Page 4 of Magic & Mochas (Tales of Love & Lore #1)

Chapter three

Surprises & Strangers

Clove

W illowmere’s main street unfurled like a ribbon of old cobblestone, gently winding through the heart of the town like it had grown there on purpose, rather than being built.

Each storefront shimmered with enchantments—wooden signs that spelled their names in curling script one moment and blossomed into floral carvings the next.

The bakery’s windows glowed with soft pinks and oranges, and the bookshop’s awning ruffled itself like feathers when stirred by the soft breeze.

Pumpkins carved with softly flickering faces lined the stoops, and ivy crept up every stone wall in shifting hues of green, copper, and plum.

As I strolled slowly along the sidewalk, the morning sun warmed my skin like an old friend’s embrace.

Spiced cider, old parchment, roasted hazelnut, and the welcome aroma of baking bread hung in the crisp autumn air.

The diner’s cinnamon-scented steam curled lazily into the sky, mingling with the honeyed smoke from a nearby candlemaker.

Even the cobblestones themselves seemed to exhale the scent of old magic—earthy, warm, and faintly electric, like the air before a storm.

Windchimes tinkled peacefully when I came to a stop in front of the building that was now mine.

Mrs. Virgil’s old sign still hung above the door, but the windows were all boarded up and cobwebs hung from the eaves.

The brick facade was looking rather faded, though the ivy around the corners seemed to be doing just fine.

The awnings, on the other hand, were a tattered mess.

If this was why the centaur had seemed nervous, he needn’t have worried. Minor cleaning and repairs were no obstacle for a witch.

With a wave of my hand and some purple sparks, I repaired the awnings, changing the pink stripes to purple, and burned away the boards and cobwebs. The swinging sign magically cleaned itself, and the script writing changed to read: The Broom & Bean.

With a grin nearly too big for my face, I unlocked the beautiful French door. The glass of the window was cracked, but I would enjoy coming up with a stained glass scene to replace it. As I stepped inside, I sent warm balls of witchlights to hover by the rafters.

The inside of the café looked a little like I felt: empty. But with some time and a lot of work, we could both be bright and hopeful again.

Golden morning light filtered through the dirty windowpanes, casting soft, smudged rectangles across the scuffed wooden floor.

The floorboards creaked with each step, as though waking reluctantly from a long sleep.

Cobwebs draped like lace from the corners of the ceiling, and a crooked ceiling fan hung frozen in mid-turn.

The counters were covered with a thick layer of dust, and the pastry case I had once fogged with my breath now stood dark and empty.

The tables sat askew, mismatched chairs tucked in or scattered like guests who'd left mid-conversation. A once-charming fireplace at the far end of the space was choked with ash and old parchments, one of which floated gently to the floor when I entered, as if sighing in relief at my return.

In the corner, an ancient bulletin board still held flyers for past events: Herb Swap Night, Full Moon Readings, and Tarot & Toast Tuesdays . The edges had curled, but the magic ink shimmered faintly when I looked too long.

It was a good thing Silas had opted to stay curled up on my bed this morning—he would have had a sneezing fit, and I never would have heard the end of it.

Overall, it wasn’t terrible. Hopefully, I could get it up and running before the Moonlit Masquerade Ball at the end of the month, on Halloween.

The first thing I did was open the windows to let in some fresh air. But before getting to work, I decided to head upstairs to take a look at the apartment. If it wasn’t completely unliveable, I might even be able to move in tonight!

Entering the back storage area, I moved through the space like a wraith. I found the stairway that led up to the second level, and unlocked the apartment’s door with the key the centaur had given me.

But when I stepped inside, I frowned. Unlike the café downstairs, the apartment didn’t look abandoned at all.

The curtains were drawn over the windows, and the living room was cozy and inviting, with thick carpeting and a plush sofa.

I ran a finger along the fireplace mantel, but no dust came off.

The kitchen was practically spotless, and even had a bowl of fresh fruit on the dining table.

Had Mrs. Virgil purchased a preservation spell for the apartment? But if that were the case, then why would she not have used one on the café as well?

Moving down the short hallway, I peeked into the main bedroom. A large four-poster bed took up the center of the room, with a desk and some dressers in the corners. The room felt lived-in, and had a decidedly masculine feel. Had one of her sons lived here right up until Mrs. Virgil left?

And then I heard the toilet flush.

I froze, my heart jumping into my throat. I wasn’t alone! Was there really an infestation of pixies here, after all? If that were the case, I needed to kick them out right this second! There was no telling how much damage they might have already done to the walls!

I ran into the hall and made a beeline for the bathroom I had passed earlier. The door was ajar, so I slammed it open, a pixie banishment spell ready at my fingertips.

But instead of pixies, I found myself staring at a very handsome and very naked man.

He was tall, with a shock of dark hair and the shadow of a goatee on his strong jaw.

Scars criss-crossed his chest, and his chiseled abs could have functioned adequately as a washboard.

Color rose in my cheeks as I realized he was wearing nothing but his boxers.

The spell fizzled out and died.

“Didn’t anyone teach you how to knock?” His voice brushed like velvet against my ears.

My gaze snapped up to his vivid violet eyes, which were watching me with a sort of cold, detached amusement. Keeping my eyes fixed firmly on his marble-worthy face, I blurted, “Who are you and what are you doing in my apartment?”

“Your apartment?” Shadows curled up from the floor and wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak made of midnight. “I take it that four-legged grass-snatcher finally managed to sell the building, then?”

“That’s right. And since he failed to mention a tenant, I have to assume you are squatting here.” Was this what Mr. Chevalier had been nervous about? Not an infestation of pixies, but of one grumpy man. “As the new owner, I will need you to vacate. Immediately.”

The man glanced slowly down at his state of undress, before cocking one eyebrow at me. “I think not. I will be taking my shower, which you so rudely interrupted. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

The shadows came alive once again—in order to slam the door shut in my face. I heard the distinct click of the lock engaging, followed by the sound of running water.

For a moment, I gaped at the door. Then I shut my mouth with a snap and stormed out of the apartment. I was going to need to have a talk with Mr. Chevalier, since he purposely failed to mention one crucial little detail.

There was a shadowmancer squatting in my apartment!

I stomped down the stairs, trying not to let my irritation at this unplanned hiccup ruin what little momentum I had managed to scrape together over the last twenty-four hours. The dim and dusty interior of the old café seemed to mock me and my admittedly whimsical aspirations.

Tears pricked at the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

I had promised myself I was done feeling sorry for myself.

I would not wallow in the all-too-familiar sense of betrayal Mr. Chevalier had just evoked in me.

So what if my first interaction with someone outside of my family had turned out to be another sort of betrayal?

It could have been worse—there could have been a werewolf with rabies behind that door instead of a very grumpy and very muscular shadowmancer! My former fiancé didn’t hold a candle to him.

I sighed. Focus, Clove. Moping about wouldn’t help me show that bastard of a warlock that I was doing just fine without him. That my heart hadn’t been absolutely shattered into a thousand pieces that night.

If heartbreak had a smell, I was convinced it would be burnt caramel and rotten fish with a shot of betrayal—but I was determined to smother it with cinnamon and freshly brewed coffee.

I needed to focus on tackling one problem at a time, and I knew the perfect place to start. After all, the shop wasn’t about to clean itself.

So I tied my long, dark hair into a ponytail, hung my coat on a peg, and rolled up my sleeves.

After raiding the supply closet, I enchanted all of the items I found there.

I sent the duster up to the ceiling to take care of the cobwebs, had a cloth and a bucket of water get to work polishing the windows, and ordered the broom to sweep the floor.

Next, I set about getting the pastry case cleaned out and the counters polished.

As I moved behind the counter, I could tell where Mrs. Virgil had kept her outdated coffee machine by the distinctive square of dust-free, stained countertop.

I smiled to myself as I imagined where I would put my own machinery.

A spark of excitement came back as I contemplated what drinks to put on the menu.

Unlike while I was working in an office full of uninitiated humans, in Willowmere I could proudly walk down the street with a cup of coffee that blew me steam kisses or changed colors with every sip.

For once in my life, I could truly let my imagination run free.

“So this is where you ran off to, Clove.”