, it was about a year and a half ago, right, Riggs?” She turns those whiskey eyes on me.
“I remember the song you sang.”
Her eyes widen. “You do not.”
I hold my hands up. “Honest truth, I absolutely do. You swept me off my feet with that voice.”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, Romeo. What was it?”
I smirk, because I absolutely have her on this one. “You did a back-to-back of Dolly Parton’s ‘9 to 5’ and Aretha Franklin’s ‘Respect.’ There was no going back. How can I not fall in love with a woman who sings Dolly and Aretha, and sounds like them?”
Magnolia blushes, and Pops gives me an appraising look. “Smart man.”
“Do you sing? Or did your wife?” Magnolia asks.
Pops shakes his head. “Not me, that’s for sure. I’m the real caveman around here if we’re talking about singing. My wife, on the other hand? Like an angel.” His voice wobbles a little.
“Mom was a special woman.” I catch his gaze and hold it.
“That she was.”
The doorbell rings. “Expecting someone? One of your many lady friends?” I tease.
Pops waves me off. “None of them hold a candle to your mom.”
I rise and walk to him, then kneel before him. “Of course they can’t. And they’re probably just as wonderful in their own ways. There’s no reason you can’t be happy and have company, you know.”
“I do know, son.” He smiles and pats my cheek. His hands feel different now, smooth, the calluses of years as a Marine and helming his own construction company worn away. His arms are smaller than I’d like, and the skin itself is different now, thin and mottled with age, but even still, the gesture is so typical of him that it makes my throat thicken.
“Well.” I swallow roughly and rise. “I’ll go get that.”