‘Thank you for being patient with me,’ I said.
‘I would’ve waited a lifetime. You know that.’ His eyes crinkled at their corners. ‘Although I didn’t anticipate having to send out quite so many whisperwinds.’
I laughed. ‘I am notoriously dense. No, it wasn’t that. It was fear, I think. Fear that we’d lose all of this. Fear that things would change, and what that might mean.’
He nodded, his dark eyes thoughtful. ‘Things are always going to change.We’realways going to change. That’s part of the beauty of it all.’
‘And now we can see where things go.’
He touched his finger to my chin. ‘That’s right.’
Then he kissed me with such hunger, such depth, that I lost all sense of self. Magic glimmered between us, marking the paths our fingers and lips travelled, lighting the way forward.
‘I’ve wanted you for so long,’ he murmured, breaking away to regard me in the soft light of the lamp, the stars, our combined magic. ‘Everything about you makes the world better. I’ve tried painting you, over and over, but I fall short every time.’
I flushed. Here I’d been thinking that any painting of me was far more beautiful than I deserved, and he’d felt the opposite.
My fingers toyed with his shirt, tentatively, then surely. There was no dithering here. I was going to go by feel, by heart – and not find myself cowering under the weight of my own indecision.
‘Please,’ he said gently, and I unbuttoned the shirt until it gaped enough that I could drag it over his head. My hands traced his lean, lithe form as his own fingertips toyed with the light straps of my dress beneath the cardigan I’d thrown on to protect against the late-night ocean breezes.
We gave in to each other, our bodies moving surely, reverently, for this moment we’d waited so long for. Our magic cocooned us, tracing our desirous forms and drawing us ever closer.
‘Your hummingbird,’ he said, as his fingers traced the fresh tattoo on my hip. ‘It’s just like the one I painted at the Summerween Festival.’
I nodded, suddenly shy.
‘I promise we’ll do this properly,’ whispered Noah. ‘The way you deserve. The way our families deserve.’
I knotted my fingers in his unruly hair, which I’d mussed beyond the bounds of respectability. Every part of me felt at peace. And at home.
Chapter 35
SEASONS, CHANGING
The last few days at the Pink House had slipped through our fingers in a flurry of baked goods and contentment. Although perhaps they moved more quickly for me than anyone else – because I’d spent every waking moment and most of the non-waking ones with Noah. It was bittersweet to know that, a morning from now, we’d all be back to our regular lives, or at least a version of them, given all that had changed these past few weeks.
‘I can’t believe it’s back to the office,’ said Mom as she waited for Lorraine to whip up our cardamom spice lattes – the last of the season before Lorraine broke out the pumpkin-spice ones. ‘I feel like we were barely here.’
‘That’s because you spent most of your time on your email,’ pointed out Tiff as she eyed the decadent pistachio-filled beignets. Then she relented. ‘Although I’m impressed you turned down that tech client in the end. I know that would’ve been a huge account for you.’
Mom sighed. ‘There’ll be other huge accounts. Although I am a bit disappointed that I don’t get to oversee a name change for them. Island, spelled “AI-land”. It’s awful.’
‘Horrible,’ I agreed.
‘But I’m looking forward to seeing your dad,’ said Mom, a tad wistfully. For someone so famously aloof, she definitely had a soft spot for Dad. They balanced each other well.
She blinked. ‘Speak of the devil!’
A familiar, tall figure strode into the shop, ever-present laptop bag slung over his shoulder. The thick wavy hair he shared with Tiff and me was messy as always, and his usual stubble was reaching beard status.
‘Rufus?’ exclaimed Mom, smudging the display cabinet in her surprise. Thankfully, one of Lorraine’s anti-fingerprint spells went quickly to work on it. And, thanks to the fact that everyone’s magic had returned to normal following the other night’s epic storm, without the risk of cracking the glass.
‘Oh my goddess, Dad!’ cried Tiff and I together.
‘You two are terrible actresses,’ said Mom. Then, having properly clocked Dad’s presence, she ran towards him, wrapping him up in a hug that was entirely too passionate. Tiff and I stood awkwardly as Mom wrapped her legs around Dad, kissing him so fervently that a passing group of college kids started fanning themselves. Lorraine overfilled a coffee and had to magic the excess away into a drip tray.
‘What about the agency?’ asked Mom, instantly in work mode.
