Maybe it’s because Rowyn has expelled the most magic into the kitchen, since it’s where she spends the most time. It’s homier than anywhere else thus far.
That very well could just be the Hearth Witch’s presence though.
“Morning, Ren,” Clover calls as I slip into the room.
Lifting a hand, I wave half-heartedly and fill up the kettle.
Staring out the window, I wait for it to fill with water and get lost in my own thoughts for a few moments.
Thinking back to Archer, for the millionth time since I woke up last night.
My mind bounces back and forth between how attractive he is, and the protective expression he was sporting as he tried to use his body to cover me.
I’ve always wondered what his feelings toward me are—at least whatever semblance of feelings he can have toward a person who he has never seen or spoken to—but last night was different. There was a strong sense of resolution pumping through him, only growing when the protectiveness started to bleed into his emotions.
“You know,” Clementine chirps in a teasing tone, “I would say ‘good morning’ to you, but you don’t look it.”
“Clementine,” Clover quietly chastises from the bench where she’s re-braiding her younger sister’s hair.
It’s then that I notice the overflowing water. Quickly, I shut off the faucet and try to shake myself out of it.
Over my shoulder, I give the young witch a smirk and shrug. “Ghosts and nightmares will do that to you. Wanna switch bodies for an evening?”
One of her brows slowly arches in curiosity. “Is that possible?”
Esme and I break out in a laugh at her fearless intrigue, but Clover groans loudly, clearly not as entertained by her sister’s mischievous nature.
Setting the kettle on the wood-burning stove, I hop onto the counter and look at the four of them—taking in their beauty and camaraderie.
Rowyn is standing on the other side of the island grinding herbs for a potion she must be working on. Her bright red curls are practically glowing like fire under the morning sun’s rays.
Esme is sipping a cup of coffee in her typical milkmaid dress that hugs her curves and oozes sensuality more than I’ve ever seen anyone else ever accomplish. It somehow complements her natural moon-eyed expression perfectly, making anyone wonder if she’s falling in love with them when they talk.
The Foxglove sisters are sitting next to each other as Clover smiles softly down at her sister while sectioning off more hair. Clementine flips through a random book she grabbed from the den, and when she laughs at something Esme says, she looks exactly like her sister, only younger. They both have soft, round faces with the brightest grins I’ve ever seen.
Then I remember the promise I made them—to not hide things anymore.
It feels like I’m betraying Archer somehow, like I’m bringing more people into our space. I can’t be sure who he has shared our weird experience with, but I’ve always felt like it was just ours, a secret to the rest of the world.
Trying to explain it is hard enough, but adding in the complex layer of how he has been one of the main reasons I’ve never cared to enter a relationship with someone. Despite the many beautiful women and attractive men I’ve met on my trips to the city, they were almost enticing and affectionate enough to make me consider abandoning my family sooner.
Almost.
Despite all that, my loyalty to this coven is stronger than it is to Archer. It would be a fool’s choice to choose a short-lived fate over the companionship of these women.
Even if it’s like I’m ripping my heart out just at the thought.
“I need to tell you something,” I chime in when their conversations come to a lull.
Everyone comes to a slow stop and turns in my direction. There’s a mix of reactions across their faces.
Concern from Rowyn.
Surprise from Esme and Clover.
And curiosity from Clementine, of course.
“I can see his face in my dreams now,” I tell them. I don’t know what else to say, so I wait for their inevitable questions.
