Chapter 27
Renata
Three weeks have passed since Archer showed up to the inn. It was the last time I saw him while awake. He continues to find me in our dreams, but the space has lost some of its comfort recently.
I’d rather spend time with him awake, knowing he’s not far from me at any given time now. I can’t bring myself to admit that—especially to him.
We haven’t let that stop us from being together nearly every night since—and I appreciate him finding me there rather than coming back to the inn. I tell myself that’s the only reason I don’t take any sleep elixirs or avoid sleep.
Despite his arguments the first two times we saw each other since accessing our memories together, he hasn’t pushed the topic. That almost worries me more, leaving me annoyed with myself and wondering if he’s pulling away.
He should be creating distance from me, as much as he physically can. Because the more I re-read Petra’s journal, my only theory is becoming more solidified by the written words.
Petra’s feelings on the two men are confusing without any previous history. It’s clear she cared deeply for both of them, but she’s vague when it comes to whatever short-lived relationship she had with Barrett.
Her entire life was dedicated to Nestor and the inn she inherited from her mother. She muses about the years when they were lively and hopeful. Two young witches who just met, planning a life together—even promising to perform the Soul Tie Bond together, but never fulfilling that wish.
Petra never goes on to explain what happened, but she reminisces about the challenging time of Nestor’s return, and him meeting their young child for the first time.
The journal I have was written two months after his return, and it covers Petra’s life up to a few weeks before the curse.
What happened when Nestor returned? And where did he go?
It’s raising new questions now, not answering a single one that the coven and I have.
“No curse talk,” Rowyn scolds me and snaps a finger in my face. Her smile is warm and teasing, back to normal since the day Archer came to the inn.
Blinking, I pull myself out of my thoughts and take in the four faces in our unfamiliar setting. Rowyn’s grandfather Gale invited all of us over for his birthday dinner.
Rowyn was the only coven member not surprised, but Gale has been great. Given my reluctance to visit his library, I wouldn’t have rejected his offer—especially when he is important to Rowyn.
I wondered if we would see Rowyn’s mother tonight, but she admits it’s easier to see her than try getting her out of the house. Sorrel hasn’t recovered from losing her husband a few years ago, and the death of her mother only sent her further into depression.
By then, Rowyn’s sister, Ember, took over the small tea shop and the Connors hadn’t been part of a coven since the inn opened. It sounds like Sorrell began to emotionally fade away when there weren’t any distractions, despite her soul being firmly placed in this realm of existence.
Ember mostly cares for Sorrell now, and it’s the only time I’ve heard Rowyn willingly talk about her.
“I’m not talking about the curse,” I remark. “You are.”
“You’re thinking about it,” Clover chimes in.
She reaches her fingers out sneakily, trying to scoop up some icing. With an inch of space between her and the sugary topping, Rowyn swats a wooden spoon at her arm.
For a second, my body tenses and my smile is stiffly plastered in place. The loud whack I’m dreading never comes. Instead, a light thump reverberates off Clover’s forearm. With a quiet sigh, I loosen my muscles and remind myself who I’m with—and who I left behind at the end of winter.
As Clover cradles her arm toward her chest, there’s a giddy smile as she dramatically whines, “Ow, don’t hit me!”
Rowyn rolls her eyes. “That was barely a love tap, but keep your grubby hands away from my ingredients.”
It’s not surprising finding Rowyn in the kitchen, even with the dinner being hosted by Gale.
“You only say that because I’m a Green Witch,” Clover retorts, tilting her chin in the air.
Rowyn barks out a laugh. “Don’t even start.”
Before Clover can snark back at our friend, the door pushes open and Gale comes lumbering in, peeking over Rowyn’s shoulder as she tries to swat him away like she did Clover.
As late afternoon fades into evening, I begin to relax and enjoy my company. Rowyn’s dishes are set to simmer or bake, so we make our way outside to Gale’s back porch.
It is a beautiful set up with a large, iron patio table under a wooden awning. He has a small, quaint garden and a pond with three swans gliding along the surface. One is larger than the rest and has the same soft, golden glow as Clover’s deer familiar, Astra.
The atmosphere made it easy to get comfortable and sucked in, but I should’ve known better.
And sooner.
Like the moment Rowyn asked me to grab the other pitcher of her strawberry and orange punch. It’s an innocent enough request from anyone—other than her. Rowyn enjoys hosting, and takes the role very seriously.
I let my guard down for a second, and now I’m frozen in place as the kitchen door opens.
His spicy, woodsy scent hits me first as the door swings shut, closing us off to the rest of the world. I curse myself for being so na?ve. Rowyn mentioned that her grandfather has become close with the Vexley twins, and she’s clued him into the doppelg?nger situation we’re dealing with.
This was the last thing I expected today. I can’t figure out if it’s a gift, or a hex.
Placing the pitcher down, I turn around and take a second to appreciate his handsomeness.
Before I can say anything, he teases, “Thanks for the invitation.”
Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms and gear up for his playful banter. “You can thank the Connors for that.”
With a cautious step forward, he slips his hands in his jacket pockets. “Too bad. I had a few ideas about how I could show you my appreciation.”
“I’m not sure any of those ideas would be appropriate for your boss.”
With a low, dark chuckle, he says, “They definitely wouldn’t be.”
“Well, hex—too bad for that mind of yours.”
“Indeed,” he agrees with faux disappointment. “Maybe Gale is willing to share his birthday wish, and I could still get lucky.”
A startled laugh breaks out of me.
Taking another step to me, he closes most of the distance between us, but not enough to touch.
My breathing picks up and his eyes rove down my neck, landing on my lightly heaving chest. Trying to feign nonchalance is pointless.
Even if he couldn’t read my emotions, my body language is enough to realize the effect he has on me.
Against my better judgement, I hope he’ll close the distance—press his body against mine, touch my cheek, my lips, something. Then he reaches behind me and grabs the pitcher.
“Rowyn asked me to get this.”
Of course she did.
He smirks over his shoulder before turning the corner down the hallway. Unlike him, I need a minute to gather myself before rejoining the group, because tonight just got a hell of a lot longer.
I’m still catching my breath when Rowyn, Esme, and Gale bound into the room, all cheery laughs and warm smiles.
Rowyn pushes my patience when she sees me standing on the other side of the small kitchen, and asks with a smirk, “What are you doing in here? We’re about to serve dinner.”
Choosing to let it go, I roll my eyes and grab one of the small platters off the counter. “Looks like you didn’t need my help with the pitcher after all.”
Before I can leave the room, she hands me another ceramic dish and says with so much innocence, I almost believe her, “Oops—didn’t mean to send you both in here.”
Esme lets out a loud, amused cackle, not able to hide her entertainment at my expense. Gale’s soft chuckle is the biggest betrayal, even if I don’t know the man well.
With full hands, I pause to give each of them the stink eye before leaving the room. About to turn the corner, Gale’s quiet words make me pause.
“He’s a good man, Renata… and I’ve never believed what the rest of the town does. Neither did Sylvie. Nor Cordelia and Edmond.”
Rolling his words around in my mind, I shrug and admit, “Belief doesn’t change what the fates have already decided.”
“Can destiny not be changed or manipulated?” he muses.
With a dry smile, I tell him, “You’re the Divination Witch. You tell me.”
Not waiting for a response, I sweep out of the room and force myself to join the rest of our group back on the patio.
I’m thankful when I find an open seat next to Clover. I suspect it was Esme’s seat.
Too bad.
It’s not much payback for what they’re doing to me.
Except I’ve positioned myself right across from Archer and I’ll have to watch one of my gorgeous, warm friends sit next to him all night.
Clementine talks about random memories from Florida, trying to fill the awkward silence until the rest of the group returns. I’m too busy counting the chairs, wondering why there are nine rather than eight.
“Are we expecting anyone else?” I lean over and ask Clover.
She takes a moment to count the chairs herself and shrugs. “I don’t think so. Rowyn told us Gale planned on inviting his—” her eyes glance at the handsome brunette man, “—newest employee. I don’t think it was plural. Maybe it’s his twin?”
“Mm,” I murmur. “Maybe…”
With a sympathetic smile, she pats my leg and thankfully doesn’t push the topic.
I’m not sure what there even is to say.
Meeting anyone in Archer’s family, much less the person I assume means the world to him, feels exhilarating and wrong. Still, I would’ve liked to be prepared for this… to hopefully win them over before I have to do the unthinkable to end this curse.
That’s never been my strong suit anyway.
As the three witches bring out the main course—one of my favorites from Rowyn’s recipes, chicken pot pies with an apple salad and cranberries on the side—Archer confirms what Clover and I were whispering about.
“Gale, did you remind Sybil about the dinner?” He looks around nervously.