“Dangerous thing, mistletoe,” Tamsyn said somberly, and Bowen looked at her, this woman he loved so, and then at his best friend, smiling and happy and alive, the woman he loved at his side, and thought how lucky he was, how incredibly, stupidly, unfairly blessed.
“I love you,” he told Tamsyn now, not caring that Declan and Carys were standing there. Hell, he would’ve said it in front of the whole bloody castle full of people if they’d been there. The whole world.
“A Yuletide miracle,” Tamsyn mused, her lips curling up in a soft smile that he knew was only his.
Would only be his.
Forever.
And then he kissed her, absolutely no mistletoe required.
Epilogue
Next Halloween
Graves Glen
Tamsyn had always loved Halloween. You got candy, you got to be out after dark, you got to dress up . . . zero downsides, in her opinion. In fact, maybe that’s what had drawn her to acquiring in the first place. She got to dress up as someone else, she got to go to spooky places, and, sure, she was usually getting something like “Demon’s Eyeball Encased in Glass (1702)” as opposed to M&Ms, but the basic joys were the same. So yes, while it now came second to Yule, Halloween had been right up there as a Favorite Holiday.
Until tonight, that was.
Groaning, Tamsyn sat down on the plush sofa in Wells and Gwyn’s living room, stretching her aching feet out in front of her as she reached up to pluck the surprisingly heavy plastic crown off her head.
“Is it always like that?” she asked as Gwyn walked over, smirking, and handed her a glass of red wine.
“Pretty much,” Gwyn replied, sinking down into a leather armchair across from Tamsyn and kicking her own booted feet up onto the heavy trunk that served as a coffee table. “Last year Wells hid in the storage room at Penhallow’s and cried.”
“I did not cry,” Wells countered as he entered the room. Like his girlfriend, he was decked out in long black robes, but unlike Gwyn, he’d skipped the pointy hat, his dark hair slicked back from his face, his beard neat and clipped.
“You did hide, though,” Gwyn said, tilting her head to look at him where he stood in the doorway, and Wells nodded.
“Too fucking right I did, it was a madhouse.”
Tamsyn could believe that. Tonight, the streets had been full of people in costumes, the local businesses handing out candy and serving Halloween-themed food and drinks, and nowhere had been busier than Something Wicked and Penhallow’s. Tamsyn had personally handed out at least a thousand candy bars, she was pretty sure, and Gwyn had completely sold out of nearly every T-shirt Something Wicked had, even the Baby Witches’ latest creation, a bright orange shirt that read, “We Have a WITCH-u-ation Here!”
It had been loud and chaotic and fun and a blur of caramel apples and pumpkin spice, and Tamsyn wasn’t sure she’d ever been so exhausted in her entire life.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to marry Bowen now,” Gwyn told her, sinking deeper into her chair. “The beard was already so much to accept, and now Halloween in Graves Glen? How can you ask a woman to bear that, too, Bowen?”
From his spot next to Tamsyn on the sofa, Bowen grunted.
Smiling, Tamsyn turned to look at him. He’d also gone for robes tonight, but his were dark blue with silver thread, an intricate pewter medallion around his neck. It made him look like an ancient sorcerer, and Tamsyn was absolutely planning on asking him to hold on to this costume. She was definitely planning on keeping hers, a gorgeous purple velvet gown trimmed in ermine, complete with fake jewels sewn onto the low square neckline. She’d been going for a Medieval Princess Thing, a complement to his wizard, and honestly, Tamsyn wondered if it would be weird to use it as her wedding dress in December.
Surely you got to be a little extra when you were marrying a powerful witch?
The emerald, ruby, and diamond ring on her left hand sparkled as she reached over now to squeeze Bowen’s leg.
“It would take more than a few hopped up trick-or-treaters to scare me off becoming Mrs. Bowen Penhallow,” she told Gwyn, and then she leaned in closer to Bowen, scratching at his beard. “And honestly? This really does it for me.”
Bowen grunted again, but he was smiling as he took her hand from his face and brought it to his lips, brushing a kiss over her knuckles.
“I get it,” Gwyn said as Wells came over and took the chair next to her. “Next time we do Girls’ Night, I’ll tell you about Esquire here and his waistcoats.”
Wells waggled his eyebrows at Gwyn, making her laugh, and despite her aching feet, sore head, and the fact that she had somehow ended up with glitter in her hair at some point this evening, Tamsyn felt a glow of happiness settle deep into her bones.
She’d been worried the first time Bowen had brought her to Graves Glen, back at the first of the year, just after they’d gotten back from Tywyll House. Her history with the Jones Witches wasn’t great, and they had every reason not to trust her, but to Tamsyn’s surprise—and relief—Gwynnevere Jones and Vivienne Jones-Penhallow weren’t the kind of women who held grudges.
It probably didn’t hurt that Tamsyn had brought a very nice bottle of wine and an even better apology that first night all of them had had dinner together here in this very house high in the hills above Graves Glen.
Or maybe it was like Vivi had said when Bowen announced his plans to get a house near town—any woman who made Bowen Penhallow so happy he wanted to settle down was clearly a perfect fit for this misfit family.
It still kind of blew Tamsyn’s mind that she had a home now, a real one that wasn’t on wheels. The cottage was small—just two bedrooms, one of which Bowen was using as a study—but cozy, and between Bowen’s new position at Penhaven College and Tamsyn’s job at the local antique store, Haunted Treasures; the Girls’ Nights with Gwyn and Vivi; and the ultimately disastrous but still fun First Annual Penhallow Brothers’ Bonfire and Barbecue Night, Tamsyn had never felt so . . . wholesome.
Well, she amended as she looked again at Bowen in his robes and felt a pleasant shiver at the idea of taking them off later this evening, at least mostly wholesome.
“Gwynnevere, your mother is a saint!” Rhys announced as he and Vivi entered the room, out of their own witchy costumes and back in jeans and sweaters. “I swear, I only gave Taran one piece of candy, but apparently even that scant amount of sugar was enough to turn him into a whirling dervish of madness.”
“You gave him five pieces of candy because you are a whirling dervish of madness,” Vivi corrected, slipping an arm around her husband’s waist, her indulgent smile taking any sting out of the words. “Although you’re right about Aunt Elaine. Offering to take Taran for tonight should definitely mean even a witch qualifies for sainthood.”
Tamsyn smiled again, remembering Taran tearing around Something Wicked, a caramel apple in each hand, one of which had eventually ended up stuck to his honey-blond curls. She’d helped Vivi clean him up, and as Tamsyn had been wiping the last streak of caramel off one chubby cheek, Vivi had said, “Tell Aunt Tamsyn thank you, Taran.”
Another reminder of how easily these people had made room for her in their family, and she would never stop being grateful for it.
As Vivi and Rhys filled Gwyn and Wells in on the rest of Taran’s Halloween antics, Bowen slid closer to Tamsyn on the sofa, slipping an arm around her hips and pulling her into his side. She went easily, resting her head against his chest as he lowered his voice to ask, “How much longer do we need to stay here and be social?”
Tilting her chin up to look at him, Tamsyn tweaked his beard again. “Until I finish my wine.”
“This wine?” Bowen asked, nodding at the glass she’d set on the trunk, and before she could answer, he sat up, picked up the glass, and proceeded to down the entire thing.
