CHAPTER ELEVEN
CATHERINE
“I don’t feel like I’m any closer to gaining control over my magic than I was a week ago.
” I stare at the bowl of water before me, willing it to rise into the air through sheer determination alone.
The surface trembles in response, tiny whirlpools swirling lazily across the top, but it refuses to obey.
Just like every other attempt.
My shoulders sag.
Mango scrambles across the counter toward the bowl, claws clicking against the wood. Before I can stop him, he clambers onto the edge and tips the entire thing sideways.
Water gushes across the counter.
“Mango!” I lunge forward, snatching the spell book out of the flood before it can soak through the pages.
Hugging it to my chest with one arm, I grab a kitchen towel with the other and begin frantically mopping up the spill.
“Hey, you have a perfectly good water dish. You do not need to be knocking mine over.”
I scoop him up to eye level.
He stares at me blankly, tongue flicking out to lick one of his eyeballs.
Honestly, sometimes I’m not entirely convinced there’s a single thought behind those beady little lizard eyes, while other times I feel like he knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly what I’m saying.
“Books are not waterproof,” I scold, pointing the towel at him. “And Elliot went out of his way to get these for me.”
The moment his name leaves my mouth, warmth curls traitorously low in my stomach.
I set Mango back inside his open terrarium before carefully returning the book on water manipulation to the stack Elliot had brought over earlier in the week. My fingers linger against the worn leather cover longer than necessary.
Mango tilts his head, tail swishing slowly.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I mutter.
The little dragon blinks once.
My gaze drifts toward the kitchen window where sunlight streams across the counter in golden ribbons. It’s been almost a week since the storm. A week since Elliot kissed me on the beach while rain poured around us and thunder cracked overhead like the sky itself was splitting apart.
A week since he looked at me like I was something precious.
My fingertips lift unconsciously to my lips. That kiss has replayed in my head every single night since.
Every. Single. Night.
The feel of his hands on my waist. The rough scrape of his stubble against my skin. The way his voice had gone low and rough when he called me Wren.
My chest tightens. It’s such a ridiculous nickname. Most people called me Catherine or Cat, but Elliot wasn’t most people. No one had ever called me Wren before, and the way he says it makes me feel things I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to confront.
I’d spent the week pretending to be productive—writing at the beach, reading through spell books, and applying for jobs—but every thought somehow circled back to him. To his laugh. To the way he looked soaking wet in my kitchen. To the way he believed in me so fiercely it almost hurt.
Yet I hadn’t seen him once.
Not that I’d gone out of my way to find him, but somehow, before this week, he kept finding me.
“He’s probably busy working,” I tell Mango, even though the words sound hollow in the quiet kitchen. “Or surfing. Or rescuing stranded tourists from riptides. Whatever it is sea lion shifters do when they’re not kissing emotionally unstable witches during thunderstorms.”
Mango stares at me.
“Don’t judge me.”
He licks his snout.
“It was just a kiss,” I continue, though my voice softens. “And I’m leaving in a month anyway… assuming I can actually find a job.”
The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth.
I glance toward my laptop sitting on the table. Another morning spent refreshing my inbox. Another morning of silence.
No interviews. No offers. Nothing.
Mango taps one claw against his heat rock.
“Fine.” I sigh dramatically. “When I get a fancy corporate job in the city, we’ll get an apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows, and you can have your own giant enclosure.”
Tap. Tap.
“You are unbelievably demanding for someone who thinks bugs are a treat.”
At the word treat, Gin’s ears perk up from the living room. A second later, she comes barreling into the kitchen, nails skittering across the floor, tail wagging.
I stare between the golden doodle and the tiny dragon.
“Spoiled rotten,” I inform them both. “Absolutely spoiled rotten.”
I toss a handful of mealworms into Mango’s terrarium before grabbing Gin’s biscuit from the jar.
She sniffs it politely.
Then looks past me.
Toward the stack of spell books Elliot left behind.
My eyes narrow. “Oh, don’t you start too.”
Gin’s tail thumps harder.
“I give you plenty of attention. I’m allowed to spend time reading and applying for jobs.”
She continues staring at the books.
Traitor.
I toss the biscuit into her bowl before opening my laptop again. The screen glows to life.
Spam.
Spam.
Auto-reply.
Spam.
An email from my aunt containing blurry pictures of castle ruins somewhere overseas.
No interview requests. No rejection emails either.
Just… nothing.
I exhale sharply and close the laptop. I guess no news is better than bad news.
The silence in the seaside cottage suddenly feels too loud. Too empty. Too much like waiting.
Gin disappears into the living room before trotting back a moment later with her leash clenched proudly in her mouth.
“Oh no. Absolutely not.” I point at the clock. “It’s barely nine in the morning. We already went on a walk at seven.”
She sits directly at my feet and drops the leash into my lap, tail wagging and tongue lolling.
Manipulative little beast.
And then bubbles begin rising from the kitchen sink.
I freeze.
More and more float upward, wobbling through the air before popping against the ceiling and splattering soap and water everywhere.
“Oh no,” I groan. “Not this again.”
Apparently my magic had decided emotional distress now equaled spontaneous kitchen disasters.
Fantastic.
I yank open the drawer for dish towels and shove them into the sink to stop the overflow while bubbles continue drifting around the room like some deranged bath-time blizzard.
Gin barks excitedly and snaps at one midair.
“At least someone’s having fun.”
Another bubble pops against my cheek.
I stare at the soggy towels. The bubbling sink. The stack of magical books. The closed laptop with an empty inbox.
And most of all, the spot near the back door where Elliot usually leaned against the frame with a crooked grin that made my stomach flip.
My chest suddenly aches with missing him.
“Okay,” I mutter, grabbing Gin’s leash before I can overthink it. “Change of plans.”
Gin barks happily.
I point at her. “Do not act like this was your idea.”
Her tail wags harder.
I grab my purse, shove my feet into sandals, and head for the door.
“Let’s go to town.”
I didn’t really have any reason to go into town, but between my magic causing chaos and the soul-crushing cycle of checking my email for a job interview that still hadn’t come, I didn’t know what else to do with myself.
So here I was.
Avoiding my problems by spending money on books. At least it was a healthy habit, right?
I park down a side street off Main and open the back door for Gin. She launches out immediately, nose lifted to the air like she’s personally inspecting the town for the first time. As though I hadn’t brought her here at least twice a week since I arrived.
It was another bright summer day in Crescent Cove. Tourists crowded the sidewalks in flip-flops and sunglasses while locals drifted lazily between shops with iced coffees in hand. Somewhere down the street, someone played guitar badly enough to qualify as a public disturbance.
I turned toward the bookstore automatically.
Mrs. Alder had told me not to be a stranger, and unfortunately, the Highland Bride book she recommended had ruined my life.
I’d finished the entire thing in two days, only to immediately discover online that it was the first in a twelve-book series following various broody Scottish clans and the women who apparently tolerated them.
Honestly? Fair.
Something tight tugs low in my chest, my lips tingle, and warmth spreads across my skin where Elliot’s hands had held me during the storm. A familiar laugh drifts through the crowd, low and rough and warm enough to curl straight through me.
I turn so fast Gin nearly clotheslines me with the leash.
“Elliot—”
The word dies in my throat.
Just a group of tourists in swimsuits walking down the opposite side of the street.
None of them him.
Heat crawls into my cheeks.
Get a hold of yourself, Cat. One kiss and suddenly every vaguely masculine voice sounds like him?
Gin sits patiently at my feet, tail thumping against the pavement.
“Of course it wasn’t him,” I mutter. “You would’ve dragged me halfway across the street already.”
Traitorous dog.
Though I should’ve expected Gin to adore Elliot. Sea lions are known as the dogs of the sea, and like calls to like.
Elliot and I are about as opposite as two people can be. He’s carefree, supportive, and laid back, spending his free time playing superhero. I’m reclusive, guarded, and prefer the solitude of my own company, my books, and the grueling pace of the corporate workplace.
At least, that’s what I thought I wanted.
Until I met him.
Until he made me question everything I’ve spent the last decade working toward.
I shake my head and continue down the sidewalk until I stop in front of Ebb and Fable Books. Bright windows are stacked high with books in every size and color imaginable, cozy little reading nooks tucked between displays.
I could absolutely lose entire paychecks in there.
My chest tightens unexpectedly because soon I’d have a new job. A real job. One involving long hours and impossible deadlines and pretending I didn’t secretly hate every second of corporate life.
No more lazy afternoons reading on the beach. No more mornings wandering Crescent Cove.
No more Elliot.
The thought hits me harder than it should.
Gin gazes up at me with such exaggerated sadness that I narrow my eyes suspiciously.