Chapter Twenty-Four
DEVLIN
The walk back to the café is silent, but not tense, and I try to enjoy it for what it is—a stroll on a beautiful Halloween night with a beautiful fairy princess by my side.
But no matter how much I try to convince myself it wasn’t a big deal, that we both just got caught up in the moment, I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. Replaying it. And wishing, above all else, it could happen again.
Ridiculous. Magical moments don’t come along that often. Here and then gone. That’s what makes them so magical. Appreciate it and move on.
Good advice, arsehole. Top fucking notch.
If only I could follow it.
“Tea?” Violet blurts out the moment we step inside the café, first word she’s uttered since we reunited in the courtyard and wished her family goodnight. “I mean, would you like some?”
“Tea would be lovely,” I say, if only because I can’t bear the thought of this night ending.
“Let me just run upstairs and change, then I’ll come back and brew us something special.”
“Excellent. It’s another non-date.”
Her smile falters, and I want nothing more than to kick my own arse into next week. “Or a date-date,” I rush to add, but now she’s just crinkling her nose at me. “Or maybe just… tea? Yes, who needs labels, right? Evening tea, that’s what it is. Perfect. Go on ahead. I’ll… put on the kettle.”
And bludgeon myself with it repeatedly until my brain remembers how to function.
“Must you give me that look?” I say to Grumpy and Sunshine the moment the witch is out of earshot, the two of them hopping up on the counter for the express purpose of shortening the distance from which they’re judging me. “I’m a bit rusty at this. Forgive me, but you might be more supportive.”
Grumpy hisses.
Sunshine lifts a leg and licks his privates.
So much for non-relationship relationship advice from these two.
Well. I don’t need their help. I’ve got this.
I may not be a master tea brewer or an empathic witch, but I know what’s in Violet’s heart—a heart that’s full to bursting with the love she has for her chosen family. For her grandmother, Gigi. For her magic and her gifts. For the town that called to her across the years, the miles, the heartache, finally bringing her home.
I saw it in her eyes tonight as she danced with her friends. As she honored the town founder with her family in the courtyard.
As I held her in my arms, wanting nothing more than for her to make room in that heart for me.
So that’s what I’m thinking about when I tie an apron round my waist and pull out some of her teas and herbs. I don’t know if they go together—vanilla, mint, cinnamon, a pinch of rose petal, a bit of something called essence of selenite—but it feels right, so into the brew it goes.
She returns to me fifteen minutes later wearing a pair of black yoga pants and a long-sleeved shirt featuring unicorns farting out glittery rainbows.
“There you are,” I whisper.
“Here I am,” she whispers back, and for the span of several heartbeats, neither of us speaks. A hot blade twists inside me, and for a moment I worry everything has changed again. That the Violet dressed in fairy wings who lost herself to the passion between us on the dance floor is not the same Violet standing before me now, face scrubbed of makeup, hair twisted back into its usual messy bun, a few loose curls falling around her face, fingerprints marring one side of her glasses.
The magical fairytale costume is off, and perhaps that’s all any of this was. Another costume, another role to play.
But then she spots the freshly steeped tea on the counter, and her entire face lights up with a new smile.
Gods, that look. It’s everything.
“What’s all this?” she asks.
“I took a chance and put my tea brewing skills to the test. No guarantees on taste, but it smells quite good, as far as I know. And before you ask, no, I didn’t overdo it on the cayenne pepper. Skipped it altogether, actually.” I pour two cups from the pot, then hand one to her. “Would you like to do the honors?”
She takes the first sip. Closes her eyes. Sighs.
I wait. And wait. Hours. Eons. And then, finally…
The smile returns. The eyes open, bright and blue and happy. “Devlin. This is delicious.”
“Well, obviously.” I laugh. “Doubting Thomas. Honestly, Violet. A little trust after all this time would go a long way.”
She smiles at me again and sips her tea, and the silence descends anew.
After another excruciatingly long pause, I finally open my mouth to speak, both of us blurting out words at the same time.
“Violet, I wanted to—”
“I’ve been thinking—”
She blushes. Smiles again. I gesture for her to continue.
“I was thinking about what you said about the grant,” she says. “That maybe I should consider it after all. Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
She blinks up at me expectantly over the rim of her teacup, patient and adorable, glasses steamed up from the tea, her mouth parted in a way that has me absolutely ready to confess all of my sins just for one more chance to taste that forbidden kiss.
“Ah, the grant! Yes. So glad you’re reconsidering, tops on the list of Important Things We Must Eventually Discuss but… here’s the deal, mushroom, fae queen of the ball, most beautiful witch of Wayward Bay.” I remove the cup from her hands and set it on the counter. Then, cradling her face, “If I have to go one more second without kissing you again, I’m afraid my immortal life will come to a brutal end, and I’ll die at your feet wearing nothing but a woman’s negligee beneath a Kettle and Cauldron standard-issue black apron, and you’ll have only yourself to blame.”
One more smile for the Devil. “You want to kiss me again? Seriously?”
“What would ever make you doubt it?”
“I don’t know. It all happened so fast, and then the mayor was talking, and all the clapping, and I kind of freaked out and I just thought… I thought maybe you were just… Ambrosia Divining me.”
“You thought that kiss was an act?”
She shrugs and lowers her eyes, dark lashes fanning across her cheeks. “Not an act, but… I don’t know. You’re very… expressive sometimes. Physically speaking. I didn’t want to assume—”
“Look at me, beautiful.” I thread my fingers into her silky curls, pulling them free from the bun as I lower my mouth to hers. Then, in a soft whisper, “Look at me.”
She finally peers up at me again, her eyes wide and searching, full of bewilderment and lust and the barest shred of hope.
“Main Street,” I say. “October seventeenth. That first night when we walked to Saints and Sinners. You stood beneath the streetlamp, your eyes so blue, lashes dark from the rain. We were talking about sleeping arrangements and showering. I made a crack about my back scrubber.”
She laughs, remembering. “I thought you were talking about something else getting hard.”
“Yes, and you did your little snort-laugh, and that was it.”
“That was what?”
“The very first time I wanted to kiss you.”
“It… it was?”
“And in the weeks that followed, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve wanted to kiss you since, as much as I’ve tried to pretend otherwise, for both our sakes. But tonight, the moment you waltzed into the café, beautiful and sweet and happy… Merciful Hell, Violet. All I wanted was to take you into my arms and kiss you breathless. And now that I’ve had a taste of it, all I want to do is kiss you breathless again. So maybe that makes me a fool, but—”
“Devlin?” She presses her fingers to my lips and smiles again, her eyes misting. “Less talking, more kissing. Excellent motto.”