Chapter 16

Kate

I flick on a switch and flood the house with light, my boots loud in the peaceful space as I make my way to the kitchen. Stix yawns, curled defiantly on the top of the fridge next to the frilly purple mushrooms. There’s a little green fern there today, too.

Tanner is right behind me, tossing his bow onto the kitchen table. His expression is cocky, and his eyes are on fire when he casts them down the length of me. As always, it doesn’t feel like I’m wearing overalls but like I’m in lingerie.

Or naked.

He makes me feel naked with a single look.

“Can I pick your dress for tonight?” he asks as Marlowe joins us and Brooks falls a few steps behind so that he can properly bolt the front door.

I smile at my Eastwoods husband, gentle and soft and full of love.

“Absolutely fucking not. If I let you pick something out, it’ll be too short and too low-cut, and I won’t be able to relax in it.” I’m just guessing here. Maybe I don’t know Tanner well enough to even make a statement like that. As much as I’m into these men, as much as we’re building a family together, we have a lot of getting to know each other left to do.

“Well, you’re not going in raggedy overalls, are you?” Brooks passes by with his brow lifted in challenge. “From what I gather, this is a nice place, yeah? I’ll be wearing a suit myself.”

“I’m not promising a suit,” Marlowe adds, encouraging Stix to leap from the top of the fridge and onto his broad shoulders. She does, and then she bites his ear. Hard, if his slight wince is anything to go by. “But I’ll pick something nicer than sweatpants.”

“I’m going to dress up, you curmudgeonly dicks, but I don’t want to wear something … like any of you might pick out.” I cross my arms because, again, I’m still not entirely sure what any of them would pick out for me. “But if you’d like to offer suggestions, I’ll take them.”

“Kitten, have some faith. I wouldn’t make you wear some tiny-ass dress to dinner. I know you’re not into that.” He cups the side of my face and leans down, brushing his lips teasingly over mine but not quite kissing me. The move leaves an ache in my chest that begs to be soothed.

That, I think, is the whole point.

Tanner is grinning as he pulls away, putting both hands up in surrender.

“But you know what? Surprise me, Kate. I’m curious to see what date night looks like to you.”

I can’t imagine Tanner in a suit, so I’m just as curious to see what he picks out. Or Marlowe.

“Find a picture you want to emulate, or draw something.” Brooks tells me, opening the cupboards and pulling out sacks of sugar and flour. Huh. Part of the spell, maybe? “You can hold an image in your mind’s eye, if you want, but you’ll need to hold it steady during the casting.”

“And how exactly do we cast this spell?” I ask, curious to see if it involves spit or blood or orgies. Brooks said it was an easy one, but I won’t believe it until I see it.

“With cupcakes and eyelashes,” he tells me, and since I have no idea what that means, I sit down at the table, whip out my phone, and do a search for my dream dress.

The eyelash portion of the spell is easy enough, but also … ouch.

According to Brooks, we need a single lash from each eye. I brush my fingers over my closed lids, hoping one will fall off naturally. It happens, right?

“What on earth are you doing?” Brooks asks, standing there barefoot in my kitchen with a mixing bowl held in his massive inked arm. He’s wearing one of the aprons that I never use. Ironically enough, it reads Bitchin’ in the Kitchen, Betwitchin’ in the Bedroom. Pretty sure that it used to belong to Fernanda.

“Trying to get a lash to fall off on its own?” I make it a question and Brooks sighs. The back door is open wide, despite the slight chill in the air, and all I can hear are crickets. And the Hag? Nowhere to be seen. If she shows up and starts eating the hearts that we’ve buried, we’ll worry about her then.

For now, tonight, this is just for us. I don’t think about why that is. I don’t think about how easy it would be to end up stranded in the Witchwoods. Or to end up dead. Eaten. Lost forever.

“Magic requires sacrifice, Kate. You can’t just find a loose lash; you have to pluck it.” Brooks sets the bowl down. He’s making salted caramel cupcakes, apparently. I’m still not sure how they factor into the spell, but if he wants to bake delicious treats for us to gorge on after we get home from the restaurant, who am I to complain?

“This shit hurts like fucking hell,” Marlowe bitches, seated in his usual chair and using a small compact mirror that I gave him to look at his eyes. He’s got a pair of tweezers in his hand, and I can barely stand to look as he grabs hold of a thick, dark lash and—

I turn away as he curses, closing my eyes.

“Could be worse,” Tanner explains, working on the thick caramel sauce that goes inside the cupcakes. I’m already drooling at the smell. “We’ve pulled off fingernails before. Toenails, too.”

I just stare at his back, trying to imagine the pain and failing to comprehend.

“For the love spell you wasted,” Marlowe begins, lifting the tweezers to his other eye. I look at Ebon as she perches on Tanner’s shoulder. Flick sits in the doorway with four tennis balls between his paws, staring at me and silently praying that I’ll throw one for the ten-thousandth time. “I had to cut off a piece of skin from my balls. Talk about a sacrifice.”

“The love spell that I wasted?” I reply, trying not to sweat as he passes over the mirror and the tweezers. Have you ever accidentally pulled an eyelash? It fucking hurts. Like, a lot. In the scope of life, it’s not that big of a deal, I know. But … but … I pick up the tweezers, pinching the metal between two fingers. “You had it coming. You were being a complete ass.”

“Was I though? Or was I telling you the cold, hard truth that you didn’t want to hear?”

Without thinking, I lift the tweezers up—they’re shaped like a black-and-white border collie—and snag a lash near the inside corner of my eye. Seems like I’ll miss it the least. With a deep breath, I yank and then … I howl. I howl like a little bitch.

“Oh my fucking fuck!” I yell, dropping the tweezers and putting my hand over my eye. Tanner is laughing so hard that he doubles over, one hand on the counter. Brooks just smiles as he separates three egg yolks and beats them into the butter and sugar.

Marlowe smirks as he sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. Both he and my cat narrow their eyes smugly in my direction.

“Aw, look at our North. Such a soft, little sweetheart.”

“Screw you, you dick.” I pluck a lash from my other lid and—despite my watering eyes that I can’t do a damn thing about—I don’t make a sound. I slam the tweezers down on the table, careful to keep the lashes where I can see them. If I lose one and have to do this all over again, I’ll be furious. “And also, what cold, hard truth? You were mad because I didn’t submit to your every whim, that I was doing my own thing. That is what happened.”

Marlowe reacts before I can think up a counter move, snatching me by the waist and dragging me into his lap. I don’t … hate that. Ah, who am I kidding? I love it. I’ve never once in my life considered a polyamorous lifestyle, but I’m obsessed. It’s so cozy, having three lovers in my grandma’s little vintage kitchen, tucked away in our Victorian at the edge of the woods.

Lo puts his warm hands on either side of my face while my cat hisses at both of us, annoyed that we dare disturb her perch on his shoulders. She crawls into his actual hood and curls up, and all I can wonder is how the weight of her isn’t choking him to death.

“We had no idea how cute and gentle you were.” Marlowe makes it sound like an insult, and now it’s my turn to narrow my eyes at him. He tucks some hair behind my ear, the harsh edges of his face softening as he studies me. “If I’d have known … I would’ve done things differently.”

“So, if I was a different sort of woman, that would’ve been the right approach?” I cock a brow, but Marlowe just laughs.

“Come on, don’t make it out to be something it’s not. We didn’t know you’d be a woman at all. You could’ve been a ten-foot troll for all we gave a shit. I was taking any North that came through that gate, any North at all.”

“Except for Talia,” I say, and he sighs, looking away like he doesn’t want me to know that there’s a decent human being underneath all of that prickly jerk-ness. “Because she was young, you let her go. I respect that. Some men might’ve …”

Marlowe makes a choking sound before looking back at me.

“God, fucking gross. Men need to aim higher than trying to bang underage girls. What the actual fucking hell? If I’d have wanted her as a North, I’d have just punched her. I wouldn’t have … And anyway, she wouldn’t have worked out. We would’ve had to rewrite all of Brooks’ spells. As a chalice, she would’ve been … platonic.”

“More bloodletting, more dancing, more singing, more collecting.” Tanner turns around and pushes a bowl across the surface of the table at us. “Try that. First time making caramel sauce or whatever the hell this is.” He crosses his arms to wait as Brooks takes the first spoonful. “When it comes to spellcraft, I’d much rather jerk off on your beautiful body, kitten. Get things done with an orgasm instead of tedium. Who wouldn’t want that?”

“Aw, how sweet, thanks.” I roll my eyes, but I can’t argue with him. I like it, too.

“It’s perfect.” Brooks hands the spoon over to me and then flicks Marlowe in the ear. “You’re supposed to be on frosting duty, dipshit.”

“Piss off. We don’t need it until they’re baked. What’s the rush?” Marlowe scowls, but doesn’t make any move to get me off his lap. I stay where I am, enjoying his warmth. The kitchen smells like sugar and butter, but even with all of that, when I breathe in, it’s distinctly Marlowe, like a breeze off the lake.

“Frosting, please. ” Brooks tries to make it sound like less of a command, but it doesn’t work. I scoop a bit of sauce into the spoon before putting it to my lips. Oh.

My cheeks flush with pleasure.

“This is good, Tanner. You’re as much a chef as Brooks. You sold yourself short.”

He flicks his tongue against the corner of his mouth and then winks at me, a very flirty gesture. I exhale and force myself to get off Marlowe’s lap before I start something in this kitchen that doesn’t just end with cupcakes and disguise spells.

“Thanks, kitten.” Tanner turns to Brooks, hands on his hips. “Should we, uh, get the next part of the spell over with?”

Brooks’ mouth twists up into something cocky, self-assured, and amused. He looks over at Marlowe, who sighs and puts both hands over his face.

“I hate your spells, Brooks. As soon as I learn to write them, I’m fixing this shit.”

“We’ll see. I have my mentor’s glamour spell memorized. Takes three days and two dozen objects. Want to cast that instead?” Brooks gets out another large bowl and sets it on the table. “Sweetheart, can you close all of the curtains? Just in case.”

Uh. My face squinches up in a silent what-the-actual-fuck. But I stand up and close the back door, dragging the curtains shut over the glass. Flick whines pitifully, staring morosely at his tennis ball stash.

“What’s wrong with the next part of the—” I turn around and stop talking.

Brooks is undoing his pants. He picks up a bottle of olive oil, using it on his hands. For lube. Fucking lube.

My gaze shifts to the bowl of unused egg whites on the counter and an odd suspicion creeps up on me.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up a second here. What are you doing?” I put my hands on my hips, attention glued to Brooks’ hand as he grips himself with tight fingers, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek.

“Finishing the recipe, Kate. Did you really think we could just bake plain old cupcakes and end up with a glamour?”

“I’ll just wear something out of my closet.” I hold up both hands. “If you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do then … just stop. I’m not eating cum cupcakes.” I pause. “Cumcakes. I’m not eating them.”

“Yes, you damn well will.” Brooks drags his grip down the length of his shaft, groaning in that deep, warm voice of his. I could eat that sound. It’s delicious. Also, he’s an ass. “This isn’t just a spell for a new outfit. Do you want video cameras in our faces while we eat?”

“Phones,” I correct, because he’s still stuck in decades long-past. But that’s just semantics. I do not want to go out on a romantic date and find myself swarmed by influencers. Or cops. Not sure if the glamour will work on the Hag Wytch, but I don’t want to see her either.

Tonight is about me and these three men.

This is about us, as a coven. As a family. As a … well, not a couple. A quad? I don’t know what the term is, but this is about our romance. About us, period.

I sigh, and everything clicks into place. No wonder Marlowe looks like he wants to die.

“We’re going to have to eat these cumcakes, aren’t we?” I ask, and Brooks laughs, head tilted back, gaze on me. He meets my eyes as he fucks into his hand, pumping his hips into his tight fist. There’s an obscene sound, wet and slick from the olive oil. Good thing I buy the good stuff. Extra virgin, too, which is honestly pretty funny.

“Oh yeah.” Brooks laughs again as Marlowe groans and Tanner grins.

“They taste okay. Can’t even tell. Swear on my dead daddy’s zombie.” Tanner flicks the button on his jeans. His quicksilver eyes rake over me, and I shift from one foot to the other. It’s impossible to watch something like this without getting turned-on. My men … wow. Yeah. My men, they’re gorgeous. They’re jerking off in front of me.

I want to touch them.

“Can I help?” My voice is a husky whisper, an extra layer of velvet and love in a house that smells like creamed butter and cinnamon, caramel and salt. Brooks’ shadow crawls across the ceiling, antlers stretching down the opposite wall. Tanner’s rears up, tongue flicking and twisting like a serpent.

“Can’t touch us, sorry.” Brooks is still watching me, but his voice is broken now as he picks up the pace. “Later tonight, hon. I promise.” He chokes on the word hon, and my knees go weak. He wants me so bad. I can smell that, too, his desire for me.

“Such an eager little kitten.” Tanner doesn’t put olive oil on his hands like Brooks. He drizzles it right over his erect length, drips of it running down to spatter on the floor. I take a step closer to the table. And then another. Place my hands on the surface, lean in.

“You have no idea,” I reply, and Tanner makes this rough sound in his throat, like he’s seconds away from throwing the table to the side and grabbing me. I wish he would, but I know he can’t. That makes it even better. “Thumb the slit for me, tiger.”

“Tiger?” he says, and then he’s laughing and doing exactly what I asked, pulling his foreskin down and brushing his thumb over the head of his cock. “Mm, fuck, that’s nice. Be better if it was you though.”

I bite my lower lip, my attention shifting to Marlowe when he shoves his chair back with a screech of wood-on-tile.

“Goddamn it,” he murmurs under his breath, shoving his hat brim up so he can look at me. His sweatpants get caught on his erection when he tries to push them down, and I can barely keep back a laugh. He seems annoyed as it is, and I want him to pleasure himself good.

It doesn’t escape my notice that all three of them were hard for me before they even pulled their pants down.

Marlowe holds his hand out, palm up.

“Spit,” he commands, and I can’t keep my lips from parting in surprise. Lo wiggles his fingers at me. “Come on, Kate. I need some lube.”

I snatch the olive oil bottle and hand it out to him, but he scowls at me.

“No. I want you. ” He keeps his hand extended, an arrogant witch in sweatpants and a sneer. “Spit or I go in dry.”

“Whose problem is that?” I retort, and he drops his hand to his dick, getting ready to punish himself the way he always does. Brooks touches himself like he’s challenging me to stay calm in the face of his magnificence (annoyingly enough, it is difficult). Tanner jerks off like he’s buried deep in a fantasy of being buried deep in me.

But our Westwoods? He hurts himself, like that’s his due penance.

With the gentleness that I know he needs, I grab his wrist and he goes still. Carefully, slowly, I bring his palm up, and I pour a generous helping of oil in his hand. His dark eyes are on mine, nostrils flared, but he doesn’t jerk away.

I release him and he grabs his cock in rough, mean fingers.

“No, Lo. Don’t hurt herself. Pretend it’s my softness all over you, baby.”

“Baby?” he replies, but he chokes on the word. Tiger. Baby. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me right now.

I’m … happy. Despite everything, I’m happy and all of my guards are dropping. Walls coming down. Shields shattering. I’m offering true, genuine intimacy to these men.

“God, Kate.” Marlowe braces a hand on the table, bending over as he works himself up with fast pumps of his fist. Less rough though, like I got through to him.

I walk around the table in Tanner’s direction, and I move his jeans down enough to get a full view of his perfect ass. All three of them have gorgeous butts, taut and firm from living in the woods and shit.

I smack Tanner with an open palm, nice and hard.

“You are in so much trouble later,” he groans, but he’s licking his lips and his shadow is licking everything. That dark silhouette of a tongue lashes around the kitchen, making the candles Brooks lit earlier flicker with each sweeping motion.

I spank him again, for good measure, peering around his big body to see that his balls tighten with each slap. He loves it, this kinky bastard. I spank him a third time, and his hips buck. I put my other hand on the side of his neck, a possessive gesture that really gets him going.

“That’s cheating, Kate,” Brooks mumbles, so I release Tanner before he finishes. He’ll have to get there on his own. I imagine that’s part of the spell? Since I’m still not sure how the magic works, I trust Brooks’ words. Also … he’s next. “Don’t you goddamn dare,” he warns me, shifting his attention over as I slip behind him.

I raise my hand, but he turns and catches my wrist before I get a chance.

I spank him with my other hand, palm slapping those sexy cheeks. It’s so fucking hot to see the three of them with their dicks and asses hanging out like that. The flat sweeps of midsection beneath their shirts. The hats. The smell of baked goods and pre-cum.

“Live a little, you domineering alpha-dick.” I try to spank Brooks again, but he’s on me before I get a chance. Pushing me back against the counter, pinning me there with his body. Doesn’t touch me though, just traps his oiled cock between us, hands on my wrists, green eyes peering down at me from beneath his hat.

His shadow looms behind him, falling across the refrigerator with its massive rack of antlers.

“Oh, it’s not about all that. I just like being bossy. That is what gets me off, Kate.” Brooks releases me, putting just enough space between us that he can continue to stroke himself without touching me.

He keeps his eyes locked with mine as I edge away, sliding along with the edge of the countertop against my back. Brooks doesn’t stop looking at me as I approach Marlowe, finding his sweatpants rucked nicely beneath his perfect cheeks.

“You guys are so goddamn fucking hot. I want to cry.” I spank him, and Lo grits his teeth, closing one eye and using the other to glare daggers at me. He doesn’t like it the way Tanner does, but he wants to please me.

He wants to please me, and I love that so much. His shadow spreads its demon wings before curling in on itself, like a gargoyle. It’s quite the sight, stretched across the folds of the heavy purple curtains covering the back door.

I see now why Brooks wanted them shut. We don’t need our cumcake baking posted online.

I run a finger between Marlowe’s cheeks, and he shudders violently, hand clutching the edge of our round dining table so hard that the wood creaks in protest.

He starts to glow. Tanner is glowing. Brooks. Me.

We’re all glowing again.

I raise my hand to spank Marlowe again, but he slams both eyes shut and gives this rough, angry growl, like he’s literally coming apart at the seams. His shadow writhes behind him as he spurts hot jets into the delicate ceramic bowl. It’s pale pink with daisies on it, and once upon a time it was my grandma’s wedding present.

“That’s …” I wet my lips. “Fucking filthy.”

Marlowe grumbles and yanks his sweatpants up, slumping back into his chair and then reaching for me. He drags me down to sit on his lap, facing away from him so that I can watch the rest of the action.

Brooks, I’m fairly certain that his goal is to be the last man to climax. Not sure that Tanner gives a shit about any of that. His eyes are half-lidded and fixed to mine as Marlowe’s hands travel over my body, from my waist to my breasts, yanking my overalls down and pushing my shirt up to reveal my bra. He takes the lacy cups in his hands, thumbing my already hard nipples, lips on my neck.

“Take her tits out for me,” Tanner groans, and Marlowe scoffs, like he’s going to resist for the sake of resisting. But then … something magical happens. Lo does what Tanner asked, yanking my bra down and spilling my naked breasts into his hot palms. “Pinch her nipples.” Another rough groan, a violent pump of Tanner’s hips. Marlowe does that, too, and I roll my lip under my teeth to keep from crying out.

Can’t give Marlowe the satisfaction without making him work for it.

“You’re going to want to be fucked after this,” he whispers in my ear, licking the side of my neck. His winged shadow is curled around my horned one, and it’s hard to see where one of us ends and the other begins. “And we’re going to deny you.” A little bite. A kiss to cover the hurt. A nibble on my shoulder. His fingers roll my nipples, yanking and tugging until my lips part and that swallowed sound comes pouring out. “We’re going to take you to dinner. Romance you. Make love to you. By the time you orgasm in our arms, you’ll have fallen in love with us and then learned to hate us all over again. That is how intense the pleasure’s going to be.”

Tanner climaxes with a grunt that I can feel in my lower belly, a primal reaction to the sound of him breaking wide and spilling into the bowl. It’s a violent climax, too, white ropes hitting the ceramic and splashing over the edge onto the table. It’s terrible. It’s dirty. It’s messy.

I rock my hips on Marlowe, but his response is to pull the lace back over my breasts, to yank the straps of my overalls up. He even pushes me up and off of his lap. I stumble against the table, putting my hands on it to steady myself.

Tanner and I meet eyes across the surface, a beautiful bead of sweat sliding down his temple and landing on his tattooed hand. He smiles at me, reaching his other hand up to give his own wolf ear a lazy scritch. His shadow is sprawled across the cabinets and the wall, and I get the feeling that I’m being watched.

Yeah, I know. We had our own intimate moment, eh shadow Tanner?

My attention shifts to Brooks.

His fingers pull his foreskin back, the head of his cock engorged and angry. He’s wanted to orgasm for a while now, but he wouldn’t let himself do it. Even with his own body, he’s in control. With his other hand, he grips his balls, like he’s massaging the cum out of them.

A slight tic in his jaw is the only sign of strain in that man.

“You ready for this, wife?” Brooks asks, and I purse my lips.

“Will you come on command?” I tease. “ Can you do it on command?”

“What do you think? Even my dick listens to what I have to say.”

“I meant my command,” I correct, but he knows that.

Brooks releases his balls to flick his hat brim out of the way, smiles at me, and then he orgasms with intent and purpose. Tanner was a wild beast. Marlowe was a tortured man. Brooks is a paragon of control—which is why I know he does what he does on purpose.

His cum hits the edge of the bowl and while most of it ends up inside of it, some of it spatters and hits the side of my neck. My jaw. My eyes widen as I stare back at him, his cock jerking and twitching as he finishes.

The kitchen still smells like butter and sugar, but there’s the sharp edge of male release and fresh sweat mixed in. The creeping anger of unquenched feminine desire. I narrow my eyes as my shadow sprawls up and over the ceiling, consuming the dark silhouettes of all three men in the process.

Brooks fixes his pants. Tanner slumps back against the counter with his half-hard cock hanging out. Marlowe is relaxing in the chair behind me until Brooks picks up a washcloth and snaps it at him. I’m half-convinced that Lo is going to kill him.

But he won’t.

The men might not feel for each other the way they feel about me, but they’re bound together, too. We are in this together. The thought warms my heart.

“Frosting. Now. ” Brooks wets the cloth with warm water and then steps forward, gently swiping his seed from my skin. The gentleness of his touch juxtaposed with the vile marking of my body with his cum … I’m obsessed. I want to be fucked hard, but I want to be loved even harder.

“This is torture,” I mumble as I close my eyes, droplets of warm water sliding down my skin.

“I know, hon. But trust me: it’ll be worth it. The harder you work for something, the better it feels.” Brooks tosses the cloth into the sink to deal with later, and then he picks up a spoon and … stirs the bowl of seed on our kitchen table.

“You’re lucky that I’m in a good mood.” Marlowe stands up to wash his hands before searching the cabinets for a saucepan. Brooks ignores him, but Tanner laughs.

“This is you in a good mood?” He grins when Lo turns a glare on him, taking his sweet, lazy time pulling his pants up. I hope his ass stings. Next time, I’m going to spank Tanner with a spatula or a paddle or something.

“You know what one of my bad moods looks like.” Marlowe pours brown sugar into the cast-iron saucepan, combining it with butter, cream, and salt. Just as domestically, Brooks adds the cum to the cupcake batter. Officially, it’s now cumcake batter. I stand by that name.

“I love you guys.” The words tumble from my lips, the most natural thing in the world.

My cheeks warm, but not with embarrassment. I’m turned-on, but I’m happy, too. I’m so happy. So fucking happy. My face breaks into a smile as all three witch men turn to look at me, big and brooding and wearing black leather hats with bone charms. Their shadows all turn in unison, painted on the walls behind them. My own shadow swirls around them, as if offering a supernatural hug.

I don’t know what I expect.

Not for all three of my husbands to smile back.

Not for them to look at me like I’m more than just a Northwoods.

But they do.

They really fucking do.

“I love you, too, Kate,” Brooks tells me again, voice just as smooth and confident and bossy as it is when he says anything else. He pauses and his smile widens even further, inked hands carefully folding hot semen into cinnamon-kissed batter. “As a woman. As a wife. As a painter with horrible taste in clothing and an endearing personality.”

My breath catches. I’m not going to cry, but I am bubbling over. I’m a cauldron, and my coven is brewing a spell inside of me that I’ve never experienced before.

“Hey, Kate.” Tanner chokes on the words, putting his hand over his mouth and mumbling against his palm like he’s ashamed of himself. “Thank you for being patient with an idiot like me.” He drops his hand and moves around the table, planting a kiss on my temple and curving an arm around my waist. “You’re the first person I have ever loved in any capacity. My first person.”

Uuh. My brain is broken. There are sparks pinging around inside my skull.

Tanner hugs me tight and then, as if he can sense Marlowe standing at the stove, steps back to give us some room.

Lo’s stirring the ingredients in the saucepan, but he’s looking right at me.

“You’re my happy accident, Kate. I love everything about you.” He pauses, looking away, like the emotions are as overwhelming to him as they are to me. “I love you. ” Marlowe’s frown is completely and utterly adorable.

The kitchen goes silent but for the sound of stirring spoons and spatulas.

I am dead. I am officially dead.

Don’t let their love confessions throw you off, Kate. We need a dress. We need the perfect dress.

If I have to eat cumcakes for this, then my outfit needs to be really fucking good.