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“Of course, it’s always the thing you love most,” she quipped. “Typical.”
Even if she could find ent root and wisp essence, Willow knew better than to use black magic to restore Montgomery to full life. And even if the spell did bringsomedead people back to life, there was no guarantee it would work in Montgomery’s unique situation.
Still, the temptation was rather alluring.
She ever thought it was possible to fall so fast—and so hard, too. And just her luck to find a soul mate who is more soul than man.
She’d called Esme last night after feeding Montgomery a good dinner and putting him to bed. Esme said she’d ask Gladys if she had any new information, but it didn’t look good. For all intents and purposes, Montgomery could have been the first ghost in history to come back to life—sort of.
There really was no protocol for this.
Willow bit her bottom lip and turned the page. There were always warnings about using magic like this. Consequences. She was reminded of The Monkey’s Paw—a book she’d read once about an elderly couple who were granted three wishes, but the wishes came with an enormous price. What price would she have to pay to give Montgomery life again?
If it was anything like the book, she didn’t want it. Besides, she was vehemently against the cutting off of paws.
As if he could read her mind, Zephyr pounced on her lap and purred, expecting ear scratches.
“I think you’re the thing I love most,” Willow said, petting him. “But Monty might be stiff competition. No pun intended.”
She decided not to open the shop that day since the whole town was getting ready for the Harvest Festival and wouldn’t be buying books. It would give her some extra time to come up with a plan. The purple box hadn’t moved since last night—to her knowledge. It might be on top of the roof for all she knew. She was too afraid to look inside the cabinet.
“Have you found anything yet?” Montgomery entered the room still in the striped pajamas she’d bought him. He was barefoot and unkempt with hair sticking out in all directions. And his mustache was poking up. The sight of him did something funny in her heart, and her tummy flip flopped in response.
She reaaally wanted to keep him forever and ever. If only there was a spell that wouldn’t rain down hellfire upon her.
Closing the book with a satisfying thud, she said, “Not yet. But I made a pot of tea. How are you feeling this morning?”
He yawned, stretching back his shoulders while scratching his chest. He might as well have been a cat.
“Rested,” he said. “I think some sleep was all I needed.”
Willow knew he was just saying that to ease her worry. She needed to do something and quickly. Something without Monkey’s Paw results.
Montgomery sat at one of the bistro tables while Willow poured him a cup of tea from her silver teapot and served him a plate of warm cream cheese and butterscotch danishes. How domestic this all felt, like a scene from an old-fashioned movie and she wasn’t even mad about it.
Montgomery seemed to think so too, because after the tea was poured and Willow’s hands weren’t otherwise occupied, he pulled her onto his lap and devoured her mouth like she was the first course in a very large meal. She was beginning to love the feel of his mustache against her lip so much, she’d sometimes absently tickle her face with the ends of her own hair whenever she’d think of him. It wasn’t as good as the real thing, though and she hoped he would never shave it off.
She felt a deep moan coming from his chest before she heard it with her ears, and without even noticing she’d done it, moaned back with abandon. She liked this. She could get used to this. And considered for a moment to always keep the shop closed until at least eleven in the morning from now on. They could get a lot of kissing in before eleven.
In the haze and passion of the beautiful, lazy morning make out session, Willow vaguely heard her name coming from somewhere that wasn’t Montgomery’s lips. And unless he was a ventriloquist, and suddenly took on the voice of her mother, she concluded that they were being watched.
Esme cleared her throat and said, “Hello, excuse me. Sorry to interrupt.”
Montgomery broke away from the kiss, heated and flushed a little, and turning toward the sound of Esme’s voice said, “Can she see us?”
“I’m afraid so,” answered Willow, and glared at the shiny silver teapot where Esme’s face glimmered.
Getting off Montgomery’s lap and taking her own chair, Willow adjusted her faded candy corn sweatshirt and glowered.
“Mother! Please use the phone I gave you. It has facetime.”
She didn’t add that she wouldn’t have to answer if she didn’t want to—unlike with mirror charms. She made a mental note to only use the clay teapots from now on.
“I did try using the phone, Willow. But you didn’t answer it.”
How convenient she’d left it upstairs, then. Except for the unfortunate shine on her silver teapot allowing her mother to communicate through it.
“Well you have me now. We were just having breakfast.”
