“Love you,” I tell him softly.
“Love you,” he professes right back.
The car suddenly grows quiet, the steady debate that was just happening behind us stalling as though someone found their mute button.
“Wow, you two jumped right into that quick,” Marx observes, his tone teasing but also ringing with a touch of surprise and concern.
“Sure did,” I concur, not an ounce of shame or regret in my voice. “The days of too much PDA are on the horizon too, so get ready,” I decree with a cheeky smile as I rub my thumb over Rogan’s.
“When you know, you know,” Rogan agrees casually, like it’s really just that simple.
“Well, damn,” Marx declares. “I’ve known the guy for fourteen years, and the first time he’s told me he loves me was today.”
I crack up at the revelation, and Rogan smiles, amused.
“But then he threatened to kick my ass,” he points out, concerned. “Does anI love youeven count when the person saying it is high as a kite?” he then questions, and I laugh even harder.
“‘Ouiser, you know I love ya more ’n my luggage,’” I tease, and then the car goes quiet.
Rogan shoots a puzzled look my way, and I drop my mouth open, shocked and completely scandalized. “What?” I squeak. “None of you have ever seenSteel Magnolias?”
Prek snorts and Marx grunts his dismissal.
“Yeah, Lennox, that’s exactly what the three of us do on our time off. Watching old ass chick flicks is most definitely a passion of all of ours,” Marx deadpans, and I turn to glare at him.
“First of all, Marx, don’t ever let me hear you disrespect the great Dolly Parton again. Second of all, a classic is a classic, and you three would be better men for it. What aboutFried Green Tomatoes, tell me you’ve at least seen that one.”
Marx snickers, but no one speaks up.
“You’re all heathens,” I accuse, turning back to face the front, appalled. “Swine,” I call back as Prek and Marx start to titter. “My Grammy wouldn’t approve a one of ya,” I decree, a strange Southern accent popping up like even my voice has declared solidarity with Ouiser and the gang.
Rogan pulls into a long driveway that’s dimly lit by solar lights, and the guys start arguing about movies they have seen and think are good. I tune it all out when thebrillianceofRockystarts to get tossed around. Trees line each side of the drive, and I feel the need to hold my breath until we crest a rise and Rogan’s house is suddenly in view.
Just like the first time, welcoming light glows inside and outside, making the palatial modern house feel warm and homey. I run my eyes over the dark gray siding, the gorgeous cedar accents, and all the windows that I now know display gorgeous views from every room in the stunning house. I feel like I’m coming home, which is weird, but I’m going to go ahead and apply the laws offinders keepersand just roll with it.
As though Rogan can feel everything I just did, he shoots me a smile so wide and stunning that it makes me forget how to breathe.
Damn, that gorgeous mug he’s rocking is potent.
He looks away, his own feelings of relief and happiness flowing over to me, and my involuntary muscles once again remind my brain that we need oxygen. A garage door opens as we drive closer. The frosted glass panes inset in the cedar door are a beautiful combination, and I watch them rise until we’re pulling in underneath them.
Prek whistles, impressed, and I smile proudly, even though I had absolutely nothing to do with making this home so damn incredible. What’s interesting is that I can feel this house in a way I couldn’t before. Now that I’m more open to the tether, I can sense protections, wards, weapons, and even the blessings that are incorporated throughout. I feel it all just like I could feel Elon’s house, and it makes me even more awed than I was before.
We all climb out of the car, grabbing my things from the back, and file in one by one. A demon dog bark booms all around us, and both Prek and Marx freeze. The sound of nails on the hardwood rushes toward us, and I set my bag of potions and ingredients down and get on my knees.
Hoot’s gray Ewok-looking ass comes scrambling around the corner and squeals with excitement as he barrels right into me. I hug him tight, petting his face and cooing at him loudly as a fluffy corgi comes bouncing at us in Hoot’s wake. Rogan grabs the other pup, and I wait excitedly for what I know is coming next. Gibson, Rogan’s skunk familiar, prances around the corner, and I hear Prek screech afuck noand then dive into the living room.
I start laughing so hard I almost pee my pants. I can’t stop seeing him throw his body out of the way as his voice goes full teenage girl at a boy band concert. Rogan sets Tilda down and picks up Gibson, and Prek proceeds to army crawl behind the couch. Marx is leaning against the wall, grabbing his stomach as laugh tears spill down his cheeks, and I can feel Rogan’s smug feelings. I’m sure his thoughts on the matter are somewhere in the range ofpayback’s a bitch.
Prek peeks over the couch, still not catching on that the skunk is harmless, and I break into a new fit of giggles at the sight of him. My cheeks and stomach hurt by the time Rogan convinces the Order member that he won’t get sprayed. I look down at Hoot and start peppering him with kisses. The normally stoic pooch is clearly excited to see me, and it makes my heart melt.
“Who’s a good boy?” I baby talk at him. “It’s you, it most certainly is. I missed you so much, buddy,” I assure him, sounding like a mix of Scooby-Doo and a Chipette. I cuddle him to my chest again, which is exactly when he rips a fart so loud and lethal that I find myself wanting to dive into the living room, Prek-style, and then army crawl away.
Moon shits, it’s bad.
Marx looks over at me like I’m the poop shoot offender, and I flip him the bird while trying to convince my lungs that oxygen iswayoverrated. I put Hoot down and scramble away, pulling my shirt collar above my nose as a secondary offence. Rogan wastes no time in grabbing my hand and pulling me along after him. He knows what’s up, and he quickly pulls us both to safety.
Apparently, Marx didn’t get the memo though, because he leans down to pet Hoot like the atmosphere around him isn’t ripe as hell and dangerous. The moment Marx realizes that he’s made a huge mistake, will live rent-free in my mind forever. One minute, Marx is reaching for the adorable little furball that he thinks the rest of us rudely abandoned, and the next, he’s inhaling and then seriously wishing he hadn’t. He gags and slams back against the wall as though making himself as flat as possible against it will make the reek go away.
