He quirks a brow. “I’m intrigued. And where, Miss Blair Thornrose, would you like to start?” I rub my hands together. When I tell him, Devlin laughs and agrees. “Then let’s go.”
We don’t stop developingpotions until two in the morning, and that’s only after Devlin tells me that I’ve got to get some rest, that we can’t stay up all night. So I grudgingly stop.
But oh, the fun we had. We made potion after potion, and even tweaked some recipes that were in the books withingredients that I remembered from my high school days that would work better.
We made potions just for the sake of it—just to watch butterfly wings erupt from a vial, just to smell the ocean in a bottle.
And it was fun.
A lot of fun.
And we laughed. We laughed a lot. Devlin would hand off ingredients to me, and I would crush them with the mortar and pestle, instructing him on what to do next. I haven’t felt so good and comfortable in my own skin in, well, years.
I yawn as I enter the bedroom.
“See? I knew you were tired,” he chides.
“Yes, I’m tired. But that was great.” I glance at him over my shoulder. “Can we do that again?”
“Anytime.”
He chuckles as he unbuttons his shirt, and I avert my eyes. Oh my gosh, this man. All I saw was the tan valley between his pecs, and I need the fire department to come hose me down, cool me off.
I really need help.
I turn away and move to unzip the back of my sweater. Yes, I’m wearing a sweater with a zipper. But I can’t grab the tab because it’s just out of reach.
Suddenly Devlin’s sweeping my hair over my shoulder, and his hot hands are on my neck. “Here, let me do that,” he purrs in a voice that sounds like sex.
My stomach quivers as he keeps one hand on my neck and slowly unzips my sweater, taking his sweet time, I notice, until it’s completely undone.
Speaking of undone, I feel about three seconds away from it.
Kidding.Notkidding.
I turn around and he’s right there, standing inches away from me, his hazel eyes having gone inky black.
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.” His Southern drawl is pronounced tonight. Probably because he’s tired. I’m tired, too. So very tired.
But the thing is—he’s not moving away, and neither am I.
“Thank you,” I say again, even though it feels like a rock’s been shoved into my throat.
“Anytime.”
“Not for the zipper. Well, yes, for the zipper. But for tonight, too. For helping me while I was on the date and for showing me your potion room.”
He brushes a strand of hair off my cheek, and my knees nearly buckle. “Blair”—wow, the way my spine shudders when he says my name is a power no one else has—“you were meant to be a potion maker. You’re a natural, and it’s something that I wish you hadn’t given up.”
I nod and exhale, feeling like I’m releasing an entire atmosphere from my lungs. “I know, but my family needed me.”
“I know they’re important to you. Butyouneed to be important to you, too.”
I bite down on my bottom lip. He’s right. I do need to be important to me. When did I stop being important?
I know when. When it became clear that I would have to take over the bookstore one day. But now that’s not my destiny. Addison’s in charge of it. She’s the witch the shop is attached to. It’s her magic that’s making the place work. Not mine, and it will never be mine.
