Seamus tips his cap and limps to the stoop, turning to wave before entering the house. I continue on to Drummond Lane. When I get near home, I notice Tyler’s sedan parked in front, as well as Agnes’s old jalopy. Why did he stop by? He knew I was at work.
I nudge the red side door and push into the mudroom, relishing the warmth. Voices trickle down the hallway while I remove my puffer jacket and gloves. I kick off my sneakers and shuffle toward the magic room, catching part of a conversation.
“I’m agreeable to any terms you would like to propose,” Leslie says.
“Then I’m decided,” Tyler replies. “It’s a no brainer.”
I enter the magic room to find Agnes, Tyler, and Zoe cramped together around the old wooden desk where Leslie is sitting. Mr. Yeats stands in the corner, adjusting his spectacles and bowtie. He appears flummoxed. Stacks of boxes are piled nearby. He’s not the only one who’s perplexed.
“Mom,” Tyler says, his eyebrows arching. “You’re back already.”
“Yeah. I’m actually getting home a little late. I walked back with Seamus part of the way.”
Zoe's eyes hop from Tyler to Agnes and stop at Leslie. “I’m sure Dr. Duffy appreciated the company.”
“Why are you guys here?” I ask my son and his love. “Were we supposed to eat dinner together? If so, I forgot. I’m eating with Archie tonight.”
The shelves are barren except for a few pieces of paper and dust bunnies clinging to the corners. Agnes stares at me from the corner seat, her lips twisted into a don’t-ask-me expression. Leslie pushes up from her desk chair.
“We have exciting news to share with you, Gwynedd. Wouldn’t you agree, Agnes?”
My hedge witch mentor grimaces. “For us. Who’s gonna fucking tell her?”
“Tell me what?” I ask, observing their roaming eyes.
Mr. Yeats moves forward, huffing. “Dr. Hughes is moving into Ms. Pritchard’s farmhouse. And she’s forcing me to go with her.”
“Now that’s just not fucking true, you ungrateful familiar,” Agnes says. “You can stay here if you want. Your fucking choice.”
“Why would I remain in this house if my witch is leaving? I am Dr. Hughes’s assistant, not Mr. Wolfe’s.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask. “Why would you become Tyler’s familiar?”
Mr. Yeats crosses his arms. “Because Mr. Wolfe is buying Dr. Hughes’s house.”
My eyes bulge. “What the fuck?” I ask my son. “Is the familiar making this shit up?”
“No, Mom,” Tyler replies. “Dr. Hughes asked me about buying her house. I told her I didn’t have that much money saved up. So, she’s going to hold the mortgage herself.”
Zoe clenches her teeth. “We should have told your mom when Dr. Hughes first asked you about buying the house.”
“Fucking right, you should have,” Agnes says. “Gwyn, I wanted to tell you all along, but sweetheart here thought we should wait until Tyler was sure he was comfortable buying a house.”
Tyler walks forward and hugs me. “Be happy for me. I’m finally settling down with Zoe. You’ll still have the spare bedroom. We wouldn’t kick you out.”
My jaw drops. I can’t muster one word of response.
“Gwynedd, Agnes and I have lived apart for far too long,” Leslie says, wrapping an arm around her partner. “When she suggested I sell the house and move onto the farm, I knew it would be terribly unfair to sell to a stranger, knowing you would have nowhere to go. When I approached Tyler and Zoe about buying my home, he had to ruminate over the offer. He decided just a few minutes ago.”
Apparently, I was wrong. I have at least one word to comment. “Fuck.” I turn around and head toward the mudroom.
“Where are you going, Mom?” Tyler’s voice echoes down the hall. “Don’t be mad.”
“Of course she’s fucking angry.” Agnes shouts after me. “Gwyn, you can always move in with us at the farmhouse.”
I throw on my puffer jacket, grab my purse, and head over to Duncan Street, slamming the door as I leave. When I enter Archie’s house, the aroma of fresh bread and something scrumptious fills my nostrils. Whatever he’s cooking prompts my stomach to growl. I kick off my shoes and dart into the kitchen. I slide my fingers across his torso from behind.
“Gwyn, I wasn’t expecting you for another twenty minutes.”
He turns around, and I plant my lips on his delicious mouth, offering my tongue. He reciprocates without hesitation, then pulls away for a breather.
“Well, good afternoon to you, too, Ms. Crowther.”
I reach around him and turn off the burners and the oven.
“What are you doing? Dinner has at least thirty minutes left.”
I grab Archie’s hand and drag him up the stairs into the bedroom without a word. Once in inside, I shove him on the bed and pull off his shirt. I slide my fingertips across his firm pecs and rub his nipples with my thumbs. He sits up and pulls me to him, kissing me as he unhooks my bra underneath my blouse. I whisk both of them off and toss the tops to the floor. The bulge in his pants begs for freedom. I rub him through his jeans, and he moans.
“Whatever in all the Otherworld has gotten into you, witch?”
I unzip his fly and tug at his jeans and socks. “Does it matter?”
He raises a corner of his mouth. “Not one fawking bit.”
After I yank off his pants and boxer briefs, I stand back to admire his physique. I could gaze at him like this all day—every day—for the rest of our lives together. Wake up next to him each morning wrapped in his arms. I strip off the last of my clothes and climb onto the bed. He shifts back, giving me the clearance I need to straddle him, and I moan as he enters me. He clasps my shoulders and pulls me down to kiss him.
I recall our first night together. I shook nervously as he touched me—so new and exciting. How could this gorgeous man want me? A naïve older woman who could barely get out of the bed in the morning. Now, our lovemaking is comfortable. He fits well against my body, and his caresses titillate my skin as much as the first night he made love to me.
