Page 74 of Witchy Woman

“Do I really?”

He nods, pressing his front to my back and covering my eyes. He walks us around and I’m ashamed to say I’ve memorized the layout and know exactly where we are.

The bedroom.

“Is this a sexy gift? Is that why you couldn’t give it to me while we were in front of family?” I squeal as he pinches my side.

“No,” he chuckles as I bat away his hand. “Not a sexy gift.”

Before I can keep guessing, he drops his hand and there it is.

A sleek mahogany dresser about as high as my waist. Little engraved flames swirl in intricate dances in all the right places, so that it’s not overwhelming or kitschy. Just an enhancement and display of skill.

A small cat sits in the bottom corner, an almost uncanny resemblance to Belle.

This must have taken weeks. Maybe months. Months when we weren’t together. Months he was certain I would be his despite me pushing him away.

“I want you to have a place to put your things. I don’t want you to have to lug a suitcase back and forth every time you stay here. I want you to feel like this is another home for you,” he explains, scratching at his beard.

He’s...nervous. Worried that I won’t like it, or won’t appreciate it. Or maybe that I’ll think it’s too much and run.

Guilt piles heavy on me. It will take a lifetime to rid him of that fear. Fear that I put there.

I slide my hand along the top. Not a single rough spot. It’s so smooth it almost feels like fabric.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper. This man really is healing all the jagged, broken places inside me. Even just a few weeks ago a gesture like this would have caused panic to rise in my throat like bile.

But now? Now I see that his love isn’t something to fear, even if I do fear losing him.

As long as I keep him as separated from this Mom-is-in-Hell-and-needs-rescuingnonsense as possible, I can keep him safe. But more importantly, I can keep him.

He presses a kiss to my lips, one of warmth and love.

Of home.

Chapter 33

Planning Session

“I’m not going in there.”

The Cat’s Cradle looms before me, a giant, glaring reminder of all the memories of Dad I don’t have. Memories I didn’t get a chance to make because he’s gone. It’s one of the last places Mom was alive.

“We need to plan,” Grandma replies, putting her hand on my shoulder. “And inthereis the best place to do it.”

I stare at the brick façade, the slightly bronze-y green sign above the wide street-facing window. I don’t want to go in there.

Hazel takes my hand, giving me a soft squeeze. “Why don’t you want to go in?”

The temptation to snap that it’s none of her fucking business is strong, but I learned something during Christmas. She’s not perfect, but I’m not either. I can’t keep getting hurt that she doesn’t know me, and then turn around and keep her at arm’s length.

If I want the opportunity to make this relationship better—and I do—I have to take a step forward. I have to show her who I am and what I feel.

What she does with that is up to her.

“The last time I was here...” I take a deep breath, trying to settle the shaking in my voice. “Was the last time Mom was here.”

Grandma rests her head on my shoulder just as Hazel squeezes my hand again.