Back in a Spell (The Witches of Thistle Grove, #3)

by Lana Harper

What if there’s no zest to unearth? What if I’m just a barren wasteland?”

I was so damn sick of crying at the slightest provocation, like some weepy damsel stuck in a mire of never-ending distress, but I’d apparently won the sob lottery. Team #Leaky4Life over here. “Permanently broken?”

The Nina I used to be had been unshakably sure of herself, vacuum-sealed into her composure. But these days, the old me felt like a fossil, a crumbling memory. These days, I was more of a tempest in a teacup.

So you gave me fire; you lent me light; you gifted me the kind of love I didn’t think existed. Or at least a taste of it. The promise of what could be, if I was brave enough.”

But that was the point, and the comfort of it, too; no matter the weight of your pain or loss, the world only ever knew how to move on.