Page 40 of Witchy Woman

“Do you want me to come to you?”

I haven’t moved from the driveway, but I said I’d leave for the night and no part of me wants to go back inside. Especially not with Ash in tow.

“I’ll come to you. Text me your address.”

The last thing I want to do tonight is get into it with him. I don’t think I have the emotional capacity to think right now, let alone have this sort of conversation. But I promised I’d talk to him.

And I don’t go back on promises.

“All right, Goldilocks. I’ll have some drinks ready.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

The drive is easy. Driving is relaxing, mechanical, routine in a way that allows me to turn my brain off. I once said that to Hazel and she chewed my ear off for an hour about how I needed to always be aware while driving.

The thought of her brings a fresh wave of pain, slicing through my chest. I went too fucking far tonight. But it was like word-vomit. Once I started, I just couldn’t stop.

It’s probably proof that I’m holding way too much shit in. Instead of addressing my feelings about her leaving, about our distance, I let it build up inside me until something small set me off.

At least she has Noah with her. I’m glad she has someone to comfort her, even if I’m the reason she needs comforting.

I turn on to a secluded drive and am immediately submerged in darkness. It’s a private lane in the middle of nowhere, but that fits Ash. He wouldn’t live in some high-rise or cookie-cutter neighborhood.

He belongs in the woods.

Headlights illuminate the log cabin and it almost startles a laugh out of me. I said he belongs in the woods, but a log cabin is a little on the nose. A giant tree trunk sits to the side with an axe sticking out of it.

Because of course he splits his own wood. No wonder his shoulders are so massive.

And then he’s there, standing in the doorway. He’s in a long-sleeved green Henley, rolled up to his elbows, that matches his eyes and gray sweatpants.

That’s goddamn unfair. He must know that’s an outfit right out of a romance novel. And all I want is to lose myself in the fantasy.

I step out of the car, watching as he leans against his doorframe, arms crossed. Even just being in his presence is a balm on my frayed nerves.

I understand why Hazel wanted Noah close when she and I were fighting. All I feel right now is a physical pull toward Ash. He’s grounding, safe, in a way that I’ve never experienced. Calm in a storm.

How much of that is the soulmate bond, and how much is just Ash? I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to separate the two ideas enough to find out.

“Come here, stubborn woman,” he growls, the words rumbling out of his chest and across the driveway—if you could call it that. It’s really just a gravel trail worn by years of tire marks.

For once, I don’t fight him. In a moment I’m in his arms, burying my head in his chest. Warm fires, evergreen trees, and musk. My safe place.

If my willingness to do what he asks surprises him, he doesn’t let on. Just wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer.

I melt into him and the buzzy comfort of our electricity.

“Tonight’s not the night for all we have to talk about. Come inside anyway,” he whispers into my hair, the low tones of his voice speaking to the scared woman inside me. To the little girl who never felt seen. To the young woman who forces it.

I nod, wordlessly thanking him for letting me off the hook. For knowing exactly what it is I need without having to voice it. My hands crawl up his chest and around the back of his neck, playing with the tiny little hairs at the base.

He draws me inside, keeping us connected and closing the door behind us. I refuse to lift my head from his chest as he maneuvers us through his home, but he doesn’t complain.

He plops on the couch, pulling me on top of him.

I lift my eyes and find myself face-to-face with him, knees straddling his thighs and closer than we’ve ever been.

“Hi,” I say softly into the inch of space between us.