Page 1 of Magic & Mochas (Tales of Love & Lore #1)

Chapter one

Home there was a ward around town that prevented humans from accidentally stumbling in. It was a marvel of magical engineering—a fact which my father would never let me forget. It was our family’s proudest achievement, after all.

And now that I was moving back in at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, I was certain I would get to hear all about it. Again.

With a sigh, I lugged my heavy suitcase along behind me as I approached the front gate. I waved a hand to unlock it, and the raven croaked at me in greeting. My mother’s familiar, Fig, cocked his head at me, then flew inside through an open window—no doubt, to announce my arrival.

Are you sure I can’t eat it? My own familiar, Silas, asked me telepathically. The black cat twined around my ankles, but his eyes were riveted fixed on the window. Not even a little nibble?

You know better than that, I chided him. Familiars eating other familiars is strictly forbidden.

Never liked that law, he grumbled. He trotted up to the front door, which he magically opened and shut behind himself—right in my face.

“Bratty cat,” I mumbled.

I heard that!

You were supposed to! Though I could hardly blame him. I wasn’t exactly thrilled with our new living arrangements, either.

When I approached the door, it swung open, as if the house itself were welcoming me home. The smell of apple cider teased my nose as I stepped inside, and I smiled, despite myself.

No matter how long it had been, this place would always feel like home.

My mother swept into the entryway from the kitchen, with her raven perched on her shoulder. “Clove Morelli! Fig just told me you arrived. I wasn’t expecting you till this evening!”

I let her pull me into one of her motherly hugs. “I took a flying carriage to avoid the traffic.”

“Oh, let me look at you. It’s been far too long since your last visit.” Ginger Morelli held me at arms’ length, her blue eyes scanning me from head to toe. She was dressed in the black-lace style that most witches favored, and kept her dark hair drawn up in a bun.

“Welcome home, pumpkin,” my dad said as he came around the corner.

Tristan Morelli stood a head taller than my mother, though it was his green eyes and dark purple hair that always made him stand out in a crowd.

His bit of a belly told me mom must have been baking more frequently since I’d left home.

I’d always thought that I was a perfect combination of the two, with my turquoise eyes and black hair with purple undertones.

I liked to think my own style of dress was a tad more…

modern, however. I preferred leather boots over ones with pointed, curly toes, and purple dresses over black-on-black, lacey colonial outfits.

“Thanks, dad.” I mustered a half-smile for him.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and unpack? Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.” Mom patted me on the shoulder, but I noticed how her eyes kept darting away from my left ring-finger, like butterflies afraid to land.

I nodded. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Wandering down the hall and up the stairs, I glanced at all of the family portraits that my mother had hung with such pride. Accomplished witches and warlocks, every last one of them.

Continuing on down the hall, I entered the last door on the left.

My childhood bedroom looked exactly as I remembered it: Spellbooks and romance novels lined my bookshelves, and a worn woolen rug blanketed the hardwood floor.

Warm rays from the setting sun filtered in through my white curtains and dappled the small desk in the corner.

Silas was already curled up on top of my bed’s lavender duvet cover, snoring away.

Quietly, I unzipped my suitcase and carefully lifted my espresso machine onto my desk. After a quick examination to make sure it hadn’t been scratched, I threw the handful of tops and pants I had used to swaddle it into my tiny closet. Finally, I placed my grimoire on top of my dresser.

I had been so upset, that I had left behind everything else. But going back for the rest of my things was out of the question.

Without waking Silas, I slipped out and headed for the dining room. Mom finished setting the table as I walked in.

“You’re just in time. I was about to ladle some chili into your bread bowl. I made the sourdough fresh this morning,” she said with a wink.

My mouth watered. Mom’s sourdough was my favorite. No matter how many times I tried to make it, mine just never came out quite right.

She served the food, and the three of us sat down around the table to eat. The blend of spices in the apple cider was divine, and her chili warmed me from the inside out, though the warmth stopped just shy of my heart.

The sounds of splashing spoons and glasses clinking filled the air, but after a while, my mother asked tentatively, “Do you want to talk about it?”

A lump rose in my throat. “Not yet.”

She nodded one too many times. A hint of tension laced the air, until my dad cleared his throat and prompted, “Ginger, why don’t you tell Clove all about Mrs. Virgil’s news?”

I perked up. “Mrs. Virgil?”

The satyr had run a cute little café on main street for as long as I could remember. I loved spending time there after school when I was little, sipping iced coffees while I did my spellwork.

My mom eagerly latched onto the topic. “Yes, that’s right!

After her last child went off to college, she decided to travel the world, and left early last year.

She’s been planning this trip for ages; I know there are at least seven different forests and five branches of the family she wanted to visit. ”

“That’s wonderful news!” She had always worked so hard on her café, so I was happy to hear she was taking a little vacation for herself. “Which one of her older children took over the family business?”

Mom and dad exchanged a look. It was a look I knew all too well, the one that meant they had bad news they didn’t want to break to me.

“Pumpkin, the thing is…none of her children had any interest in running the café. Mrs. Virgil shut it down and put the building up for sale.” He smiled sadly. “Though it hasn’t sold yet.”

My spoon froze halfway to my mouth. “What?!” How could none of her kids have wanted to continue the thriving family business? There were seven of them, for crying out loud! Had they all decided to be adventurers or apothecaries or something? “The café is…gone?”

“I’m afraid so.” My mom patted my hand comfortingly. “I know how much you loved spending time there. It’s a shame to think of it sitting empty—both the café and the apartment above it.”

I slowly lowered my spoon as a crazy, completely ridiculous idea popped into my head. “How much…” I licked my lips. “How much is she asking for it? For the building, I mean?”

The dreams of a younger me flitted through my mind. Dreams of running my own cozy little café, one filled with the aroma of coffee and the sound of music and laughter. And as impossible as it once seemed, perhaps the only thing holding me back now was myself.

For once in my life, I was done putting someone else’s dreams before my own.

Plus, since it came with an apartment, I could move out of my parents’ house and get a shred of my independence and dignity back.

My parents exchanged another look. Mom pulled out her magically expanding bag and rifled through it, until she pulled out a flyer and handed it to me. “This is the asking price. But why do you want to know?”

I scanned the flyer, my turquoise eyes quickly finding the number I was looking for. If I drained my savings, I should be able to afford the down payment. Barely. “Because I’m going to buy it.”

“Now, pumpkin, take some time to think this through. I know you used to love that old café, but you don’t need to give up on your bright future in the big city to save it.” Concern creased my dad’s forehead.

“I have thought about it. For longer than you might guess.” My heart was racing, but my voice was steady. I had promised myself that one day, if the opportunity presented itself to escape the rat race, I would take it.

Everyday in my corporate job, I had dreamed of living a slower life, a cozier life.

One where I answered to no one except myself, and where I could sip my morning coffee while looking out at my little garden or flower boxes before opening my shop for the day.

One where I could finally wear all the cute little dresses and frocks shoved in the back of my closet, and come home before the sun set.

A life that truly felt like mine—a life worth living.