I grab his jaw and kiss him.
I wrap myself up in him and soak up the taste of his tongue, the quiver of his eyelids, the hammering of our pulses under exploring hands. His earlier openness and vulnerability about his transition—his trust in me—makes me cherish each moment. I lose myself completely in the spell of him. It’s enchanting.He’senchanting. Truly a sorcerer at work.
It’s fully dark outside when the front door opens and both of us jump. Ruth closes the door with a slam at odds with her usual care. Will straightens up in panic.
“Don’t mind me, yourveryblind mother who can’tpossiblysee what’s occurring in my workshop right now,” she announces, louder than she needs to. The smug smile on her face tells me otherwise.
I snigger as Ruth drops her basket near the front door, then takes off her coat and hooks it on the wall. Will’s heart pounds under my palm. She’s making her way up the stairs when she pauses, hand on the rail.
“Willoh, when you have a minute, do pick up my fresh rosemary from the floor. If you’re not too busy.”
He chokes. Ruth grins my way before leaving us alone. Will’s head falls to my shoulder.
“She’s going to be a nightmare,” he says, muffled. I pat his curls.
“I’m sure I can think of a way or two to make it better.”
His head shoots up, and he cocks an eyebrow.
“Oh, yeah?”
I move my mouth toward his as if I’m going to kiss him.
“Gotta pick up those herbs first.”
Will narrows his eyes, then grins—that stupid, beautiful one that messes me up every time.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Honestly, he can hold me any way he likes.
Chapter Twenty-One
I kneel on the path to the cottage coaxing out the daffodils that sleep there. Ruth had told me over our breakfast together that they hadn’t bloomed well at the start of spring, and with the season almost over, it would be a shame to see their potential wasted. I brush my fingertips up the wilting petals and delve around their connection to the earth. Hmm, it feels like the colder winter left the bulbs a little starved. An easy fix for me. I send my magic down the stems and it’s not long before the yellow petals are open and proud. Just as a delivery of daffodils represents new beginnings, so do these flowers begin life anew.
A hasty crunch of footsteps from the forest calls to my attention, and my mother breaks the tree line, her black hair dancing behind a large travel sack and the puffy pink cheeks of someone in a hurry.
“Fliss!” she gasps. Her bag hits the ground, and she breaks into a sprint, arms wide open.
“Mum!” I fly down the path and she hugs me tight, her carnation perfume easing both my mind and body. She’shere.I grip her like the slightest breeze will sweep her from me.
“Oh, my baby. Are you okay?” she asks, and takes my face between her palms.
“I’m okay. I’m all right. Ruth healed me wonderfully.”
Her dark eyes glisten in the corners. “My darling. I was so worried. When I heard—and then when Ruth sent me— Well, thank the gods you’re okay. I’m here now.”
“Lilibeth, is that you?” Ruth calls from the cottage door.
Mum seems to wobble slightly.
“Let me get your bag,” I say, peeling myself out of my mother’s arms. “Go ahead.”
She takes a second, as if mentally preparing herself, then stretches her smile. I know that smile. It’s the one she uses to fake resilience. The one she uses to tell the lies that I can’t. With a purposefully straight back, she heads down the path.
At the front door, Ruth holds out her hands and Mum doesn’t hesitate to take them.
“My old friend,” Mum says. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for my Fliss. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long. I’m sorry it’s taken this to bring me to your door again.”
