Page 16 of A Love Like Pumpkin Spice (Wayward Hollow #1)

Nic

As soon as we enter the antique store, a prickly, cold shiver runs down my spine—a mixture of feeling watched and like the temperature has dropped several degrees.

“Wow,” Lauren whispers next to me, scooting closer. Why does it suddenly feel like we’ve entered a haunted maze? I half expect a fog machine to turn on and horror-clowns or discount Freddy Kruegers to jump out and yell “Boo!”

“What a vibe, right?” I whisper back and take a few steps further in. Every sound in here is muffled, quieter than trying to hear under water, as if we’re suddenly cut off from the world outside. Even though the store has huge windows, barely any light makes it inside.

Furniture and paintings are stacked from the ground up to the surprisingly high ceiling.

It’s chaos, beautiful, and borderline cursed.

Couches are stacked on tables, tangled chandeliers hang from hooks at eye level as if someone tried to weaponize home decor.

Antique tea-sets are displayed in dusty cupboards decorated with the occasional spider web.

The scent of lavender and dust clings to the air, and with every step, I feel more like Belle wandering the Beast’s castle—vast, abandoned, but I’m more than ready to bolt.

Either we will find the most beautiful treasures in here … or die, and I’m not sure which one is more likely.

“ Hello?” Lauren softly calls out, the sound echoing, practically bouncing from dusty mirror to dusty furniture.

“Ah, finally. There you are, girls.” The two of us startle, a squeal escaping me at the sudden voice. “Come in, come in, you two. I made a pot of tea, just in time. Earl gray, right?”

Lauren and I glance at each other as if she’d guessed our blood type simply from this so far one-sided conversation. We’re both fierce coffee girlies, but if we were damned to a world without coffee, earl gray would be our drink of choice. How did she know that?

“The cards told me you were coming. Oh, come on now, don’t look so surprised.” She waves us in, clearly having expected us. As if pulled by an invisible string, Lauren and I follow her.

I knew there was something about this town. First, I get a cat ghost, and now we’re probably getting Hansel and Gretel’d.

When we step into an adjoining room, the woman is already seated at a table, like this is a prescheduled séance, and we kept her waiting.

The dim lighting in the store hadn’t revealed much of her, but here, under a slightly brighter candle glow, we finally get a clearer view.

Unkempt curls stick out in all directions, glowing a deep, fiery red.

She’s wearing a dark green dress with embroidery that could have been hand-stitched by forest elves.

When she motions for us to sit down, I notice countless rings adorning her fingers and hear her thick bracelets chiming against each other.

She taps a perfectly manicured nail against the top of the table—once, twice—and Lauren and I stop in place, like puppets with their strings yanked.

“The cards?” Lauren whispers in awe, the tension falling from her as she pulls me toward the table. Seriously? She didn’t believe in my ghost cat, but cards talking makes sense to her?

My eyes dart around the room. We might as well have walked into a witch’s coven, one that hoards antiques and souls.

The entire wall behind the woman is covered in picture frames, hung so close to each other the wallpaper barely peeks through.

Each frame holds a black-and-white portrait, printed or drawn on gilded paper, their expressions solemn.

A few faces appear to be stretched into strange, unsettling frowns, and I swear their eyes are following us.

Is this store the Wayward Hollow version of the wardrobe to get to Narnia? I certainly feel as if we’ve stepped into some kind of parallel world.

“Thank you,” Lauren says cheerily, accepting the cup that the woman slides across the table to her.

“I can see you’re apprehensive,” she says to me, and I flinch as if she caught me pocketing a cursed amulet or something.

“My name is Amanda,” she continues, her tone softening, “and I’ve been running this little antique store for …

oh, nearly forty years now,” she says. Her eyes go distant, her expression becoming dreamy.

“A long time to be in one place. Even the walls are asking for change.”

“What?” Lauren asks, surprised. “Why?”

“My body isn’t what it once was. Lifting the furniture is becoming impossible.

” Her left hand drifts to her right shoulder subconsciously.

She gives us a sentimental smile. “Times are changing. People don’t appreciate the beauty of antiques anymore.

The items are piling up, and the store has become untamable. ”

She exhales slowly.

“And, between the three of us, I’d rather run this store into the ground than have another DIYer hot-glue seashells onto a beautiful three-hundred-year-old frame.”

“Oh,” Lauren lets out a nervous giggle, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning.

“ Don’t worry,” Amanda says, leaning forward to take Lauren’s hands in hers. “The mirror waiting for you is perfect as it is.”

“Waiting for me?” Lauren shakes her head softly. “How do you—?”

“I know things, child.” Amanda grins, revealing her perfectly straight, pearly white teeth. “Now let me show you the furniture.” Her eyes flick to me, and a knowing smile curls her lips, like a ghost whispered something in her ear about us.

“I think we officially met a witch,” Lauren whispers, shielding her words behind her hand, though something tells me Amanda already knows exactly what we’re saying.

“I’m not sure whether to be scared or impressed,” I whisper back, equally as softly. But as we turn the corner and Amanda flicks on a light switch, my breath catches.

“Holy shitballs,” I mutter, staring wide-eyed at the room.

I thought maybe the entrance had been decorated this packed, maybe to make a lasting first impression, but no, it turns out the entire store is committed to the chaos.

Furniture is stacked high with only the tiniest paths in between to walk through, like a labyrinth of Jenga towers made of chairs, lamps, and what appear to be treasure chests.

Amanda leads us straight to the mirrors, and Lauren starts giggling beside me.

“How did she know?” she asks, eyes darting around the room, with more awe in her eyes than a child in Disneyland. “Do you really think she knew we were coming?”

I can only shrug. “It could have been an educated guess?” I offer, but the words already taste more bitter than a lie on my tongue.

Amanda has this aura about her. Honestly, if she told me that the sky was green, I’d probably nod and thank her for the enlightenment.

I trail my eyes along the closest furniture tower.

It ’s a shame. There must be hundreds of beautiful pieces in here—for example a picture frame near the bottom, its golden frame alive with intricately carved vines and cherubs caught mid-flight.

Do I need more furniture? Absolutely not. But if this frame mysteriously appeared in my living room, I’d hire a painter and get a portrait of Pumpkin done for it—my home’s aesthetic be damned.

“Have a look around, girls.” Amanda points toward a far corner. Through the legs of a probably hundred-year-old armchair I see mirrors hanging on a wall and a stack of them leaning against a cabinet. “Do me a favor though, be careful.”

“Hey, Amanda,” I say cautiously, eyeing the obstacle course it would take to reach them, “I hope this isn’t overstepping, but … how would you feel about Lauren and me helping you tame the store a bit?”

She’s right. Hiding these beauties behind hot-glued seashells, cheap paint, or rhinestones would be a crime.

But my heart aches even more thinking that these amazing pieces will remain here, hidden from the world, instead of being displayed in a way they deserve.

I might as well go along with this Mother Hulda kind of interaction and lean into being Goldmarie.

“Right!” Lauren jumps in eagerly, already pulling up the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

“That would be wonderful,” Amanda says with a knowing smile, “but you really don’t have to.”

“No, no, we want to,” I assure her, eyes darting around the room. “You have so many amazing pieces here that must have been incredibly hard to find. They deserve to be seen, and bought—in one piece without falling down.”

“But I can’t pay you girls.”

“Oh, oh! Give me a card reading,” Lauren says excitedly, eyes wider than a kids on Christmas morning.

“ That can certainly be arranged.” Amanda nods, then glances at me expectantly.

“Oh, I’m good,” I tell her with a shake of my head. “Just happy to get away from my screaming cat and out of the house. Trust me, this is doing me a bigger favor than you.”

“In that case …” she pats my arm as she walks past me. “Knock yourselves out, girls. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Would you mind if we carry some of this stuff outside?” Lauren asks, suddenly sounding unsure, as if the weight of what we promised has hit her now that she's giving the room another once-over.

“Of course, of course. It won’t rain today,” Amanda mumbles, and then she’s out of sight.

“For real?” I whisper, shaking my head. The clouds covering the sky while we had our coffee at Caleb’s were giving me apocalypse vibes. They sure looked ready to burst into the kind of rain that makes you wish for an ark.

“Oh, come on,” Lauren says, reaching for a chair to her right. “If she says it, I believe her. She’s probably casting some kind of anti-rain spell right this minute. Let’s do this.”

“What are you girls doing?” a voice calls out, making me whirl around.

It took us a few hours, lots of cursing, and we’re probably going to pay for our efforts with an epic ache in places we didn’t know had muscles tomorrow, but we’ve managed to disassemble most of the falling hazard towers.

Now, the sidewalk in front of the antique store looks like the Mad Hatter is hosting a banquet for all of Wonderland, with what must be at least thirty chairs lined up and stacked along the storefront and a long table in front of them.

“I hope you’re not robbing the place,” the man chuckles, clearly joking.

“No, no, of course not.” I laugh, brushing a strand of hair from my sweaty cheek. “We’re helping Amanda rearrange the store. Trying to eliminate the danger of getting taken out by a rogue armchair.”

“Okay.” His eyes shift from me to the store entrance. Lauren is waddling backward while dragging a Victorian commode behind her with both hands and an expression of grim determination. He raises an eyebrow. “Tell me how to help.”

Lauren and I exchange a glance. When I turn back to him, he’s already shaking his head, frowning with mock disapproval.

“In this town, we help. You girls might be strong, but with some help, everything moves faster, and God knows all of Wayward Hollow has had a near-death experience in there already. Now, what’s your plan?”

“We’re trying to clear most of it out, fight the spiders, and then see how we can arrange everything without falling hazards,” Lauren explains. Meanwhile I stack chairs of the same make to save space and avoid blocking the entire sidewalk.

When I glance up again, a small crowd has gathered out of nowhere. The flower shop owners are among them, along with a handful of familiar faces I recognize from Caleb’s.

“LA could never,” I whisper to Lauren as our new helpers swarm inside eagerly, ready to pitch in.

“Right?” she says, grinning at me, cheeks flushed with a mix of exhaustion and giddiness. “Look at us, actually getting to know our neighbors.”

And that’s how we spend the afternoon: hauling furniture out, then back in once we’ve cleared space for a more organized layout, laughing, sharing stories, and getting to know the people of our new hometown.

Ama nda greets every new helper with a thankful smile and keeps the tea flowing.

She doesn’t even check in on us much, and when she does, all she does is watch us with a small, knowing smile playing at her lips. It’s wild. We met only hours ago, yet she trusts us with her store completely.

By the time we’re done, the place has transformed and is spacious, even. The furniture is finally given room to breathe. Nothing is stacked higher than eye level, and for the first time, its vibes are less ‘forgotten attic’ and more ‘hidden gem.’

Then, suddenly, the door bursts open, and Shawna walks in, carrying a huge tray filled with mouthwatering pastries.

“Snacks on Caleb’s!” she shouts, and before she even finishes the sentence, the crowd rushes toward her as if she’d offered free tickets to see Taylor Swift. Then again, Caleb’s pastries are a very close second to that. The man knows his baking.

We gather around the long table we’d dubbed the centerpiece of the store, and soon it turns into a friendly interrogation.

Andrea, who runs Wayward Hollow’s only hotel, wants to know where we’re from and if we’re enjoying our new life here.

Courtney, who owns the flower store with her husband, explains what we absolutely have to do in the area.

Someone mentions a hiking trail only half an hour away.

We learn that the man who first approached us is Dimitri, and he owns a woodworking shop a bit outside of Wayward Hollow.

By the time we step back outside, the sky is pitch-black, the streets lit by dim golden light from lanterns.

“What a day,” Lauren whispers, tilting her head back and taking a deep breath of the crisp autumn air.

“A good day,” I add with a grin, linking my arm with hers as we walk toward my car.