November 3, Sunday

THE MORNING sun painted the graveyard in watercolor hues as I approached, notebook in hand. Sawyer was already there, muscles rippling as he worked to right a tilting headstone.

I allowed myself to appreciate the view—his strong back flexing beneath his t-shirt, his capable hands gripping the stone with practiced ease. The autumn breeze ruffled his bronze hair, still damp from exertion.

He must've sensed my presence because he looked up, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Morning, Josephine."

"Morning," I replied, gathering my courage. "Can we talk?"

He straightened, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Sure. What about?"

I wet my lips. "I was told something about your past."

He froze. "Okay. Care to enlighten me?"

"I was told you're a member of the Whisper family."

Sawyer's smile faded, replaced by a quiet anger that seemed directed more at the situation than at me. "Technically, that's true. My biological father was Rose's uncle, Thomas Whisper." Sawyer nodded toward a prominent headstone behind us. "He had an affair with my mother when she worked as their housekeeper. She was much younger than him and moved to Atlanta to have me."

"Did Rose know?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "We found out when we were teenagers, and Thomas was already gone. But that's part of why..." He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

"Why you couldn't be with her," I finished. "Because you were first cousins."

He nodded. "Rose said she didn't care, that the old rules didn't apply anymore. But I couldn't get past it."

The pieces were falling into place—his dedication to the graveyard, his guilt over Rose's death, his reluctance to get involved with me.

"Do you stand to inherit the house?" I asked. "Now that Rose is gone?"

"I could make a claim," he admitted. "But I've built my own life, my own business. I don't want or need the Whisper legacy. Who told you?"

"Edra Waco, the lady from Birmingham who does the ghost tours."

"Yeah, I've seen her around town, asking questions."

"She does seem to know a lot about the history of Irving."

"She's a busybody." His eyes met mine, intense and pleading. "I'd appreciate if you kept this to yourself. Only a handful of people know, and I'd like to keep it that way."

I nodded, understanding his desire for privacy. But one question still nagged at me. "So does that mean you're a… warlock?"

Sawyer threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing around the graveyard. "A warlock? That's insane."

"Sawyer, I saw you fix Rose's headstone with just a touch..."

He stepped closer, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Maybe I'm just very good at what I do."

"But—"

His lips met mine, cutting off my protest. The kiss was soft but insistent, sending sparks of electricity through my body. When he pulled back, my head was spinning.

"Some things," he murmured, "don't need an explanation."

I struggled to clear my mind, suspicious that he was trying to distract me. But with his arms around me and his breath warm on my skin, I found it hard to care.

At least for now.