Page 12 of Witchy Woman

“That’s a lot to deal with,” I reply, my chest aching at the thought.

My father died quickly and unexpectedly. One day he was there and the next he wasn’t. What would it be like if I had been forced to watch him slowly wither away?

I’m not sure which I would prefer.

She nods once. “Birch is a good man. I met him when he was a teenager. He and your mom didn’t really run in the same circles, but they did hang out in big groups together once or twice.”

That’s a mindfuck if I’ve ever heard one. Mom as a teenager hanging out with my future soulmate’s dad.

My gaze lingers on the empty space where Ash usually stands. Would I have ever known any of this if Grandma hadn’t told me?

“Well.” She gives my shoulder a gentle pat full of affection. “I’m going to head out. Call me if you have any questions!”

And with that—and the clickity-clack of her millions of bangles—she leaves me by myself.

It’s lonelier than I expect.

Chapter 5

A Tent

Manning the booth went better than I thought it would—not that I had high expectations to begin with. I made a few sales and, when I took a small break, found a woman who makes artisan soaps infused with magic. Overall, a good day. Since Wednesday went so well, I feel more confident as I stroll into the market the next day.

And then I see Ash.

Putting a tent up over my table like he owns the damn place.

I stomp over and glare at him. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“Exactly what it looks like, Goldilocks.” He turns from his handiwork, grinning at me with all the self-satisfied glee in the world. “Putting up a tent.”

“Thank you, genius, I can see that. I meant, what are you doing putting up a tent around my booth when no one asked you to? For no apparent reason?”

“It’s supposed to snow today. I didn’t want all your merchandise getting ruined so I got here early withtwotents—one for you, and one for me.”

The pure kindness of the act threatens to steal the breath from my lungs. He may have ulterior motives. He may be usingthis as an excuse to see me, as an excuse to talk to me, as an excuse to continue this antagonistic-but-somehow-mostly-playful banter we’ve got going on.

But the look in those emerald-green eyes says he genuinely cares and wants me protected. Happy.

It rips at the part of me that feels so goddamn lonely I can barely stand it. Fuck, Ash, why do you have to make it so difficult to protect you? I can’t let you get hurt, too.

I pick at the white fabric. “No one asked you to do this. What if I had brought my own tent?”

He shrugs, grin falling just a tad, which makes my chest hurt. “I don’t see one, so I think that’s a moot point.”

“Surprised you know what that word means.”

“Gigantic brute school is very thorough when it comes to vocabulary.”

“Apparently.” I’m taken aback by how easy it is to banter with him. How fun. “Well, if you’re all done then, can you leave? I don’t want you scaring away potential customers.”

“I don’t know,” he says, voice dripping with sex and good God it’s attractive. “I think I deserve a thank you for my hard work.”

I cross my arms, his eyes following the movement. The hunger in them causes my body to tremble. “I’m deciding not to call this vandalism and report you to whomever oversees this outfit. That’s your thank you.”

“May I request a different kind of thank you?” His voice lowers, the moment of lost confidence nowhere to be seen.

I inhale sharply. “You may, but that doesn’t mean I’ll agree to it.”