Chapter Thirty-Seven
VIOLET
One Month Later
The snow has just started falling in earnest when the cats and I put the finishing touches on Kettle and Cauldron’s Winter Solstice window display.
Not to brag, but it’s pretty epic. White and silver lights, cottony snow drifts, hand-painted evergreens in a ceramic village—a miniature version of our very own Main Street, the café front and center. A twinkling star hangs above it all, reminding me of the Star from the Tarot.
Reminding me how far we’ve come.
With the impending blizzard, we had to close the shop a few hours early today, boxing up treats and putting teas in to-go cups, hustling everyone out the door in their fluffy coats and hats and mittens so they could get home before the roads turn bad. The new police commissioner has been making the rounds on the TV and radio all morning, warning us to prepare for a record-breaking snowfall.
I’m kind of excited for it. Kettle and Cauldron is in full-on festive holiday mode, twinkle lights twinkling, my favorite Celtic Christmas music floating through the speakers, holly and ivy adorning the mantle over a roaring fire, a simmer pot full of juniper berries and pine boughs steaming on the stove.
’Tis the season for gathering around the fire with a hot beverage, and we’ve been filled to capacity every day.
What a difference a month makes, huh?
Since our historic takedown of Brandt Remington and company, the town of Wayward Bay has blossomed in ways we never could have imagined—not in our wildest dreams. Ricci and I won the next round of grant funding, along with three other local businesses—Small Notions tailor, Flowers on Main, and Dark Escapes, a new chocolatier that opened up around the corner from us. But after the awards ceremony, the five of us owners put our heads together and came up with a new plan. Something that will—with hope and patience and a bit of magic—make Wayward Bay even more beautiful.
So, with the blessing of Mayor Amalie Singh and the grant’s sponsors, we decided to pool the grants into a fund for all the Bay’s small businesses, available to use as needed. Sometimes, that means awarding a smaller grant. Other times, a low- or no-interest loan. And in times of prosperity, it means donating back to the fund to keep it growing for years to come.
We also set up a small business advisory board helmed by me, Ricci, Emmie, and Mr. Corto, who was able to return to the Bay after Mean Beans was forced to close its doors for good and lost their rights to the building. Together, the board has launched new initiatives to help businesses partner with one another for even greater opportunities.
The Kettle and Cauldron is now proudly serving chocolates from Dark Escapes. Emmie hooked up with Flowers on Main to offer Valentine’s and birthday packages pairing roses and cupcakes. All of us are working together for the first annual Wayward Bay Busy Business holiday extravaganza, featuring gift baskets stuffed with our wares and gift cards that can be used interchangeably at any participating Wayward Bay establishments, from the laundromat to Glaze for Days to the movie theater and yes, Kettle and Cauldron too.
I’ve still got a ways to go in paying off my debts, but things are looking up on the financial front. When Beverly learned what her nephew had been up to—nearly swindling her entire estate right out from under her—she was eager to press charges and cut all ties. Together, we worked out a new payment plan for my back rent, and with the way business is going lately, I’ll be back in the black before I know it.
And now, I have a new dream. It won’t happen overnight. In fact, it’ll probably take me a few years to save up the capital, but I’m not going to lease this space forever. I’m going to buy it. Beverly and I have a plan for that, too. It’s an investment. Slow and steady. Totally worth it.
I also have my new employee. Still a little green, needs a lot of supervision and hand-holding, but… Yeah. He’s worth the investment, too.
“Devlin, we talked about this.” I sigh, shaking my head as he emerges from the kitchen.
Some things never change.
“You don’t like the Santa hat?” He shakes his head, disappointment flashing in his eyes. “Violet, I know you’re a witch, but surely even you can spare some love for Santa.”
“It’s not the hat.”
“What, then? I’ve washed my hands. The apron is freshly laundered and pressed, as requested. Employee of the Month, right here.”
“Seriously?” I look to the cats, both watching us with wide, curious eyes from their perch on the counter stools, their tails swishing. “Back me up here, boys.”
“You’re the one with the frowny face, mushroom.” Devlin picks up Grumpy and kisses him on the head, making the traitorous cat purr. “So if I’ve broken one of your many rules, you’ll need to be more specific. Very specific. Still new at this whole upstanding mortal citizen thing, if you recall.”
“Pants, Devlin! You need to wear pants!”
“In public, yes. That’s what you said. But…” Flashing his signature mischievous grin, he releases the cat and hauls me close. “Pants would only get in my way. As yours are doing right this very instant. If anyone deserves an eye roll and a lecture, mushroom, it’s you.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond. Just plants a kiss right on my mouth, his cock growing hard against my thigh, fingers already working open the button on my jeans.
I laugh, squirming out of his hold. “Do you ever get tired of stalking me?”
“Do you ever get tired of being stalkable?” He kisses me again, hungry and relentless as we make our way toward the fireplace.
“Why are you like this?” I tease, my entire body already aflame from his touch, burning with the same desperate need I feel in his energy. The same desire.
“Because I’m the Devil, darling. I’ve seen it all, done it all, gotten all the T-shirts. I was quite certain nothing could work me into such a state, yet here you are. Working me.” He crowds me against the wall, tucking a finger under my chin and tilting my face up toward his. “From the moment I crash-landed in your quaint little tea shop and laid eyes upon these crazy curls, I’ve been in a semi-hard to fully erect state every time I look at you.”
“Every time?” I narrow my eyes. “Not statistically possible.”
“Then blame the magic if you must, but it’s true. See exhibit A.” He grabs my hand. Presses it to the rock-hard bulge of his apron.
“Correlation doesn’t mean causation. Maybe you’re just easily turned on.”
Devlin laughs. “By the new Police Commissioner’s winter storm preparedness speech. Really.”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’ve got a thing for short, domineering bald men in fur-lined hats?”
“I most certainly… Oh, wait.” Devlin’s nose wrinkles. “That was a very brief phase during the Renaissance. So, fair point, but in this particular instance, wrong.”
I’m cracking up again, as usual.
“And what about knitting circle?” he goes on.
“You had a hard-on at knitting circle?”
“Always. Surely you can’t think I’ve got a septuagenarian witch fetish.”
“Actually, I did think that. The first meeting, when Aunt Jos kept hitting on you and you were all, ‘Oh, I’ll take you on a few dates, Joslyn. I’ll be your escort, Joslyn. Unpaid, of course, as I’m no longer in that line of work, but I’ll happily bone you for free because I’m such a stellar gent!”
“Mushroom?” He lowers his mouth to my throat, kissing and murmuring his way to my ear, every dark whisper sending a pulse of red-hot desire to the downtown pep squad, who’s more than forgiven me for the brief hiatus. “What I’ve got a thing for is adorable, clever, curly-haired witches who drive me absolutely wild at every turn.”
“Do you know a lot of curly-haired witches who drive you wild?”
“Actually, no. Just the one. Which leaves you in quite a bind, doesn’t it?”
“How do you figure? You’re the one with a raging hard-on in the middle of a snowstorm.”
“And you’re the one—the only one—who can satisfy this desperate, aching need. Unless, of course, you’re willing to risk disappointing the Devil himself, which is not something to take lightly.”
“No?”
“There are consequences, my lovely little tea witch. Lots and lots of con—ohhh, that is so not fair.”
Hand beneath his apron, I stroke his hard cock, soft and slow, brushing my thumb over the tip, making him shudder.
“No, don’t stop now,” I tease, slowly getting to my knees. “I want to hear all about these so-called… consequences.” With that, I flip up the apron and take him into my mouth, sucking him slowly, reverently, watching him lose control, one kiss at a time.
“You are not… playing fair,” he pants.
I pull back and glance up at him over my glasses, the picture of innocence. “Does the Devil want me to start playing by the rules?”
He grips my chin. Drags his thumb across my mouth. Then, in another dark whisper that sets my soul on fire, “Never.”
He drops to the floor and takes me down, pinning me to the rug in front of the fireplace. Gone is the apron. The dress shirt. The Santa hat. He tears off my clothes too, leaving me bare before the crackling flames.
Cupping my face, he presses the softest, sweetest kiss to my mouth and whispers, “I love you, Violet Pepperdine.”
I return the kiss, certain my eyes are shining with the very same light I see in his. The very same love. “I love you too, Devlin Pierce.”
One more smile, and then he descends, claiming me with his kiss, plunging between my thighs in a long, hot stroke that has my hips rolling, urging him in deeper, every cell in my body begging for more.
There’s no dirty talk this time, no flirting, no teasing. Just us. Together. A perfect dance, his mouth hot on my throat, my collarbone, my nipple, everything in me wound tight, buzzing in the best way.
He draws back, cupping my cheek in his big, strong hand, thumb skating across my lips as he fills me again and again, driving me right to the very edge of that high, beautiful cliff.
I arch my back and take him in deeper, harder, faster, and when he kisses me again, I fall, a wild unrestrained tumble right over the edge. I come for him with tears in my eyes, a joyful laugh bubbling out of me, the inevitable snort for the big finish, but I don’t care. I’m so freaking in love with this man, nothing else matters. And when he whispers my name and buries his face in the crook of my neck and shudders against me, coming inside me hot and hard and yes—Ambrosia Divine knew what she was talking about after all—furiously, I close my eyes and send up a prayer of gratitude.
To my grandmother, who gave me my first home, my first safe place in a world that was anything but.
To my sisters and aunts and the people of Wayward Bay, who gave me my next home.
And to Devlin, my Prince of Darkness, my fallen angel, the Devil with a heart of gold who believed in me when I wasn’t sure I remembered how to do it myself.
Now, when I look into his eyes, when I inhale his peppery, dark chocolate scent, when I hear the rich butter of his accent and feel the rumble of his laughter through his chest, I know that I’ve finally found my forever home. My heart’s truest desire unlocked. Embraced. Celebrated. And cherished, for the rest of our messy, beautiful, wild, mortal lives.
“It’s really coming down out there,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to my shoulder and nodding toward the windows, where Grumpy and Sunshine laze on the sill, tails swishing. “Cozy, isn’t it?”
Outside, the snow falls in fat, heavy flakes, a beautiful white ballet. It feels like we’re in a cabin at the center of our own private snow globe, safe and warm while the storm blankets the world beyond our door in a winter wonderland.
“Super cozy,” I say. “Just needs one more thing to be absolutely perfect.” I rise from the floor and reach for my clothes, exhausted and happy. Truly, unapologetically, deliriously happy. Then, leaning in for one more kiss, I say softly, “I’ll go put on the kettle.”
Thank you so much for reading Violet and Devlin’s story in The Devil Made Me Brew It!