Romance Rules for Werewolves (Charming Cove, #3)(70)

“It’s wonderful,” I said, looking at the crashing dark waves on the rocky shore.

“It’s familiar.” There was awe in his voice. “Nothing has been familiar in a decade.”

I reached over and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, then pulled into the parking spot in front of a little cottage with glass fishing floats decorating the front yard beneath the main window.

“Your family’s house?” I asked.

He nodded but didn’t move to leave the car.

“Come on. They’ve waited long enough. And if you wait any longer, you might wimp out.”

“Wimp out?” He turned and smiled at me. “Did you just say I might wimp out?”

“Prove me wrong.” I grinned, poking him in the arm.

“All right.” He climbed out and headed up the path to the front door. There was a small sign over the door that read Harrington. That had to be his last name. I followed, heart pounding. But no matter how nervous I was, Rafe had to be twice as on edge.

He knocked, and I held my breath.

The door swung open almost immediately, and a woman in her mid-fifties stared at us in shock. Then she burst into tears.

“Mum—”

“Rafe!” She launched herself at him, wrapping him in her arms. She gripped him hard, her delicate floral blouse and slender hands contrasting with the dark T-shirt that stretched across the broad plane of his back.

I couldn’t help it—tears burned my eyes, spilling onto my cheeks.

“Honey!” A man’s voice sounded from farther back in the house, and I saw him enter the foyer behind the woman. He was staring down at his phone. “Honey, Terrence says they have a lead on him. Some village in Cornwall.”

I gave a shuddery little gasp.

They were looking for him.

“Randall, he’s here!” the woman cried, her voice thick with tears and muffled against Rafe’s shirt.

Randall looked up, his face going white with shock. Then his face crumpled, and tears filled his eyes. He strode toward his wife and son, enveloping them in his embrace.

More tears spilled.

This was, without a doubt, the best thing I’d ever witnessed.

I cannot handle this.

Poa’s voice made me look down. She was staring at the group, her little face scrunched into a weird expression. I hadn’t realized she was there, but the intensity of my emotion must have drawn her.

“Are you crying?” The words were hard to squeeze out of my tight throat, and I wiped the tears from my eyes.

If it were physiologically possible, I would be. She glared up at me. I don’t like it.

I gave her a watery smile. “You don’t like that he found his family?”

Of course I like that. I just don’t like strong feelings about anything other than sausage rolls and lattes. It’s uncomfortable.

“But in a good way.”

There was movement from the little crowd in front of me, and I looked up to see them pulling apart.





Rafe



I turned to Isobel, my throat tight with emotion. Seeing my parents’ faces…

I hadn’t thought about them during the last week. I hadn’t allowed myself. I knew they’d feel that I was alive and healthy—werewolf magic allowed for that. But I’d owed it to Isobel to finish her house. She loved that place, and I wouldn’t be the reason she lost it. Not when she’d spent so much time helping me.

But I’d felt guilty about not going to my parents immediately, and I hadn’t been able to make myself pick up a phone. After ten years away, it felt too…insubstantial.

So I’d packed away thoughts of them and focused on helping Isobel, knowing that I’d see them soon.

But now that I was here, part of me wished I’d come sooner, that I hadn’t made them wait.

“Who’s this?” My mother wiped the tears from her eyes and gave Isobel a smile.

“My friend Isobel. She’s the witch who broke the curse. Isobel, this is Kay. And my father is Randall.”

My mother gave another loud sob and threw herself at Isobel, who put out her arms just in time to catch her.

“Thank you,” my mother said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Come on, honey.” My father pulled her back, as if to give Isobel space. Then he clearly thought better of it and hugged her himself. She gave me a wide-eyed look over his shoulder but didn’t seem too bothered.

“Randall, let the girl go. We need to have tea. And cake!” My mother turned to me. “Ever since the curse broke and we remembered you existed, I’ve been baking your favorites while the whole town looks for you.” She shook her head, a disgusted expression crossing her face. “I can’t believe I forgot my only son!”

“You didn’t forget me, Mum. You were cursed.”

“I’m going to find whoever did it, and I’m going to wring their skinny neck.”

“She’s dead.”

“Good.” Her voice was firm. “Did you kill her?”

“No, Mum. Of course not.”

“I would’ve.” She sniffed, then turned toward the kitchen. “Come in, now. We need to eat cake.”

“Come on, son.” My father beckoned us along.