Chapter 9
Ethan
Yet, he drove it whenever he could.
It had been his grandmother’s. Bought with a secret savings account and the ferocity that came after she left her bastard of a husband.
Ethan’s great-aunt Lois had driven her to the dealership the very same week Marg finally left.
The two of them split the cost and then raised Marg’s children together in the same creaky farmhouse Ethan now called home.
The car had been a symbol of freedom, of survival, and of a second life built on family and resilience.
Ethan couldn’t drive it without thinking of them.
He also couldn’t justify keeping it.
The kids needed new shoes. The barn needed repairs. The shaker was only weeks from repossession.
He passed the mechanic’s shop again, making what he swore to himself was definitely the last loop through town.
If he were honest, he should’ve done it weeks ago.
The overdue notices had been piling up, but it wasn’t until the repo guy actually showed—right when the auditor was there, no less—that it really hit him.
He hated that she’d been the one to give him the extra time and the push to come to his senses about how dire it was.
Her opinion of him shouldn’t matter at all.
But it did.
He couldn’t stand the thought of her thinking he wasn’t capable. She’d probably taken one look at his chaos and slotted him neatly into some internal category labeled Tragically Inept Dad.
He was still scowling about it when he spotted her.
She was out front of the market. Spilled peaches scattered across the sidewalk. Honey crouched low, gathering them alongside Baron Fitch, the bag boy. All the while, her gaze kept flicking toward Clover’s café next door.
“Damn it, Marlene,” Ethan muttered.
His nosey neighbor had gone and told Honey about Clover being a witch.
Of course, she was curious about The Kettle, and now Honey was out here cataloguing every bit of weird she could find.
No doubt she’d already made note of the fern that leaned conspicuously toward any conversation to eavesdrop, the chalk runes on the sidewalk that kept slightly shifting, and the cat stationed at the pastry counter.
She was probably already drafting a report in her head.
He pulled his car alongside the curb.
“What are you doing?” he barked.
“Lovely to see you, too, Mr. Hale,” she responded without looking over her shoulder.
“I thought you were going to check into the inn and rest.”
“I don’t believe I’m required to report my comings and goings to you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “No, but if you’re dead set on judging the town, maybe take a day off before you start building your case.”
She finally looked at him then. “I wasn’t judging anyone. I was helping pick up fruit.”
“And checking out the café.”
“I like baked goods,” she replied. “Is that illegal in Brim’s Hollow?”
He sighed. He wasn’t always such a jerk. Leticia had been the people person. The one people gravitated toward. He’d always been quieter, happy to stand back and be in her orbit. He didn’t know when he’d turned into the kind of guy who bristled anytime someone new showed up.
The way Honey looked at everything too closely, like she was gathering evidence, made his hackles rise.
He looked around, suddenly aware of how visible he was, idling on Brimrose Lane in the middle of the afternoon. He tried to keep to himself these days. Ever since Leticia left, people were always looking at him. And then came the inevitable:
How are you holding up, Ethan?
The girls doing okay?
Anything we can do?
He didn’t want to be asked. And he sure as hell didn’t want to be pitied.
“I keep The Inn Between stocked with apple pie cookies this time of year,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride.”
“What on earth is an apple pie cookie?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.”
“It sounds like an abomination.”
Of course, she thought it did. That was exactly the problem with bureaucrats. They couldn’t stand anything that didn’t fit into a neat, labeled box. There was no room for mess or invention. Just rules and forms and whatever it was she carried around in that filing cabinet of a brain.
“I need to stop by a pharmacy,” Honey said, and he realized he was still frowning at her.
“Are you hurt?”
“If you must know, I have a scrape on my leg from when your daughter threw a snake at me and I fell.”
Ethan’s jaw twitched. He should’ve apologized. Or offered sympathy. Or done something other than clench the steering wheel and frown at her knees. Instead, he just grumbled, “I’ll give you a ride to the pharmacy.”
“I’m sure I can find my way.”
“Get in the car, Ms. Baxter.”
She paused only a moment before she walked to the passenger side and opened the door.
“You’re very demanding,” she said, settling in.
“And you’re very nosey.”
“I prefer the term professional curiosity,” she murmured, clicking her seatbelt.
Ethan didn’t reply. He just pulled away from the curb and tried not to think too hard about the fact that she’d gotten in.
She looked at him, then at the dash, and he saw the car through her eyes. Its polished hood, its cracked leather seats. Maybe she could see the ghost of something old and warm stitched into its bones.
Not more than two minutes later, they pulled up in front of Brim’s Apothecary & Sundries, a squat brick building with a crooked little sign swinging over the door.
“Runa should have whatever you need,” Ethan said.
“Right. Well then. See you tomorrow, Mr. Hale.”
“I’m coming with you,” he said, putting the car in park and getting out.
He told himself it was because she’d probably wander off and start asking all kinds of questions she shouldn’t, but the truth was, he didn’t like the idea of her hobbling around town, scraped up and alone.
He wasn’t proud of the way he handled her visit or that she’d gotten hurt on his property.
The least he could do was make sure she got a damn Band-Aid.
“I don’t need any help,” she called out as he shut his car door.
“Didn’t say you did,” Ethan said, coming around the car and opening her door anyway.
He stepped into the shop first, the bell above the door giving a cheery jingle that felt deeply inappropriate considering the amount of stress knotting up his spine. Immediately upon entering, he did what anyone in his situation would do and scanned for suspicious activity.
It was your standard pharmacy up front with bright white tile, rows of cold meds, gauze pads, and enough lotion varieties to drown a cow.
But along the back wall, nestled beside a plastic skeleton wearing a veil, was the danger zone: a tall wooden shelving unit stuffed with glass jars of dried herbs, hand-labeled tinctures, bundles of dried flowers, and soaps with names like Curse Cleanser and Breakup Hex Buster.
“Runa,” he called loudly, voice carrying like a warning bell through the cozy little store. “It’s Ethan. I’m here with the auditor.”
A head poked out from behind a beaded curtain near the back. Runa grinned, her silver buzz cut catching the light. “Well, that sounds ominous. I’ll be right with you!”
Honey was already halfway down the nearest aisle, trailing her fingers over a row of antiseptic creams. She picked up a box, turned it over, read every single word, then moved to the next.
Ethan followed on her heels.
His eyes darted toward a guy in a flannel jacket holding a bottle of suspiciously pink liquid. Ethan knew that tincture. The label claimed it was a “circulatory enhancer,” but the town regulars called it something else entirely.
Ethan moved fast.
“I’ll take that,” he said under his breath, snatching the jar before the guy could argue. “You heard Juniper. No weird magic stuff while the auditor’s in town.”
Without breaking stride, he lobbed the bottle behind the checkout counter and then pivoted smoothly toward Honey. “Maybe I can help you find what you’re looking for,” he said brightly, guiding her with a light nudge toward the safer end of the aisle. “Bandages are just over here.”
She raised a brow but allowed herself to be redirected.
A moment later, Runa stepped through the beaded curtain, wiping her hands on a towel printed with faded suns and moons. “What can I help you find, hun?”
“I’ve got a scrape from some wildlife,” Honey said. “I was hoping for some antiseptic cream.”
“I’ve got just the thing.” Runa turned toward the back wall of the shop.
Ethan’s stomach clenched. “Oh, I’m sure an auditor from the Bureau of Compliance”—he added the title with a pointed look—“would prefer something more standard—”
But Honey didn’t hear him. She’d stopped in front of a small blue tin.
“Oh,” she said, her voice softening. “This looks just like what my mom used to use.”
She popped the lid open and lifted it to her nose. The moment she inhaled, something in her face shifted. Her eyes went distant, and she sighed. “I’ll take it.”
“What family was your mother from?” Runa asked.
“The Baxter line.”
“And you’re not a witch?”
“Nope. Just a regular old human,” Honey replied casually while Ethan stared, dumbstruck.
“Always interesting how that happens,” Runa said thoughtfully as she wrapped the salve in butcher paper, tucked it into a bag, and handed it to Honey.
“You’re from the Anchor House, I take it?” Honey took the bag and hugged it to her chest.
“The eldest remaining.” Runa grinned. “Not that I’d recommend growing up with five brothers, but it does make you good at healing balms.”
Honey looked intrigued, which only made Ethan’s blood pressure spike harder.
“Fascinating,” she said, and Ethan stepped between her and the back shelf again.
“Hey,” he said, probably too loudly. “They’ve got Band-Aids. Want me to grab some?”
Honey blinked up at him, startled by the volume. “No need. I think I’ve found everything I need.”
They checked out quickly, Ethan tossing a pack of gum and a roll of antacids on the counter. Runa bagged their things with a wink that made Ethan uneasy.
He paid for both of them before Honey could argue. She opened her mouth to protest, and he shot her a look that said, Don’t even try it.
Back in the car, Ethan started the engine. He let the AC blow for a moment, trying to tell his nervous system they got in and out without incident.
“I didn’t know your mom was a witch,” he said as they pulled away from the curb.
“You don’t know much about me at all, Mr. Hale.”
He supposed that was true. Then he surprised himself by saying, “Tell me something about you.”
Honey looked over at him. “Why?”
“Why not?”
She seemed to consider, then said, “I think surprise parties should be illegal.”
He snorted a laugh. “That’s a strong opinion.”
“I stand by it. No one actually likes being ambushed into happiness. It’s undignified. If I’m expected to clap and beam while people shout at me in the dark, I deserve advance notice.”
He shook his head, still grinning. “So, you want…what? To plan your own birthday?”
“Exactly,” she said crisply. “A scheduled celebration is civilized. A sneak attack with balloons is psychological warfare.”
He smiled despite himself and took the long way to the inn.
He could’ve turned earlier—should have, really—but there was no harm in an extra five minutes and he liked the soft rhythm of her voice as she explained that the only situation when it was acceptable to spring a surprise on someone was a proposal.
“Different category entirely,” she added firmly. “That is a demonstration of how well you know someone. You plan it, you pick the right moment, you account for every detail—timing, setting, lighting, witness count. That’s the one exception where a little shock is worth it.”
Finally, she fell quiet while they waited for the BooBees walking group to cross the road. He expected her to ask about them.
“You have a very nice town,” she said softly as they waited.
He bristled reflexively. It wasn’t a perfect town. It had its rusted fences and bakery feuds. And the occasional code violation, if you wanted to get picky about it.
But it was his.
It was Clover’s bakery, and Juniper’s schoolyard, and the old tree behind the post office where his daughters played like he used to.
He didn’t want Honey poking around and cataloging its flaws with her little clipboard, no matter how nice her voice sounded when she said things like “very nice town.”
“You should stay with me,” he said suddenly.
Honey turned her head slowly. “Excuse me?”
“At the house,” he clarified. “During the audit. You’d be closer to everything. Save time. No point driving back and forth from the inn every day.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is this about ‘not messing with your town’ again?”
“No,” he blurted. Then, “Partly. But mostly it’s practical. I’ve got the room. Clean sheets. Decent water pressure. You’re busy and eager to get back home, I’m sure. It makes sense.”
Honey didn’t answer right away. He risked a glance over and found her studying him. “You’re not trying to keep an eye on me, are you?”
He gave a dry smile. “You’d know if I was.”
She let that sit for a moment. “I’ll think about it.”
He nodded, and they turned into the drive of The Inn Between, the porch lights glowing soft yellow in the settling dusk.
Honey gathered her bag but paused before opening the door. “Thank you for the ride. And the hospitality.”
“You’re welcome,” Ethan said, barely louder than the hum of the engine. “Don’t forget to try the cookies.”
She closed the door gently behind her and walked up the path to the inn.
He sat for a second longer, hand still on the wheel. When he glanced in the rearview mirror, he caught sight of himself.
He was smiling.
And that, more than anything else, scared the hell out of him.