Chapter 2
MANNY
Getting a fist to the gut shouldn’t leave me hard, but that’s what Blossom Fernmore does to me. To be fair, I deserved it.
There was no bee.
What there was, was a witch who smelled like warm apples and cloves, draped in soft fabric, with two tempting bows inches from my fingers.
I wasn’t actually going to untie them.
I just wanted to feel the knots. Make sure they were sturdy.
Then store the sensation of my grip on them for later tonight when I’m in my bed and I take myself in my hand with fantasies where the sassy-mouthed wood witch lets me unravel her in all ways.
Keep it in your pants.
During my best friend’s beautiful wedding reception, I should be focused on celebrating the happy occasion and not on how much I want to fuck her sister.
Although Heather would probably find my pining and failed attempts at flirting hilarious.
She knows about my infatuation with Blossom.
Two years ago, after Heather told me her sister moved in with a new boyfriend—some human asshole named Teddy—I got roaring drunk.
My friend hauled my wasted ass home from Local Brew—the town’s werewolf-owned bar—and on the car ride, I confessed my yearslong obsession with her baby sister.
The next morning, once I was sober, Heather told me she wouldn’t mind if Blossom and I ended up together. Only she doubted it would happen since I’d spent a good portion of my life making the little wood witch hate me.
Not the best pep talk despite the fact that Heather was only speaking the truth.
During our teenage years, I had done exactly as she said. Tried my hardest to make Blossom think I was a prick so she’d keep her distance. It was a form of self-preservation.
At least, that was what I had convinced myself of at the time.
When I have my arousal under control, I join the rest of the wedding party.
The gathering is small but lively. Everyone invited to this ceremony knows about magic and the mythical creatures who live in Folk Haven.
When Jenny moved to our small town for an engineering position at the Folk Haven Dam three years ago, she wasn’t aware mythics existed.
But then things got serious with Heather, and the witch decided to share the truth. Luckily, everything went smoothly.
My eyes catch on a flash of green velvet, and I wonder what words I could say to Blossom to untangle the mess I’ve made of our relationship over the years.
I need more time around her. She’s always leaving before I can get my brain to work right.
“Manny!” There’s a hand on my wrist, and I turn to find the smiling face of my best friend.
“Heather!” I shout back, then scoop her up in a twirling hug, which only works because she’s no longer tied to Jenny. “You did it! You tricked someone into mating you!”
She laughs, and when I put her down, she punches me in the shoulder, but it’s only a playful tap compared to her sister’s sledgehammer.
I feel a spark of pride at how well Blossom walloped me. I’m the one who taught her how to swing a good right hook in the first place. She only agreed to learn when I offered to be the one she practiced on.
“Dance with me.”
The bride tugs me onto the temporary wood platform next to the band, and I lead her in a dramatic waltz to a lively country song. Heather hasn’t stopped grinning since the ribbon was wrapped around her wrist, and the sight is as satisfying as a chilled glass of sweet tea on a hot day.
“You’re happy?” I ask, my tone taking on a rare note of seriousness.
She nods hard, her green eyes sparkling. “So much that I think I might explode.”
“Let me know when that’s gonna happen. I’ll lay out tarps.”
Heather chuckles and pulls me closer, just as I spy a mischievous light in her gaze. “I want you to feel this way,” she says.
I smirk. “Sorry, not into the polyamorous thing. You and Jenny are on your own.”
She keeps on wearing her I’ve got a secret smile. “Oh, no, Manny. Jenny and I wouldn’t make you feel like this. I know that. But I know who would.”
Suddenly, I find it hard to swallow.
She can’t mean …
“Things are in motion,” the wood witch sings, and I watch as the tiny buds weaved into her hair begin to flower, her joyful magic spilling into them.
“You just need to go with it.” Heather pulls back to hit me with an intense stare, eagerness and concern warring in her eyes.
“This might be your one shot. Don’t mess it up. ”
“My shot at what?” I rasp. “What are you talking about?”
But Heather doesn’t answer me, only takes the lead and whirls us to the edge of the dance floor, her concentration coming to rest over my shoulder. “Papa! I’m mated!”
As Heather’s arms slip from my shoulders, I turn to meet the steady gaze of Root Fernmore. He’s a short white man with ruddy cheeks, thinning brown hair, and an easy smile.
After my parents died in a hunting accident—two werewolves mistaken for real wolves, lurking near livestock—I had to move from New Mexico to this small Georgia town and live with my uncle.
My father’s brother was not a caregiver and had no idea what to do with an angry, heartbroken ten-year-old boy.
When Heather found me wandering alone, she dragged me home with her and told her father I needed some apple pie.
Root took one look at me, then slipped his apron on and started baking.
That first bite was the first time I felt something other than devastation since I’d learned about my parents’ deaths.
Heather forced me back into the world of the living.
Root comforted and supported me as I grew.
Blossom …
Blossom tormented me with her mere existence.
Now, she stands next to her father, looking like a fantasy in her green gown. The little witch also looks ready to sneak off, but Heather is too quick, looping her arm through Blossom’s to keep her in place.
“I’m mated! Blossom, are you aware that I’m mated?” Heather holds up her hand, showing off the rock she now sports.
“New rule,” Blossom deadpans. “Every time you say mated, you have to take a shot.”
I snort, and the younger witch throws me a glare.
“Fine.” Heather lets her hand fall, but her grin stays firmly in place. “I won’t say the M-word anymore. I don’t want to be hungover on the first day of my honeymoon. Not the best way to start off my mating.”
“Mating. You said it. That counts.” Blossom scoops up a glass of champagne. “Don’t have a shot on me, so you’ve got to chug this.”
And Heather—wild witch that she is—does as her sister demanded, letting out a burp when the bubbly is gone.
“You are the embodiment of grace,” Root says, smiling at his two daughters. “We’re going to miss you. You’ve never left for this long.”
Heather and Jenny are departing soon to spend a whole month in Europe, country-hopping and sightseeing.
I agree with Root. I’m going to miss my best friend.
The bride’s expression softens, but then I spot the spark of mischief again. “I’ll miss you too. But we’ll send pictures every day. And I expect a play-by-play of how Blossom does as Pumpkin Princess.”
The witch in green stills at her sister’s words, and my heart stutters.
Blossom is going to be the Pumpkin Princess this year? She’s competing in the Pumpkin Wars?
The silly-sounding event was invented years ago by Root.
The wood witch owns the most popular pumpkin patch in Folk Haven, and when Heather and I became friends, he decided to ring in the season by setting up a series of games for us to play against each other.
Apparently, it was an attempt to burn off some of our endless kid energy.
He called it the Pumpkin Wars with Heather as Pumpkin Princess and me as Pumpkin Prince. Whoever won was the Pumpkin Queen or Pumpkin King for the year.
What started as a silly activity has grown into a full-blown, widely attended event in the Folk Haven mythical creature community.
Mainly witches and wolves show up—the former rooting for Heather, the latter cheering for me.
I didn’t consider how Heather’s honeymoon would have her gone for this year’s event.
Root always holds the Pumpkin Wars the last weekend in September to mark the opening of his pumpkin patch for customers.
Blossom has never competed.
As far as I know, she’s never asked to. Root always gave his younger daughter special duties for the competition, but it was only ever just Heather and me battling it out.
“What?” Blossom croaks the question.
“You didn’t tell her, Papa?” Heather asks, blinking her long-lashed eyes innocently.
Root wears his normal, pleasant, relaxed expression that gives nothing away. “Not yet.”
“I can’t.” The youngest Fernmore shakes her head so hard that some of the flowers in her hair fall out. “I-I don’t live here. And everyone is expecting you.”
Heather scoffs. “It’s only one weekend. And they don’t care who the princess is.
Everyone is expecting a fun time. A good show.
Witch versus wolf.” Heather clutches her sister’s wrist and lets her gaze go soft and pleading.
“Come on. You have to do it. The Pumpkin Wars is one of Papa’s best business days.
You want the patch to do well, don’t you? ”
I press my knuckles against my lips to hide a smirk. Heather will do anything to win, and that means playing on her sister’s hidden heartstrings.
Blossom throws a wide-eyed glance her father’s way, but the wood witch merely offers a gentle smile.
“Could really use your help this year, Blossom. If it’s not too much trouble. Don’t want your sister feeling bad when she and Jenny are away.”
Oh gods, the guilt trip is piling on from both sides, and I love it.
Because I’ll take anything that requires Blossom to interact with me.
My friend’s words from the dance floor replay in my head. “Things are in motion. You just need to go with it. This might be your one shot.”
Is this what Heather meant?
The witch bride meets my eyes and gives the subtlest of nods.