Four Men and a Witch Group Text

Brig: Alert! Alert! I was just at Mom and Dad’s house and the winter fudge catalogue arrived.

I inwardly groan, reading Brig’s text. The gift shop my parents built from the ground up, the Lobster Landing, is known for selling a huge array of baked goods along with classic lobster memorabilia. But above anything else, it’s the fudge that gets the most attention, and it’s all because my dad is obsessed. Every season, a new fudge catalogue comes in, and my dad spends days going through the recipes, trying new ones and creating some of his own. And we are the ones who have to taste test. Well, my brothers and sister have to taste. I refuse.

Reid: Ugh, please tell me we’re not going to have another peppermint crisis.

Griffin: I think I can still taste the peppermint from last year.

Brig: Better to have peppermint mouth than the time Dad asked me to try his Buffalo Wild Wing fudge.

Reid: Cry laughing emoji Thank God we were all gone for that. Didn’t you throw up?

Brig: Four times.

Rogan: But not before you drank a cup of blue cheese dressing.

Brig: Because my mouth was on fire! What was I supposed to do?

Griffin: Not be such a kiss-ass with Dad and tell him no.

Reid: Great advice coming from the golden child.

Rogan: ^^ Truth.

Griffin: Siding with Reid, huh? See if I let you copy my taste testing answers this go around. Fucker.

Reid: Yeah, eat fudge, Rogan!

Brig: Right down your gullet.

Rogan: You all have issues. When did he say the recipes will be ready?

Brig: Who knows? I blacked out when I saw it. But before I left, Mom did tell me that she saw Harper over at Wicks and Sticks buying some apple scented candles.

Griffin: Oh apple, good choice. Ren loves the spiced hot toddy scent.

Reid: Aww, look at you, blissfully in love.

Rogan: Why did Mom tell you that?

Griffin: Don’t be jealous of our candles. It’s not my fault your house smells like a horse’s nut sac, Reid.

Brig: Why else would Mom tell me? To bother you.

Reid: It does not smell like a fucking nut sac in my house. It smells like man.

Griffin: Yeah, a man-horse nut sac.

Brig: ^^ historically a man-horse is also referred to as centaur. #ShowRespect

Rogan: And why are you bothering me with this information when you know I don’t want to know anything about Harper? You’re only going to piss me off.

Reid: Where does the penis fall on the spectrum of horse man? Is it horse penis or man penis?

Brig: I heard she also bought a lavender candle. How does that make you feel?

Griffin: I think horse dick.

Rogan: It makes me want to kick you in the eye. I don’t want to know about her damn candles.

Brig: What about her clothes? Mom said she was wearing a lovely shade of green that really brought out her eyes.

Reid: I think you’re right. I just looked up a picture—totally horse dick.

Rogan: I’m going to murder you, Brig.

Griffin: If you murder him, hire a centaur to do it because . . . bow and arrow carrying horse man

Reid: Fuck yes. #DeathByCentaur

Griffin: #MurderousHorsePenis

Reid: #ManCock?

Brig: #ImpaledByCentaur

Reid: #OddlyAroused

Jen: What the fuck did I just stumble in on?

Rogan: Run, Jen . . . Run.

Jen: Oh wait, just caught up. #ManHorsePecsTurnMeOn

Rogan: Why am I a part of this family?

“We can do shiplap on the fireplace if you would like,” Gina, my faithful assistant, says.

I shake my head, running my hand across my jaw. “One, this isn’t a farmhouse, and two, shiplap doesn’t fit the era. This is Snow Vale Manor, which once hosted dignitaries from all over; we need to make sure we keep everything historically accurate.” My irritation is at an all-time high, and it has nothing to do with the renovation of Snow Vale Manor. No, it has to do with a very different blast from the past.

Since Ren’s birthday party four nights ago, I’ve heard from my mom, my brothers, Jen, and even Oliver, who owns the corner store, all about Harper being in town and how beautiful she’s looking.

I didn’t need the reminder. She’s always been beautiful, and the other night, when I got a good look at her up close? Fuck, she’s even more beautiful than I remembered.

That night, when I went to bed, my body physically ached from seeing her, like I ran the New York City marathon and didn’t train for it. I was in pain, out of breath, and regretting all my life choices.

And since then, I’ve been in a foul mood, avoiding everyone. Anytime I’m not working, I’ve been holed up in my house, lights off, chugging glass after glass of stupid-as-shit water, despite wanting a whiskey.

“We can plaster the upper half and repaint the bottom to its original glory. Is that what you were looking for?”

I nod, focusing back on the project. “Yes, everything needs to be white in here.” I thumb through the stack of letters that I found beneath the floorboards years earlier, letters that once belonged to the original owner and are dated decades ago. They contain a detailed description of the house and the devotion put into every inch of the space. “The house is described as a wintery wonderland—everything white with crystals hanging from the chandeliers like snowflakes about to fall from stormy skies.”

“That’s easy. Do you have a shade of white in mind?”

I look around the space. “Snow white, but be sure to keep the railing, spindles, and top portion of the stairs black. The letters are really specific on that point, so guests wouldn’t miss a step and stumble to the ground.”

“Very well, anything else?”

I scan the space, taking it all in. The high vaulted ceilings, the intricately carved wood moldings, the large, single-pane glass windows, and the blond hardwood floors that were torturously restored last week. It’s a beautiful space, a home I used to admire growing up, and now, finally, it’s mine.

By no means do I have plans to move in. With seven bedrooms, the manor is way too much for a single man. But with the large backyard, gardens, and the ballroom on the first floor, it’s the perfect place to hold events, an elegant space needed in Port Snow that will gather even more business for the town. Christ, I’m starting to sound like Griffin.

“Have we checked in on the kitchen appliances and the update on electrical?” I ask Gina, who is diligently taking notes.

“I spoke with the electrician just this morning. He says that everything’s been updated and will be able to handle the industrial appliances you picked out.”

“Good.”

My goal is to keep up with the era of the house, to honor where it started, but I’m also a businessman and know when I see profit in a piece of real estate. Snow Vale Manor is going to be an event destination, which means I need a workable kitchen space to handle all the catering. I’ve made sure to preserve the cupboards, flooring, and backsplash, but the appliances, counters, and sink have been replaced to accommodate today’s culinary needs.

“Did the foreman offer an estimate for completion?” With the Christmas season around the corner, it’s my goal to open up the manor for parties. Companies from wealthy Pottsmouth, just a few miles up north, would pay good money to host Christmas parties here.

“He said two weeks.”

Yeah, freaking two weeks. That’s what they all say.

“Hold him to it.” I hand her the letters. “Make sure to put these in the safe back at the office, please.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Knightly. Is there anything else you need?”

Instead of leaving the house right away, I give the grand ballroom another walkthrough, Gina close on my heels. “Where are we on the black-and-white wallpaper? Did that come in?”

“Yes.” Gina fumbles for her phone behind me. I go to help her, but she waves me off. “It’s in the office right now—my office, actually. It should be put up the last week of renovations. One of the last things to be done.”

“Good.” I run my finger along the naked wall, the memories hitting me hard in the chest as I’m transported back to high school, when Harper and I used to sneak into this house—back when it was nothing more than an abandoned shell. We’d bring camping chairs and play cards under a dim lantern. It was our place, a place where we could escape and be alone.

When I bought the manor, I told myself it was because it was a smart investment, one that I could turn a great profit on, not because it held so many memories from the past. Not because it was where Harper and I first had sex, or said “I love you,” or where I proposed.

No, that wasn’t the reason at all.

Purely a business decision, not at all sentimental.

Clearing my throat, I turn to Gina and button up my black suit jacket. “Keep me updated on the progress. The sooner we can open the manor to parties, the better. Where is Russell on marketing?”

“He sent over some mock-ups yesterday. Would you like me to forward them to you?”