He sat back down, slowly, his gaze dropping to Irene’s hand on his. She grinned, and a butterfly flitted in through the back door. Once she finished off her tea, she swirled her mug, tipped it, and with a deep breath flipped it back over. The leaves had formed a perfect frond at the bottom, an exact match for the one in Kaden’s cup. She pushed them toward him, and his eyes widened.

“You see it,” she said.

“Kind of hard to miss.” He looked into his own cup. “Not sure how you didn’t see it in mine.”

Maura huffed out a laugh.

Nonplussed, he asked Irene, “What’s this mean?”

“That there’s a reason you’re back in Yarrow,” she said.

“Oh, yeah?” Kaden asked. “Hmm. Like maybe a funeral?”

Irene shook her head. “It’s more than that. And whatever it is, I’m a part of it.”

He tilted his head to the side and considered her. “You don’t sound disappointed.”

Irene wasn’t sure how she felt.

Kaden reached for his teacup and twirled it around in his hands. “Great love and great sorrow? Couldn’t it just be one or the other?”

“You’ve clearly never been in love,” Maura said.

Kaden rolled his eyes at her, and Irene laughed.

The only way to deal with the leaves pointing her to this man was to face them head-on. “Do you have dinner plans tonight?” she asked him.

“I was probably going to get takeout and eat it in my hotel room alone while working up the courage to go see my mom. Binge-watch something on Netflix. Cry a bit.” He shrugged. “You know, the usual.”

“You are not inviting him to family dinner night,” Maura said.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Irene said. “You like pizza?”

Kaden grinned. “Who doesn’t like pizza?”

Chapter 11

Addison

While the Haywoods may have been the only ones in Yarrow with real magic, the Bonner distillery gave off an enchanted air. As Addison pulled her Bronco through the ivy-wrapped gates and followed the signs toward visitor parking, she couldn’t help but notice the gloom. It was thick in the air and strongest near the distillery—settling over everything like a mist. She cranked her window down and let the fog float into the cab of her SUV. The car grew heavy with nostalgia.

Both her mother and her grandmother had spent Addison’s teen years warning her about drinking Bonner bourbon, and, like a good girl, she’d listened. She’d trusted them.