Prologue

Sixteen Years Ago

Ididn’t need a stupid job no matter how much Declan said I did.

“I’ve had a job since I was thirteen. You’re fifteen, Killian. It’s time you get a job,” I mocked him as I rolled my eyes. “Not everyone wants to be like you, Dec.”

Not everyone wanted a job at thirteen. School, work, sleep. School, work, sleep. That was all he ever did. Well, that and Maggie. But he didn’t know we could all hear them when he snuck her into his room at night.

I wanted to have fun. What was so bad about that?

“What was that, son?” Hartwell Waverly asked, tipping up his hat to look at me. Mr. Waverly owned Waverly Farms, the biggest farm in all of Cedar Harbor—which wasn’t saying much, considering how small our town was. Still, it was the fall spot. Even people from surrounding towns came to spend the day at Waverly Farms. They had apple picking, fresh cider, homemade donuts, daily pies to take home, hayrides, and a corn maze, but it was their pumpkin patch that drew people in. Mr. Waverly boasted that he had the best pumpkins in the state.

Was that even a thing? What qualified as the best pumpkin?

“I’m not your son,” I mumbled. I hated when he called me that.

“I know, boy, I know.” He sighed and gave me that look. I hated that stupid look. Everyone gave me and my brothers that look—oh, how impossibly sad their lives must be because their dad died. Mom got it worse because she was raising all six of us on her own. The stupid pity party the whole town threw her was dumb. She was just fine without all their stupidness.

We were just fine.

“I need you to do just one more thing for me today, and then you can go home for the day. I need you more on the weekend than I do on a Friday afternoon,” he continued. I shrugged. Whatever. I was stuck here for the season anyway. And we had an early day at school, so it gave me something to do.“The Goodwin girl got dropped off by the Pastor to pick out a family pumpkin. I need you to help her out and then walk her home, make sure she gets there safe.”

“Gabby?” I asked hopefully. Please, for the love of everything holy, I didn’t want him to say Ginny.

“Ginny,” Mr. Waverly corrected.

My heart sank.

Genevieve Giselle Goodwin.

The witch.

My nemesis.

I groaned. I hated her. Hated her with every fiber of my being. For a Pastor’s daughter, she was all violence wrapped up in a spunky little person who could get away with whatever she wanted. She’d been picking on me since we both could walk, but every time I ever told anyone, no one ever believed me. She was just too nice to everyone else.

And Declan said I wasn’t allowed to punch a girl when I asked him if I could. I called it defending myself. He called it inappropriate.

I groaned, my head rolling back as I stared up at the gloomy sky. Why’d it have to be Ginny Goodwin?

“Now, I know you two don’t like each other, boy,” Mr. Waverly began as he took off his hat, “but you’ll treat her with respect. Got it? She’s my customer, and you’re my employee. This is a good lesson right here on how to treat people, even if you don’t like them. Now, she’s up by the farmhouse waiting for someone to accompany her around the patch. You be good to her.”

“Yes, Sir,” I grumbled. And with that, I turned on my heels and stormed my way across the farm. Stupid Ginny Goodwin. Stupid pumpkins. Stupid job. Stupid Declan for making me take this job. The last thing I wanted to do was spend a whole afternoon catering to the witch.

I rounded the corner of the farmhouse to find Ginny waiting on the front steps. Her hands were clasped in front of her while she bounced anxiously on her heels.

The most annoying thing about Ginny Goodwin? She did something to me. Just the sight of her lately made my stomach uneasy and not in a bad way. In a nervous way. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew enough about things to know what it meant. I just didn’t want it.

Sure, she was pretty… sort of. Incredible, dark coils danced freely around her face and clung to her ridiculously vibrant copper sweater. The color did something amazing to her chocolate eyes and brought out the gold in them. Her flawless tawny skin, those full lips, that curvy stature… somewhere over the summer, Ginny Goodwin had gone and grown up.

How dare she.

I hated it.

Mostly I hated it because now I was attracted to the girl who bullied me.

Still, my stupid heart beat a little faster in my chest as I approached her. I did my best to keep the scowl on my face. And when she saw me coming, that angry look she got did nothing to help the stirring in my stomach. I liked to fight with her. It excited me

“I’m here to carry your pumpkin,” I announced as if I was doing her a favor rather than doing my job.

“Really?” Ginny exclaimed with frustration. Before I could say anything, she let out a frustrated sound, stomped her foot, and whirled on her heels. Childish much? She started across the farm toward the patch. “Are you coming or not, Byrne?”

“I’d rather not,” I muttered but followed anyway. On my way, I grabbed a handful of straw to fidget with. I needed something to occupy my hands and energy if I was going to respect Mr. Waverly’s request to be nice to her. Respect her, not be nice. I don’t think I had it in me to be nice to her.

She sure as heck didn’t have it in her to be nice to me.

I spent hours following Ginny around the pumpkin patch. The girl had a thing for pumpkins. She inspected every single one and named their flaws. I didn’t have a clue why. A pumpkin was a pumpkin. But it wasn’t to Ginny. She was completely enthralled by the whole thing. Dings, dents, scrapes, caked-on dirt… she pointed out it all. Too big, too small, too squished, too narrow.

I just followed her around in silence and let her do her thing. She clearly didn’t need my help. Instead, I weaved together the pieces of straw into a crown. Dad had taught me how to do it after I’d seen him make one for Mom. It was a silly thing, but there was something sweet about how he crowned her his queen—his words, not mine. Ever since he died, I made crowns every fall. When I was younger, I’d give them to Mom just to make her smile. She still had the first one I made her lying on her dresser next to the one Dad had made her.

“What are you even doing?” I demanded after Ginny put back what had to be her thousandth pumpkin. I was exaggerating, but it sure as heck felt like it.

“It has to be the perfect pumpkin,” she said as if I knew what that meant. Newsflash: I didn’t.

“Yeah, but what makes the perfect pumpkin?” I emphasized those last two words with a little too much sarcasm, inciting an eye roll from her.

“You know.” She rocked back on her heels, dropping out of her crouch onto her butt. She drew her legs under her skirt, crossing them, as she stared up at me. “You ever just walk around at Halloween time and look at all the pumpkins?”

“No.”

“Of course you don’t. You’re too good for that.”

“No. I just don’t care about pumpkins,” I replied. “Usually Sam and I swap people’s Halloween decorations. Last year, we put Henry’s decorations on Esther and Vera’s house. Mostly, we put all his zombies staring in their windows.”

“You could’ve killed them, you know? Heart attack and all that?”

“Considering they redressed the zombies and wouldn’t give them back to Henry, I don’t think they cared.” I grinned. Sure, it probably could’ve scared the crap out of them, but Esther and Vera ran with it in the best way possible. Sam had told me they’d put up all the zombies and dressed them in costumes this year. I still had to see it for myself.

“You got lucky,” Ginny said. “But seriously, the perfect pumpkin is a thing! It has to be the right color orange with no dents or dings or anything, you know? And it has to be big enough to carve a good face into and fill with a few fake candles. It can’t be too ripe or it’ll go bad too fast. It won’t make it to Halloween.”

“That’s next week,” I reminded her.

“Pumpkins can rot fast if you’re not careful,” she snapped.

“Why do you care so much?” That seemed like a better question. The way her expression clouded over did things to my heart. A sadness washed over her that I didn’t understand.

“Because the pumpkin is mine,” she whispered. “It’s the one thing Dad lets me have.”

Let her have?That sounded crappy. Surely Pastor Goodwin wasn’t that strict that all she got was a pumpkin.

“It really means a lot to you doesn’t it?” I asked quietly, and she nodded. That look on her face did things to my heart—things I had no hope of explaining. I glanced around the pumpkin patch. None of these pumpkins would do. Mr. Waverly put out the good ones, but he always saved the best for marketing purposes—whatever that meant. Well, he was about to give up one of those pumpkins. I held out my hand to her, saying, “Come on, Goodwin. I know where the best pumpkins are.”

Her face lit up as she grabbed my hand, and I pulled her to her feet. That tingle, that spark, that warmth I felt when her hand touched mine… it messed with my head. I let go quickly, dusting my hand on my thigh in an attempt to get rid of the feeling. Why couldn’t it have been any other girl in Cedar Harbor? Why did it have to be Ginny who made me feel this way?

Hiking her skirt up, she hurried after me as I weaved through row after row of pumpkins. Why Mr. Waverly even had all these pumpkins was beyond me. There weren’t enough people in Cedar Harbor. Sure, some people from Copper Spring, West Bend, and Forest Ridge drove in just to buy pumpkins from him, but that still wasn’t a lot. At least I didn’t think so.

Mr. Waverly picked out the best of the best pumpkins and stored them behind the house. I knew I probably shouldn’t have taken her there—considering it was supposed to be Mr. Waverly’s personal collection. But dang it, I wanted to give her the best pumpkin.

Why was I going so far to do something nice for her?The girl was a witch but still. Something about the way she looked when she said the pumpkin would be the only thing she had for herself, I couldn’t resist. Call me a moron—I probably was. It wouldn’t gain me any favors with her. I’d give her a good day before she started acting like a stupid jerk all over again.

Ginny squealed at the sight of the pumpkins lined up behind the barn. Literally squealed. I’d never heard a person make that sound. Her face lit up like Christmas, and my heart tumbled in my chest.

“These are perfect!” she exclaimed, clapping excitedly. Okay, that was more adorable than it should’ve been. If I got in trouble with Mr. Waverly, it was definitely worth the look on Ginny’s face as she ran her hands over each and every pumpkin. “Oh, but how do I choose?”

“Pick one.” I shrugged. No matter what she said, I still didn’t know a damn thing about picking pumpkins.

She took her time inspecting all the pumpkins while I stood there and stared like an idiot. Her process—whatever it was—was thorough. Her brows came together, and her mouth moved while she silently talked her way through it. She was kind of cute like this, all focused on something.

“This one!” Ginny announced proudly as she grabbed one. She rolled and wiggled it free from the rest of the lineup before squatting to pick it up. Her whole back bent backward as she braced the weight of a pumpkin that barely fit in her arms.

But the smile on her face was huge, full of excitement at finding the perfect pumpkin. And then for God only knew why, I put the straw crown on her head.

“There,” I said, quite proud of myself. “Now you’re the pumpkin princess.”

Her smile grew wider. I liked her smile. Or maybe I just liked that she smiled for me.

“I can’t carry the pumpkin, Killian,” Ginny told me, her voice straining. “Too heavy!”

Oh, right. That was my entire job. I rushed to grab it, grunting at the weight. Good God, she’d picked the heaviest one. And I still had to walk her home. I’d never make it.

This was it.

Pumpkins would be the end of me.

Well, this massive pumpkin and the walk to the Goodwin house.

Maybe this was Ginny’s plan all along: death by pumpkin.

“Do you like donuts?” Ginny asked. Her voice tore me from my own thoughts. “Mrs. Waverly has the best apple cider donuts.”

“I could go for donuts,” I said as I tried to sound casual. I loved Mrs. Waverly’s apple cider donuts. It was where my money kept going—much to Declan’s dismay. He’d given me a whole speech on savings and being fiscally responsible. Apparently, just wanting donuts wasn’t a good reason to spend all the money I made.

“I’m going to buy donuts, and then you can walk me home,” she told me with so much authority I knew I’d do whatever she wanted me to do. So I smiled because God only knew what was happening. I just followed her, struggling to support her massive pumpkin and listening to her prattle on about the importance of pumpkins.

I massaged my fingers to soothe the ache in them. Building calluses sucked, but I was determined to learn to play the guitar. Okay, Mom said I needed a good hobby I couldn’t capitalize on. Music was about the only thing that spoke to me. Declan tried to teach me photography—boring. Sam tried to get me into art—any art—and it wasn’t for me. Mom suggested I learn an instrument because getting lost in my portable CD player wasn’t quite a hobby either.

“You’re sounding good,” Mom said, poking her head in the doorway.

“I sound awful.” I sighed as I glanced up at her. Her gray eyes softened as she smiled. Mom looked tired, but I could tell she was gearing up for a long night of work. She only ever put her dark hair up and wore one of Dad’s old flannel shirts when she planned to be up all night. “I’m not good, and my fingers hurt.”

“Not all hurt is bad hurt. It takes time for anything to be good, Killian,” she replied. “The best thing you can do is be dedicated to trying, even through the hurt. Keep doing that, and you’ll get there.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. Except I sucked. I didn’t want to keep trying.

“How was work?” she asked. I just shrugged. “I heard you walked Ginny home. That was nice of you.”

“I got paid to do it,” I said. She didn’t need to know that I’d actually enjoyed walking Ginny home. Which was weird. We’d laughed and talked the whole way while she fed me pieces of donuts. In the twenty-five-minute walk to her house, we’d demolished half a dozen donuts. Ginny showed me where she planned to put her pumpkin and the reason why—it was the only spot everyone driving by could see it. She told me all about how she planned to carve it and how she planned to use the seeds for birds and squirrels.

And at the end of it all, I realized I wanted to stay and carve that stupid pumpkin with her. Which was dumb, considering how mean she usually was. But dang it, there was something about how she lit up talking about something she loved that did inexplicable things to my heart. Things I didn’t like but couldn’t deny.

“It was nothing special,” I continued when I realized Mom was still staring at me. She nodded, smiling as if she knew I was lying. “What? I said it was nothing special.”

“I know, baby boy,” Mom said softly as she padded across the room. Taking my cheeks in her hands, she kissed my forehead. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“I love you.”

“Yeah, I love you too,” I whispered. After one more kiss on my forehead, she left, closing the door behind her. I set my guitar aside and flopped back on the bed. Thoughts of Ginny tumbled through my head. Confused thoughts. Frustrated thoughts.

All of them bothered me. How could someone so annoying be so adorable? And why did I like her?

I cringed. Even thinking it bothered me. Ginny had done nothing but make my life miserable every moment she could. Fighting her had become a sport—one I mildly excelled at. She was mean and smart, witty and clever.

I hated her.

But I liked her.

But I still hated her.

How was that even possible?

Hormones. I blamed the hormones Mom kept trying to teach me about while I kept skirting the conversation.

A quiet knock on my window drew me out of my thoughts. Which brother had locked themselves out now? Probably Sam. It was usually Sam. Though, he usually went through Declan’s room to get back in.

He’d go away.

Except he didn’t.

Another soft knock made me sit up with a frustrated huff. I went to let him in only to find Ginny instead.

I froze.

Genevieve Goodwin knelt on the balcony roof. Outside my window.

What the…

“What are you doing here?” I demanded in a hushed voice as I threw open the window. Wasn’t the daily school torture and weekly pack house torture enough for her?

But she smiled that wide smile that turned my knees to jelly. Yeah. Stupid hormones.

“Hi,” Ginny whispered.

“Hi,” I said back stupidly. “How’d you get here?”

There was no way Pastor Goodwin knew she was here.

“I ran here,” she replied. “I tied my shirt up and carried it, but I kind of drooled on it. My wolf isn’t very eloquent.”

“I don’t think most are.” She did what. I glanced behind her. Her naked legs were tucked under her, and her shirt was carefully placed. My gaze snapped right back to her face.

Nope. I wasn’t going to think about the fact that Genevieve Goodwin was naked on my balcony roof.

“What are you doing here?” I repeated, hearing the rasp in my voice. So much for not thinking about it. It was all I could think of.

“I forgot something today,” Ginny said. I opened my mouth to ask what, but she grabbed the front of my shirt and half pulled me out the window.

And then she kissed me.

I locked up like a deer in headlights at the feel of her soft mouth on mine. Even my wolf panicked inside me. I’d never kissed anyone before. My entire body exploded in a collision of sparking sensations I had no clue what to do with.

“Sorry,” she murmured as she pulled away. A faint blush dusted her cheeks as she looked away. I didn’t want her to stop. “I just—”

I took her face in my hands and kissed her again. I prayed to God it was at least halfway decent because I didn’t know what I was doing as my mouth moved gently across hers. Her hands braced on my chest.

Maybe it lasted an hour. Maybe it lasted only a moment. Who really knew? The only thing I was sure of when we separated was that she was the only girl I ever wanted to kiss. That conviction took hold of every fiber of my being.

“Good night, Killian.”

“Good night, Ginny,” I said, grinning like a fool. She returned the smile.

I watched while she shimmied her way off the balcony roof and across a tree branch. She dropped to the ground hard and vanished behind a tree. I leaned further out the window and waited until a dark wolf with wild fur stepped out from behind the tree with a shirt in her mouth. She looked up at me, and my smile turned downright stupid.

“Good night, Ginny.”

“Why is Genevieve Goodwin in our backyard?” Declan snapped when his window opened. His room was dark and his hair a mess, which meant I’d probably woken him up. My bad.

“I’m going to marry that girl,” I said wistfully as I watched her dart into the forest, taking my heart with her.

“You don’t know that,” he retorted. “You two hate each other.”

“I love her.”

“I give it a week,” he replied.

“I give it a month before she’s picking on you again,” Sam commented as he joined us out his window.

I rolled my eyes. What did they know? Dad always told me to trust my gut—that it’d never steer me wrong.

It told me one thing: I was going to marry Genevieve Goodwin.

I married that woman right there in the Waverly’s pumpkin patch. It was the prettiest Sunday in September. The weather was perfect with its cool breeze and clear blue skies—a rarity for Washington. All of Cedar Harbor was a vibrant patchwork quilt of reds, oranges, and yellows.

And yet, all of it paled in comparison to Genevieve. That fifteen-year-old girl had grown into a woman who outshined the sun itself with her brilliant smile. There were no words to describe how beautiful she was. There never would be.

The moment I saw her walking down the aisle toward me, a calm washed over me. This woman was my heart, my soul, my home. She was my everything.

Surrounded by friends, family, and a thriving pumpkin patch, I handed her everything I had. Words would never encompass how I felt about her, but I did my best to make sure she knew. There was no hesitation on her face as she promised me the same. There was no doubt.

There was only us.

This was how we were supposed to be.

It was the beginning of our forever.

We were untouchable.

Until we werent.