Chapter 7
Willow
Iglanced at the clock on the wall, then the digital one on the register, then my watch. Time was going so slowly, I was starting to wonder if the town had been hexed. Even in the aftermath of a bustling midday rush, I’d quickly run out of tasks.
Harlow was on a long lunch to make up for having to take over for me this afternoon and likely this evening for closing. I wasn’t counting chickens, but if last night was any indication of how our date would end, I didn’t want to have to worry about the layer of sticky, dried coffee waiting for me.
Every time I passed my glinting reflection in the chrome espresso machine, I checked my lipstick and mussed my hair again.
Am I overdressed for apple picking? Does it seem like I’m trying too hard? Maybe I should change . . .
No matter how much I was overthinking, I couldn’t shake the butterflies in my stomach.
There had to be a horde of them in there because I was practically levitating.
I floated around the register, scooping crumbs and righting the sugar packets.
I was so exuberant that I didn’t even notice one of the mugs was out of place until I knocked into it.
Shards of shattered ceramic scattered across the floor, and several heads picked up from their laptops or conversations to look for the sound.
I waved a hand to assure the customers that there was no threat.
“Shit,” I muttered, reaching for the dustpan and hand broom.
Most of the mug had stayed together in three large chunks, but I would have to move the fatigue mat to get to the smaller shards. I paused when I grabbed the mug handle, realizing a piece of paper had been nestled inside.
“What the . . . ?”
I picked up the crumpled piece of paper. It was another note with the same wobbling handwriting as the last.
STAY AWAY FROM WYATT OR THE CAFé GETS IT!
I glared at the paper for another thirty seconds, my brain spinning.
Gossip traveled fast in a small town, but I hadn’t even told Harlow that Wyatt and I were going on a date today.
Was someone angry that I’d accepted an invitation to the apple orchard?
Why were they threatening me like an old-timey mobster instead of just saying it to my face?
And how had they gotten behind the counter twice?
I scanned through every Maple Hollow resident dotting the dining area but couldn’t think of a single likely candidate.
As far as I knew, Wyatt didn’t have any exes who lived in town, apart from Jack Corrodus.
Wyatt and the swamp monster had dated back in high school, but that was ancient history.
Not to mention that Jack and his draconic husband had just celebrated their tenth anniversary last year, so it couldn’t be him.
According to Agnes, Wyatt didn’t have any other potential paramours. She loved rehashing all the town gossip until the well ran dry. So if Agnes didn’t know about a lover, there wasn’t one.
Maybe it was another werewolf threatening me?
I didn’t know every werewolf, but most of the eligible wolves around here preferred to go for the more toxic monsters.
The door opened with a chime, and I snapped up to see Avery waltz in, making a beeline toward me. I gave her a small smile and stashed the note in the back of the utensil drawer and under a bundle of old spoons.
“Hey,” I called. “The usual?”
“You know it.” She pulled out her card, but I held up a hand.
“This one’s on me. A thank-you for making sure I didn’t end up splattered on the pavement the other day.”
Avery shook her head, which made her sparkly black coffin earrings sway.
I wished I could pull off half of the clothes she did.
Today, she wore a well-tailored, velvet, maroon dress over a pair of spiderweb tights, and she’d accessorized her outfit with platform boots and a leather harness that caged her hips and ribs like an exoskeleton.
“It was the least I could do,” she said, tucking her card into her coffin-shaped purse, which perfectly matched her earrings. “Who else can make my daily filthy chai?”
She emphasized her tease with a wink.
“Coming right up.” I turned and got to work, letting my mind empty as I turned knobs and concocted one of my favorite signature drinks: two shots of espresso, house-made chai concentrate, gingerbread syrup, extra ice, and a sweet-and-salty cold foam float.
“Here you are.” I put the finished drink on the bar with a straw and placed a sample square of the new white chocolate pumpkin bread on the lid.
Avery popped the treat in her mouth as she plunged the straw through the ice. “Fuck me.” She rolled her eyes, savoring her first sip. “Are you sure you’re not a witch? Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were slipping me a love potion.”
I giggled at that.
“I do order most of the ingredients from the apothecary,” I mused, cleaning out my tiny espresso cup. “Only the best for you.”
“Please don’t flirt with me while I’m drinking the nectar of the gods. I can’t handle it.” Her nose wrinkled with a smile.
“Sorry, it’s habit.” I wiped down the countertop and glanced at the clock once again.
“Don’t break my heart, Will,” Avery jested, having swallowed a third of her drink in one gulp. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to hang out sometime.” She held up a stiletto-manicured hand. “Only as friends.”
“Yes, please,” I replied, exaggerating my need for real girl time. Harlow was always off with Jordyn and Iris, and though I didn’t have much free time, it would be nice to go blow off some steam at The Bloody Mary with someone.
“Great! I’ll hold you to that.” She gave me a wink and wrote her number on a napkin before heading out the door, her waist-long black hair swishing in tandem with her hips.
There was a quick moment when I wondered if Avery or one of the vampires had left the note. The vampires had been on the side of the “monsters only” Maple Hollow collision last year, but there was no way Avery would be a part of that now. Right?
Looking down at her handwriting, I immediately ruled her out.
The curly, romantic numbers looked nothing like the writing on the notes I’d found.
I slipped her number in my pocket, then went back to scrubbing the living hell out of the countertop.
I had about another half hour before I expected Wyatt to show up—
The door chimed again.
All my worries were quickly forgotten when he walked in wearing a flannel button-down, white T-shirt, and jeans. He was holding a giant bouquet of sunflowers.
Stunned, I watched him approach the bar and hold out the blooms.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I said, beaming as I took the bouquet.
Sunflowers were my favorite, a fact Wyatt had clearly noted.
They reminded me of this town, warm and autumnal, and they grew all the way until Halloween.
I often bought miniature sunflowers to decorate the café stoop, but these flowers from Wyatt were going directly onto my bedside table, just for me.
“I told you,” Wyatt said, his grin stretching and his wolfish canines flashing. “I want to spoil you . . . and I have something I need to talk to you about.”
Well, that took the wind out of my sails.
I rocked back on my heels. “Talk to me about what?”
“Let’s save it for later. After the apple picking,” he countered with a playful wink. “I don’t want you hitting me with a projectile apple.”
I let out a low whistle. “That bad?”
“Not bad, just . . . something I’ve been putting off for a while.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, and his spine straightened.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” He combed nervous fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. I wanted everything to be perfect and I’m already messing it all up.”
“You’re not messing it up.” I sighed, took his muscled arm, and hooked it with my own. “Let’s go.”
We stepped out onto the busy streets of Maple Hollow, the town bustling with tourists as we neared Halloween.
It was the peak of fall, and every tree was bright with yellows, oranges, and fiery reds, and every social media influencer was out taking videos and pictures to plaster on their feeds.
Billy stood across the square, waving to passersby.
Gwen, the new witch in town, shuffled past us before making a beeline to the witch-hat gazebo, where she met up with what looked to be the entire coven for the “summoning.” It was a newer performance that included a large iron cauldron in the middle of a bonfire that was magically transported in and out of the square—per Billy’s town ordinance protocols.
A crowd quickly gathered around the witches.
Silence fell over the outer circle, but muffled chanting began within.
Sparks of blue, purple, and red flew from the fire as the witches danced in their faux-ceremonial robes.
It was the perfect distraction. I immediately felt at ease.
No one would pay any attention to Wyatt and me as we ambled toward the solid wood arch that welcomed us to Bishop’s Orchard.
I’d probably walked past the sign dozens of times since I’d moved to town, but today, it felt like I was seeing it for the first time.
Large bushels of pre-picked apples sat at the ends of several picnic tables.
Several families sorted through them, searching for the very best ones, though enchantments placed on the trees ensured that each apple fell within a specific size, sweetness, and juiciness level for the optimal bite.
I imagined that Wyatt—more so Eloise—appreciated the consistency in their baking.
Not having to guess the moisture to flour ratio had to be the magical trick to Eloise’s famous apple cider donuts.
Selfishly, I preferred Wyatt’s apple fritters.
He had mastered them a few years ago after months of trial and error.
But in the end, it came down to the cut size of the apple pieces and the ratio of batter.
Never mind that I was his only tester and probably most frequent buyer, but not a single one was ever left in my café by the end of the day.
Several children raced by, pointing their willow sticks and shouting hexes at each other.
The youngest amongst them, who couldn’t have been older than three, ran right between Wyatt’s legs, almost toppling us.
Without hesitation, Wyatt wrapped his arm around my back and pulled me into his side to steady my footing.
The toddler’s siblings rushed forward, grabbed him by the hand, and led him away as I laughed.
“Sorry, wolfy!” one of them called back, and I burst into a shaking cackle.
Somehow, children always knew what the monsters in town were and were rarely frightened.
I watched the children weave through the tables, skillfully avoiding their minders, before they ran off behind the basket return booth, where a tall brunette werewolf by the name of Aisling Farris was standing.
She had a model’s physique, truly a gorgeous, statuesque specimen who had all the locals of every gender chasing after her.
Today, she wore a loose linen blouse with gold and red embroidery along the deep V collar, fitted jeans, and a thick leather belt. I couldn’t pin down why, but she was giving off a surprising amount of horse girl energy for a woman who shifted into a wolf at night.
“Aisling,” Wyatt greeted with friendly surprise. “I didn’t know you were working the orchard.”
“Hey, Wy,” she said with a wide smile. “Willow,” she added, bobbing her head toward me. “Liam’s supposed to be manning it, but the stupid idiot fell into a ditch and broke his ankle on the latest pack run.”
She tucked her brown waves behind her ears, revealing the polished moonstone studs in her lobes.
“Oh, I . . . didn’t know that.” Wyatt sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.
Aisling grimaced. “Yeah.” She shifted her weight from one hip to the other, and I just stood there, confused by the awkwardness of their exchange. “I’m guessing you want two baskets?” Aisling finally asked, passing me a wicker basket and another to Wyatt.
“Thanks. I figured I’d restock the apple supplies the old-fashioned way,” Wyatt explained. Aisling tilted her head at him. “You know, for the cider donut addicts.”
She smiled, and I could sense the tension in him loosen.
“Well, in that case, do me a favor,” she said to me with a wink. “Go for the trees in the back left. The tourists neglect them, and they’re teeming with fruit.”
“Will do!” I offered, grateful to have a task to fulfill.
“And here’s a blanket.” She tossed a thick picnic blanket into Wyatt’s basket. “In case you want to get cozy.” She waggled her brows at him. “Have fun, you two!”
Wyatt’s cheeks flushed. “Aisling, that’s . . . Nope. Not going there. Stay out of trouble, and tell Liam I’ll stop by tonight.”
“Will do.” Aisling waved us off and went back to organizing the booth.
Did she . . . I stared at the blanket, then at Wyatt’s red cheeks. Did she just give us a fuck blanket?
Was that a thing people did here?
What the hell was happening, and why the hell had it been so awkward between them?
Wyatt took my hand, our sweaty palms rubbing together as we walked. Several yards down the path, a copse of trees appeared that had been overtaken by heavy, ripe fruit.
“So, you didn’t know about Liam getting injured?” I asked, doing my best to find something to fill the silence. “Doesn’t he supply apples to the bakery? And don’t you run with him during pack nights?”
“I’ve been a bit . . . distracted,” he said, clearly uncomfortable.
“With what?”
“That kind of has to do with what I wanted to talk to you about,” he hedged with a weak smile. “But let’s fill up our baskets first.”
I was about to protest when he pulled me closer, planting a kiss on the top of my head. In an instant, my whole body was buzzing again. All of my storming questions slipped into the back of my mind as I enjoyed the ease and warmth of walking with his hand in mine.