Romance Rules for Werewolves (Charming Cove, #3)(16)

“This is amazing,” I said.

“Isn’t it?” Emma smiled. “I moved here a few years ago and have been in love with Charming Cove and the Aurora Coven ever since.”

“I can’t blame you.” She’d clearly built a life for herself here, and suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to do the same.

“You’ll find some helpful books over here.” She walked to a shelf and pulled out a few, leaving them poking out slightly so I could find them. “They’re mostly about housekeeping and construction. A few spells to help you do the work more quickly, to make the materials more cooperative, that kind of thing.”

“Perfect.” I joined her and took the books off the shelf, then carried them over to the squashy armchairs beneath the back windows. I leaned forward to squint into the darkening evening. There was a walled garden behind the building, and it was beautiful.

I smiled and sat, tucking into the books and devouring the information as Emma worked on a potion on the other side of the room. It was a companionable silence, and she already felt like a friend.

I’d found another place that felt like home—and come hell or high water, I would find a way to keep it.





Chapter

Eight





Isobel



By the time Emma finished her potions, it was nearly eight o’clock. I closed the books and put them back on their shelves, biting my lip so I didn’t ask if I could borrow them. Emma had been so welcoming that I was sure she’d have offered if it were possible. More than likely, the books were meant to stay in the library. Spell books like these were incredibly valuable, after all.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked as she led me downstairs.

“Some, yes.” I had a couple handy new tricks. “But I’d love to come back.”

“Absolutely. Anytime.” She smiled as she held open the door for me, then locked it. “Well, I need to run. Vivienne will be waiting for her order from Codswollop’s.”

I grinned and waved as she hurried down the street, then turned to look at the sea. The wind whipped off the dark waves, bringing a scent of salt and sea that I sucked deep into my lungs.

This place was amazing. Why had I spent so much of my life stuck in dreary London?

Oh, right. Tommy.

I shoved the thought of him away. He was no longer part of my life.

But what was I going to do with that life? Now that I didn’t have Tommy to take care of, I had free time. The evening spread out before me—a weird feeling, but a good one. It was too dark to do any work at Lavender House, and I didn’t fancy going back to the dusty, frilly flat that I was temporarily calling home.

I looked down the street in either direction, catching sight of a sign that said The Sea Shanty. Warm light glowed from the windows, inviting me in. As I neared, I realized it was a pub.

Perfect.

I walked toward it, noticing that across the street, there was a garden with tables overlooking the sea. The tables were repurposed old beer barrels, and the sight made me smile. It was kitschy, but in a charming way. The garden would be perfect for a sunny day, though it was far too windy and cool right now.

Instead, I turned toward the pub and pulled open the wooden door, and was immediately enveloped in warmth and good cheer. The interior was mostly warm wood, with nautical regalia on the walls. It was like stepping back in time, with the little fire burning in the hearth to the right and the small wooden bar with half a dozen leather barstools directly in front of me.

I approached the bar, smiling at the bartender, who was pulling Real Ale out of the polished brass spout.

“Welcome to The Sea Shanty,” she said. “What can I get you?”

“Are you doing food right now?”

“We are indeed, and I can recommend the steak and ale pie.”

“Perfect. I’ll have that when you’ve got a chance.” I pointed to the Real Ale she was pouring. “And one of those, please.”

“Not a problem. Find a seat, and I’ll bring it over.”

“Thanks.” I smiled and turned around, looking for a good table. There was a little one right by the fire, and it was just so charming that I couldn’t resist.

I took a seat, leaning close to the fire to read the little plaque beneath it: Burning Since 1602.

“Wow,” I said, unable to help myself. That was cool.

I turned back to the pub and spotted a familiar figure at a table on the other side of the room.

Rafe. And he was looking right at me, a scowl on his face.

How had I not noticed him when I’d come in? He seemed to command the room with his quiet yet massive presence. He definitely didn’t seem pleased to see me invading his space.

I grinned cheerily at him and waved.

“Do you know him?” the bartender asked as she approached with my drink.

“Rafe? Yes. A bit. Does he come in here often?”

“Often enough, but he keeps to himself.” She shot him a glance. “A shame, really. He could keep to me as much as he likes.”

“He’s not very social?” Even as I asked the question, I knew the answer. Of course he wasn’t social.

“Hardly.” She set the beer down. “Rumor has it he’s quite well off. They say he made a bunch of money in London, investing or something, then moved out here to build boats as a hobby.”