After
Three months later
Jena looked up from The Witchery’s register at the pause in hammering from above. Was that Chase wrapping things up for the day? Ever since he’d moved in with her and Aggie, he’d been a man on a mission.
The final repairs to the roof would have to wait until spring, though he’d done what he could before the snow had flown.
The greenhouse had been taken down and meticulously laid out in pieces in one of the rooms below, and a super structure of scaffolding, tarps, and temporary sheeting had been put up in its place, waiting for spring.
But meanwhile, everything else was fair game, and what that man could accomplish when he put his mind to it…
Jena shook her head. He’d told her that her father had called him a manifester, and there wasn’t any question in her mind that it was true.
Chase definitely had the uncanny ability to make things happen.
She put a hand on the small rise of her abdomen and sighed, reconciling the cash register drawer with a soft smile.
They’d had another good day. A few more months of this, and the shop might even be solidly in the black.
With the leyline flowing the way it should, practitioners had started to drift back to Havers and Fayet, and The Witchery was the only legitimate supplier to the occult community in the county.
It had also gained more than a little notoriety after a video of the column of power from the node shooting into the clouds had gone viral.
Not that many people knew the whole story behind that, and if they did, they weren’t talking—despite the swarm of inquisitors that’d descended after the fact.
All of which had only served to feed speculation and make the town even more of a tourist destination.
Being a Seymore wasn’t such a bad thing anymore.
But being an unregistered sidhe was still a big fat no. Luckily, Aggie had been strong enough to make herself scarce while the feds were in town, and no one had any cause to suspect Jena and Chase were anything other than what they said they were.
Which was pretty much just deliriously, stupidly happy.
His boot falls descended the stairs, and Jena hurried to finish up.
“Hey, mama,” he murmured in her ear a moment later, wrapping his arms around her and sliding a palm over her abdomen. “You calling it a day?”
“Mmm, that depends, are you?” she asked, closing the till and leaning back against him.
“I am, and Aggie says she’s making lasagna.”
Jena laughed. “She can cook whatever she wants, but we’re not naming our kid after her.”
“I’m not sure it’s entirely for you,” he said, kissing her neck. “When I got the preliminary approvals for the new manor this morning, Gorman said something about seeing me later at dinner.”
Jena looked over her shoulder at him, incredulous. “She’s got a date?”
Chase shrugged. “Sounds that way.”
Holy crap. Jena turned and laced her arms around his neck. “I guess I don’t have to worry about her being here by herself once we move out to the tor…but Gorman Howe?”
“He’s not a bad guy.”
Jena cocked a brow. “You complain about him at least twice a week.”
“Which is a hell of a lot less than you complain about Aggie.”
Okay, he had a point, but still. “Well, if she’s making lasagna, I’m inviting Felix over—”
“I already took care of it. He’ll be here after the zoning meeting.”
“Sunnyside?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m hoping they’re gonna nix the plan for the industrial park, but if they don’t, I’m putting in that bid we talked about for a new lumberyard. Fayet’s still stonewalling.”
Chase frowned, and Jena didn’t press him, knowing he was thinking about his sister.
They hadn’t heard anything from Sue since she’d been claimed by the other pack.
That wasn’t that strange in were culture, but it bothered him, a lot.
Apparently, she hadn’t always been a miserable bitch, but Jena’d be damned if she’d ever seen an inkling of that.
“Ready to go up?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she teased, taking his hand. “Do I have a workable shower?”
Chase grinned at her, dimples studding his cheeks. “You say that like you didn’t enjoy the sponge baths.”
“Oh, I did, but somehow I always ended up filthier afterwards.”
“Mmm. I like you filthy, but yes, the shower is working, and so is clawfoot tub.” He opened the door on the landing, and Jena groaned as a wave of garlic-y Italian decadence rolled over her. “Is that in anticipation of dinner, or of the bath I drew for you?”
She paused, honestly not sure. “You drew me a bath?”
His sidhe-blue eyes sparkled as he led her down the hall, and she smiled, following him.
In an ocean of small towns, Havers-by-the-Sea had officially become home, and Jena hadn’t just learned to swim, she was sailing.
THE END