Chapter 19

Aurora

TWO DAYS LATER, OSTARA DAWNS without a cloud in the light blue sky. As soon as I wake, I open the old bedroom window and lean out to breathe in the fresh chilly air. It skates across my face, pushing my hair back from my cheeks. Though the morning sun hasn't yet chased the cold from the forest, I can already tell it's going to be a beautiful day. And after today, the days will start getting longer, and we'll slip closer to summer with each setting of the sun on the western horizon.

Turning from the window, I stretch my arms above my head and curl my bare toes on the chilly floorboards. Then I sweep across the bedroom and press a kiss to the top of Harrison's head where he still lies curled up in bed. "Happy Ostara, Harrison."

He stretches and yawns, showing his sharp white teeth, then blinks sleepily and says, "Happy Ostara."

I slip a pale yellow dress over my head, tying the laces into a bow as I walk from the bedroom, heart pitter-pattering with excitement. Alden will be here soon with his cart, and together we'll take all the baked goods into Faunwood to celebrate with the village.

A bit of nervousness curls in my belly as I step into the kitchen. Hopefully everyone will like the bread and cookies. Alden and I worked so hard to get everything finished after my flour disaster, and seeing all the loaves and dozens of cookies sitting on the kitchen table, wrapped in tidy little bundles waiting to go, I'm overcome with pride and joy. Without Alden, there's no way I would've finished everything on time.

In the kitchen, I start a fire and hang a kettle over the flames. As I look out my kitchen window at the sun creeping slowly over the waiting garden, its golden tendrils reaching for the dark soil, I smile.

My pantry door creaks as I open it, and I carefully remove the jars of seeds I've waited so patiently to get into the ground. I wedge the jars into the wicker basket sitting on my counter, reading the handwritten notes on top of each lid: snow peas , spinach , radish , kale , salvia , yarrow , sunflower . There's a small basket of sprouted potatoes in my pantry as well, and I pull that out and set it alongside the seeds. The bulk of my planting will happen in April, but I always make sure to start some seeds on the equinox as a way to celebrate the changing of the seasons and the dawning of the sun.

Leaving the water to heat up over the fire, I grab a shawl from the back of the kitchen chair and pull it over my shoulders before heading out into the crisp morning, one basket dangling from each arm. I can see my breath in the air as I open the garden gate and slip inside, but the sun on my face keeps me from getting too cold .

Humming to myself, I start removing the jars from the basket and setting them in the beds where I want them to go. I already planned everything out and sketched a garden map in my journal, as I do every year, but now that I'm standing in the garden with the seed jars gleaming in the sunlight, I decide to move a few of them around. After everything is as I like it, I tie back my hair and plunge my hands into the soil.

Cold wraps around my fingers, waking me up as I dig little furrows in which to plant my seeds. Once the soil is ready, I sprinkle some seeds into my palm, then begin speaking aloud the spring blessing as I place each seed into the soil.

"Seeds of promise, small and bright, buried now in sun's soft light. In the warmth of springtime's cheer, nurture life so growth do appear. May whispered winds and sun's embrace, guide your journey and set your pace. Roots shall anchor and stems shall rise, reaching up to touch the skies."

On and on I go, whispering the chant over each row of seeds I plant.

"Blessed with rain and earth's embrace, flourish here in sacred space. From the soil, new life we meet, grow in strength and stand complete."

Finished with the seeds, I fetch my sprouted potatoes and press them six inches deep into the rich soft soil.

"By the earth's and sky's great might, may your growth us all delight. With love and care this spell is cast, may your blooms come forth at last."

As I speak the final line and tuck the last seed potato into its earthen bed, the sun hits my eyes, and I tip my face back to soak in its warmth.

"Hello, spring," I whisper. "I've missed you. "

"And I you," says a warm voice from behind me.

I whirl around to find Alden leaning against the garden fence, arms crossed on the top rail. His hair gleams in the sunlight, and his scruff has been freshly trimmed. He's wearing a crisp white shirt and clean trousers with suspenders, looking as tidy and handsome as I've ever seen him.

Leaping up, I hurry to the fence and wrap my arms around his neck. His woodsy smell washes over me, and he laughs when I press my nose to his skin and breathe him in.

"What was that rhyme you were just saying?" he asks as I pull away.

"Oh, it's just a little blessing for the seeds. It'll help them grow up healthy and strong."

Alden arches a brow. "So, it's a spell?"

I smile and roll my eyes. "Yes, it's a spell ."

"I've been wondering when you were finally going to work some magic." His smile is big and beaming, and it makes me rise onto my toes to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

"I've been working my magic all along—you just don't know it."

"That explains it, then," he says, pressing a kiss to my head.

"Explains what?" I pull away, leaning on the fence beside him.

"Why I'm so spellbound by you."

"Alden Stonewood," I say, barely able to contain my smile, "you're going to make me blush."

"Oh, not yet. We'll save that for later."

Laughing, I fetch my empty jars and wicker baskets, then head into the cottage with Alden. The kettle is steaming when we step through the kitchen door, and Harrison is sitting on the kitchen table in a patch of sunlight.

"Good morning, Harrison," Alden says.

"Good morning, Alden," Harrison says back.

I blink at him. I think that's the first time I've ever heard him call Alden by name.

"What'd he say?" Alden asks.

As I take two teacups off the shelf and sprinkle herbs into each, I say over my shoulder, "He said good morning."

With a pleased smile, Alden takes a seat at the kitchen table, which doesn't have a hint of a wobble now that he's fixed it. I pour steaming water into our cups, place the last two slices of cinnamon apple cake onto a plate, then turn to face the table.

And Alden is sitting there, cheeks a bit red, a tiny wooden carving sitting on the table before him. Harrison is sniffing it, ears flicked forward with interest.

"What's that?" I ask quietly as I set the plate on the table.

"It's for you," Alden says, voice edged with what sounds like bashfulness. "I hope you like it."

Reaching out, I lift the carving carefully, my chest swelling with such joy I feel it might burst. "It looks like Harrison," I whisper. Tears make my eyes mist over, and I wipe them quickly away.

Alden shrugs. "I was inspired."

For the second time this morning, I throw my arms around his neck, and he lets out a surprised huff. "It's beautiful," I whisper into his ear. "You've made me a very happy witch. "

"It doesn't look that much like me," Harrison says. "My tail is much longer than that." As if to prove a point, he wraps his fluffy white tail around his paws. "But it is... nice."

Pulling away from Alden, I pass a loving palm down Harrison's back.

"Harrison approves," I say.

Alden arches a brow. "Of me or the carving?"

Harrison and I meet eyes, and I smile. Without him needing to say a word, I answer, "Both."