Chapter Twenty-Nine
VIOLET
It’s half-past three in the morning—the witching hour. Here in Anxietyville, it’s also known as the endlessly-staring-at-the-ceiling, wondering-how-my-life-went-so-far-off-the-rails hour.
But tonight, for the first time since I was a kid living under Gigi’s magical roof, I don’t feel so lost and out of control.
I feel… happy.
I hardly even recognize the word.
Devlin just snuck down to the café to raid the day-old pastries from Emmie’s, and I’m here in bed, finally alone after several hours of panty-melting debauchery that started with me on my knees and ended with Devlin on his, my poor cats cowering in the pantry to escape the primal howls coming from my bedroom (yes, I howled like a she-wolf, I’m not ashamed to admit it).
But an anxious mind has its own kind of dark magic—the undeniable power to poison even the most joyful moments. One minute you’re floating on air, butterflies dancing in your stomach, your heart about ready to burst with the exciting possibilities of it all… and the next you’re curled up in the fetal position, hyper-focusing on all the ways it can and most likely will go wrong.
And just like that, the happy feeling inside me pops like an overinflated balloon.
Don’t get too comfortable, my brain says now. Happiness is too elusive. Too easily shattered.
I try to counter it, Devlin’s whispered confessions stirring those butterflies back to life. I’ve gone and fallen in love with you anyway. Accidentally, but completely…
But here in his absence, sheets rapidly cooling, all I can think about is what happens when he leaves for good. When he goes back to Hell, cursed to remain, or gets stuck here, cursed to die.
Happiness is an illusion, says my oh-so-helpful brain. And the happier you allow yourself to feel, the harder it is when you make that inevitable face-plant. The one you always make, Violet, because no matter how hard you try, you can never, ever be perfect…
Goddess, I can’t stop thinking about him. Of our first dance on Halloween that eventually led to our first kiss. Of our first everything that came after (came being the operative word, multiple times, in multiple ways).
That night, I was nervous and exhilarated and yes, extremely turned on. It was its own kind of happiness—one my brain actually let me keep.
But tonight?
The poison inside me is already spreading, his words twisting into weapons for my anxiety to wield against me.
I’ve gone and fallen in love with you anyway. Accidentally, but completely…
He meant it. I felt it in his energy, in his fevered kisses tonight.
But no matter what he says, no matter what he believes, this thing between us wasn’t an accident.
And it wasn’t love, either, my brain says. It was magic, plain and simple. A binding spell that he’s confusing with the real thing…
“I hate you,” I whisper to my brain, to the anxiety that’s been poisoning me since I was a kid, making me terrified of losing every good thing that comes my way.
Another fifteen minutes pass, and Devlin’s still not back. I try to get used to it, knowing I’ll have to soon enough.
But all that does is make my chest hurt.
“Please, Gigi,” I whisper, the panic simmering again, old insecurities rushing in hot. “I just need a sign. What do I do? How do I know if this is real?”
My phone pings from the nightstand, and I startle. Flick on the bedside lamp. Put on my glasses.
There beneath the phone, three Tarot cards rest, all in a row.
The Devil card—my familiar companion, reminding me only of Devlin, of the first night he came to me and all the wild, hilarious, intense moments we’ve shared since.
The Fool, young and carefree, about to walk right off a cliff—an invitation to leap without looking, to embrace a new adventure with wild abandon and childlike wonder. But the Fool offers a warning, too, and now I see only the cliff, the long fall to the bottom, all the ways life can shove you right over the edge long before you even notice the drop.
And then, finally, the Lovers. Reminding me, just as it did on Halloween when it appeared at Aggie’s statue, that a choice is coming.
Follow your heart’s true desire, my intuition echoes, and you can’t go wrong.
“But what if my heart is wrong?” I whisper, and the phone notification pings again, urgent and insistent. Read me. Read me. Read me.
Outside the door, my floorboards creak.
Phone in hand, I glance up and finally see him in the doorway—my Devil limned in moonlight, the dark fallen angel who’s somehow fallen for me.
“Violet?” he asks, tone heavy with concern. “Is everything all right, love?”
“I’m… I don’t know.” I glance at the notification.
It’s not a text, but an email.
Oh, no.
No one ever emails me—only my suppliers, but this is way outside normal business hours for them.
Which means it can only be one thing.
With trembling hands, I tap the icon and load the message.
From: Wayward Bay Town Council Advisory Board
* * *
Subject: Wayward Bay Small Business Grant - THE KETTLES CAULDRON
Great. They can’t even get the name right. That doesn’t bode well. Heart pounding in my throat, I read on.
Dear Miss Pepperdine:
* * *
Thank you for submitting THE KETTLES CAULDRON for our first annual Keep the Bay Beautiful for Business grant program.
* * *
After careful consideration of your presentation and submission materials, we regret to inform you that the committee has chosen to decline your application.
* * *
As this will be an annual program, we encourage you to apply again next year.
* * *
Until then, we wish you much success in your business endeavors!
* * *
Sincerely,
* * *
Brandt Remington III
* * *
President, Remington Capital Group
* * *
Co-Chair, Committee to Keep Wayward Bay Beautiful for Business
That’s it. Four sentences. Four lousy sentences and a stupid exclamation point to really send the point home.
“Violet?” Devlin is by my side now, knuckles brushing my cheek. “What is it? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
I can’t speak past the lump in my throat. Past the crushing disappointment. I hand over the phone, unable to meet his eyes.
“That fucking prick,” he says. “That utter fucking spineless waste of space.”
“They didn’t even take a full day to make their decision. That’s how bad my presentation was.”
I didn’t expect to win—not with Brandt in charge, and definitely not after my disastrous presentation this morning. But still. Seeing it in writing—written by Brandt, of all people—is a gut punch of the highest order. Especially since I just asked Gigi for a sign.
Well, I asked for it, and I got it. No coincidences, right? That’s what I get for allowing myself to be happy. I’ve made too many mistakes already. Who the hell was I to think I could have it all? Who the hell was I to think that any of this could actually work?
That I could earn the money to save the shop, to keep on doing what I love most?
That a man summoned from the depths of hell, whose kisses taste like sin and whose whispered promises make me dream of an impossible future, could truly fall in love with me?
That somehow, together, we could build something real?
I gulp in a shuddering breath, everything inside me suddenly hot and itchy.
“Violet?”
“Sorry. I just…” I throw off the blankets and push past him. Snatch my bathrobe from the hook on the door. “I… I need to go.”
“What? Where? Violet, I—”
“It’s not you. I can’t… I can’t think straight. I need to figure something out. Things. All the things.”
“I’ll help you. I’ll put on the kettle and we’ll—”
“No! I mean… no.” I suck in another deep breath, panic and regret clawing at my heart, threatening to tear me apart. “I need to be alone tonight. As alone as the bond will allow, anyway.”
The bond. The magic. The connection Devlin is confusing for love.
The connection I almost let myself believe was real, too.
Suddenly, I want nothing more than to banish him. To shatter that bond. To know, once and for all, if there’s anything else tethering us together.
Anything real.
Devlin puts his hands on my shoulders, steadying me. Calming me, just for a moment.
“Stay here, little mushroom.” Pain and helplessness flood his energy, a dark contrast to a night full of love and passion, of secrets laid bare. “This is your home. I’ll spend the night downstairs.”
“Devlin, I can’t ask you to—”
“It’s fine, Violet. Just like old times.” He offers a smile that doesn’t even reach his eyes. And I know I should say the word—the one tiny word right on the tip of my tongue.
Stay.
But I can’t.
Devlin nods, as if he can hear my thoughts. Then, with a deep sigh, he kisses my forehead and whispers, “Get some rest, Violet. We’ll figure it all out in the morning.”