I let out a heavy sigh, stifling the heat of embarrassment, the inescapable pressure of repetitive sleepless nights making tears an all too real possibility right now.
“If you need any help with unpacking or just an extra set of hands to put things together, I’m free off and on during the weekdays when I’m not in sessions.”
“Thanks. You don’t have to do that, though.”
“I really don’t mind. Do you have anyone else to help you?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.
Was he asking because he wanted to know if I was single or because I looked that desperate for help?
I glanced down at my soiled self, the latest smear on my shoulder still drying.
Probably the latter.
“Where’s Hazel been?”
Duh.He already knew my sister. She probably sold him the house.
“She’s been busy with work. Lots of people moving in and out of the area lately.”
“I didn’t realize she was normally out so late being in real estate.”
“Oh, she isn’t,” I replied, my bouncing picking up speed. Aspen’s eyes widened, the opposite of what I was aiming for with bedtime. “She’s on a date. You know, just enjoying a few moments of single life without her little sister and nephew cramping her style.”
Why am I word vomiting everywhere?
“I’ll definitely let you know if we need any assistance. Thanks again for offering,” I added, trying to sound less socially impaired.
I didn’t want to come off like a helpless damsel needing some knight to rescue her. This had been my choice. I had opted to be a single mom, to let my magic dwindle, and I refused to have my decisions burden anyone else. Not my sister and definitely not thisway-too-handsome-to-be-hanging-out-with-my-spit-up-covered-assstranger.
I could do this on my own, even if I lost some sanity in the process. I already felt like enough of a moocher living with my sister in this beautiful house hidden away in one of the most affluent parts of the country.
“Hmm…so Hazel, Oakley, and Aspen? Sounds like your family has a thing for trees.”
I couldn’t stop the heat from rising to my cheeks. “It’s been a tradition in my mother’s family for as long as I can remember. Her name was Willow.” I chuckled. The sadness that came with saying her name was not nearly as cutting as it had been a decade ago when we’d lost our parents a few months apart. “It just seemed appropriate to have this little witchling follow suit.”
“It’s a great name,” he said, smiling at Aspen, the gentleness of it highlighting the nearness of him, quickening my pulse. Despite my heart’s heady rhythm, his presence was like a comforting blanket, instantly enveloping me in its calm.
“May I?” he asked, pointing to the aspen tattoo spanning my forearm. Hazel and I had gotten matching ones after his birth. I nodded, breath hitching when the pad of his finger met its inky bark. Lynx traced the trunk and delicate branches, sending electric heat through my skin. “What a sweet way to commemorate your growing family.”
His gaze dropped to his feet before he placed a hand at the nape of his neck, smirking with amusement for whatever reason.
Strange.
It made me wonder what his gift was. But I couldn’t ask. That would be rude.
Only magically blessed witches were allowed to live on coven-allocated streets. Spread throughout Celestial Haven were areas dedicated to shifters, vamps, Nephilim, and even a waterfront section for mermaids, sirens, and other sea inhabitants. Some streets were intermixed, but it was a place we were free to be ourselves and besafe.
Our community had been through enough when magic rocketed into our world over fifty years ago. And while some supernaturals still lived among the mortals, many preferred to openly embrace their powers, moving to designated hidden districts that were overseen by the Council of Magical Welfare.
I rubbed Aspen’s back and paced side to side, keeping a bounce in my step. I was shocked he hadn’t cried since Lynx’s arrival. On one hand, I desperately wanted this witch to stay so I could enjoy the quiet—and I had to admit, looking at him was a cross I didn’t mind bearing. But on the other hand, I didn’t want to drown him with the perpetually rising level of hot mess here.
“What do you do?” I asked, curious what gave him such a flexible schedule.
My social meter was running low. I’d probably forget the entire exchange in about thirty seconds, but I wouldn’t stop this conversation if it gave me a few extra moments of peace.
“I’m a personal trainer.”
Of course you are.
