Page 51 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

Otherwise, what? Would he give another winning explanation? Something else to do with biology?

“Thank you for breakfast,” she said when she was finished, rinsing her plate in the sink before disappearing. He cleaned everything else up while she showered, then went up to the loft and changed into jeans and a long sleeved flannel.

The drive into town was quiet. Tense.

“I need to drop by the market,” he said, if only to break up the silence.

“Don’t you usually do that Thursdays?”

“Usually. But I have a craving for pizza and I need some pepperoni.”

“We could just pick up⁠—”

“Don’t say it,” he warned, keeping his voice teasing.

The corner of her lips twitched and it felt like the biggest fucking victory. “Say what?”

“You were going to say we could just pick up carry out.” She lifted a shoulder. “Have you ever had home made pizza?”

“Is there much difference from that and the stuff you get at The Slice House?”

He groaned. “You’re breaking my heart, little witch.”

“Well… I mean. It’s just dough, sauce, mozzarella and toppings, yeah?”

“Fuck my life. You’re getting pizza. Tonight.”

This time, her grin was out in full. The sight of it, the knowledge that he’d made her smile, made his chest feel tight.

Which only made him more determined than ever.

He was going to make her the best fucking pizza she’d ever tasted.

14

Isat at the kitchen island watching Axel as he rolled out pizza dough. We’d spent the morning running errands in town and the afternoon milling about the cabin. Me, grading assignments. Him, doing whatever he did in his workshop, coming and going as needed.

Redding was quiet on Sundays, with most businesses closed until mid-day. Besides getting more things from the bungalow, I’d accompanied him to the market. It felt domestic in a way I didn’t want to overthink.

Not after the way he had kissed me yesterday before promptly ripping my heart from my chest and stomping on it. Because of course he wasn’t interested in me. I was the one who’d tackled him, after all.

But for a moment there, I could have sworn it was something…more.

Something deep.

He’d backtracked after his cold dismissal, trying to engage in small talk, which wasn’t his specialty. Peppering me with little questions. Things about my life. About the bunnies. My job.

Why?

Because he felt bad?

Guilty for what he’d said?

He could have simply apologized. But he hadn’t. And perhaps that was for the best.

His words were the reminder I needed. I wasn’t here for romance. There was a job to do and an expiration date looming. I needed to get my magic back, break my family’s curse. If I failed, marrying Ambrose was my only backup plan. And I couldn’t let that happen.

I didn’t have time to get distracted.