Chapter 16 Missy
Missy
Stars still pepper the sky as I make my way to Rachel’s studio, Giuseppe’s familiar weight against my back matching the heaviness in my chest. The autumn air carries a sharp coastal bite that wasn’t here yesterday, as if the weather itself is marking how quickly things can change.
How a life carefully arranged in familiar patterns can spiral into chaos with one unexpected arrival.
Jules has somehow charmed his way into every corner of my world in less than twenty-four hours—sharing stories over dinner with Alex and Ethan, touring the town with infectious enthusiasm, keeping me up late reviewing his ‘improvements’ to our compositions.
He’s always been like this, demanding attention like a spotlight, leaving no room for shadows or subtle variations. I’d forgotten how exhausting it could be until he swept back into my life, rearranging everything to suit his tempo.
At least his infamous night owl tendencies mean I have these early morning hours to myself. To think. To breathe. To try to untangle the mess I’ve made of things with Dean.
Yesterday’s anger has faded, leaving behind a clearer understanding of what I saw in his eyes at the cafe.
The uncertainty. The hurt. He’d told me once, voice low in our lighthouse sanctuary, that he’d never allowed himself to date anyone in Magnolia Cove.
His role demanded too much isolation, too much control.
And then there was Jules, touching me with the casual possessiveness he’s always shown, acting like I was just an extension of his artistic vision—as he always has.
I pull open the studio door, barely setting Giuseppe down before I register Dean’s presence.
He’s wearing his signature black leather jacket, every inch the stern warlock I first met.
But when our eyes meet in the pre-dawn light, I see past the walls to the man who gave me music beneath constellations and who sees me for who I really am.
“Dean,” I whisper, my voice carrying all the words I haven’t said.
He crosses the room and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Missy, I’m an idiot.”
“Yeah, you are.”
His body tenses, and I can’t help but laugh. He tries to resist, his lips pressing into a firm line, but eventually, a chuckle slips out. The sound warms the space between us as I wrap my arms around his waist.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my hair.
“I owe you an apology too.” I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of cinnamon and autumn leaves that clings to him, suddenly aware of how right this feels.
How the chaos in my mind settles just by being near him.
“Jules is… he’s a lot. I know how it looked in the cafe, but he’s always been like that.
Too much, too close, too convinced he knows what’s best for everyone.
And I’m realizing there’s a lot about my past life that doesn’t fit anymore. ”
“Missy—” He protests, but I press my fingers against his lips.
“Let me finish. I’ve been so caught up in avoiding confrontation that I’ve made everything worse. Just give me a few days. Let me get Jules sorted out, and then I’ll tell Alex everything. God, I haven’t had time to tell her I know about magic yet.”
My voice catches as the weight of everything suddenly hits me—all the secrets I’ve been juggling, the constant guard I’ve had to keep up, trying to figure out who I am beyond the perfect performer Jules expects me to be. A tear slips down my cheek, then another.
Dean pulls back enough to study my face.
His calloused thumbs brush the tears away with a gentleness that makes my heart ache.
“Of course,” he whispers, fingers lingering against my skin.
“Take the time you need. I should have trusted you, trusted this. Instead, I let my… history cloud my judgment.” His jaw works for a moment.
“I’m not used to having something worth losing. ” He presses a kiss to my brow.
I lean up and capture his lips with mine.
Kissing him is like finding the perfect note in a complicated piece—when everything aligns and you know exactly where you belong.
His hands slide into my hair as he deepens the kiss, and for a moment, all the complications fade away.
There’s just this—his warmth, his touch, the steady beating of his heart against mine.
We settle into our usual morning rhythm, talking about nothing and everything the way we do at the lighthouse. For a moment, everything feels possible again.
Then the door clicks open.
Rachel and Emma enter first. Jules walks in behind them, gesturing with a takeaway cup and smiling that sunshine grin that’s landed him on the cover of more than a few magazines.
“The Ethiopian beans at this little place in Prague—absolute revelation. Though nothing quite matches the complexity of traditional Indonesian kopi luwak. Have you ever tried it?”
Rachel laughs as she swirls her iced coffee from the Whisk. “I’m afraid my coffee expertise stops at ‘better than day-old roast from the Hungry Gull.’”
“Oh darling, we simply must educate your palate!” Jules’ eyes sparkle then land on me.
I feel Dean withdraw, physically and emotionally, retreating to his corner as Jules sweeps forward.
“Missy! Excellent news—I’ve managed to negotiate everything despite this charming town’s absolutely prehistoric internet service.
We can leave next week after all! Vienna is gorgeous this time of year, and don’t worry, I’ve arranged a month off around your sister’s wedding. It’s all taken care of.”
The words slam into me like a wave, knocking me off kilter.
Had we vaguely discussed pushing up our timeline in a very theoretical way?
Maybe. But I’d dismissed it as Jules being Jules—always planning, always pushing, always ten steps ahead without checking if anyone wants to follow.
I hear myself making noncommittal sounds of agreement, falling back into old patterns like muscle memory from too many years of allowing some combination of decision fatigue and conflict avoidance drive me allowing Jules to orchestrate my life.
“Wonderful!” Jules claps his hands together. “Now, let me not monopolize your prodigy’s lesson time.” He beams at Emma. “Missy has told me all about your extraordinary talent.”
Emma blushes furiously, but I barely notice.
Because beyond her, Dean’s expression has gone completely unguarded for a moment.
His mouth is parted, his eyes shimmer, and his fisted hands have gone slack at his sides.
It’s like watching someone let go of a rope they’ve clung to.
When our gazes meet, his features smooth into granite, cold and impenetrable.
No. No, this is all wrong. He thinks— But I haven’t even discussed leaving early. Jules just assumed, as he always does, that his plans are everyone’s plans.
I shift my focus on Emma, trying to calm her nerves as she whispers, “I can’t believe Jules Bouchard is watching me play!
” But even as I guide and accompany her through the piece, noting how much she’s controlling her magic since Dean gave her the necklace, I’m achingly aware of Dean’s rigid posture as he stands with Rachel and Jules.
When Emma finishes, Rachel herds her toward the door. Both of them grab bags for school and Jules follows behind. “Oh, Missy. I told Rachel I could go in with her today and meet her other music students. You don’t mind, darling, do you?”
“No,” I say, before considering how his words might land on Dean’s ears. I just want Jules gone. I just want to fix things with Dean. I just want a moment to breathe.
Jules is out the door before I can correct the course, already deep in conversations about the merits of various conservatories. The silence they leave behind feels charged, heavy with all the things I haven’t said.
Dean tidies the space with mechanical precision, his movements precise and controlled.
Too controlled. My hands fumble as I do a poor job of wiping Giuseppe down.
But when Dean heads for the door, I abandon my half-hearted attempt at instrument care and follow him into the light rain, Giuseppe’s case banging against my back as leaves swirl in the wind.
He walks so fast I have to jog to keep up. When he stops abruptly, water drips from his hair. “Are you leaving next week? When did you plan to tell me?”
“I haven’t agreed to that.”
His eyes flash and he pulls a mint from the case in his jacket but doesn’t put it in his mouth. “Jules seems convinced.”
“Jules hasn’t doubted himself since kindergarten. It means nothing.”
Dean’s shoulders drop. He pinches the bridge of his nose and rain slips down his skin.
Then he opens his eyes and sighs. “You need a few days. Take them. But I need to know what we are, Missy. What our future looks like… if we have one.” He swallows hard.
“Tell me if I’ve misunderstood things between us.
If I have, I’ll back off. If I haven’t…” His jaw works for a moment.
“Then I need to know if leaving early is on the table for you. I can’t—” He lets out a rough breath.
“I can let people hate me for the greater good. I’ve spent years doing that.
But this?” His gesture encompasses the space between us.
“Caring about someone just for myself? I don’t know how to do this halfway.
I know I’m being intense, but I don’t know how else to be, especially when I care about something… or someone.”
“You haven’t misunderstood,” I whisper, but the words feel inadequate against the weight of his honesty.
He’s willing to go public with me. A regular human.
I’ve barely considered the weight of that decision.
He’s not just magical, he’s a leader. The head warlock.
And that’s probably huge. I wonder if he has to officially note something if he dates someone outside the community.
Meanwhile, I can’t even decide if I’m staying in town next week.
I’ve been happy to just go with the flow.
The realization slams into me. I’ve spent years letting others orchestrate my life—Jules with his career plans, our manager with his vision, Alex with her sacrifices.
Even now, I’m waiting for someone else to make the hard decisions.
But Dean? He orchestrates an entire magical island.
Every choice he makes ripples through the lives here.
I have to risk telling my sister about us.
He has to risk telling an entire magical world that he’s chosen me.
And here I am, still trying to avoid confrontation, still letting the current carry me wherever it flows easier.
“I’ll think through everything, I promise,” I whisper into the cool, rain-kissed air, as mist slowly gathers around us. “Really think it through.”
When he kisses me, it’s gentle but weighted with everything we’ve said and haven’t said. A wind blows through, beginning another ballet of leaves falling. But for the first time since learning about magic, I can’t see its shimmer at all.