Page 12 of Magical Melee (Stonewick Magical Midlife Witch Academy #1)

The B&B was already bought and paid for, so I kept it in the back of my mind that if things went south in Stonewick, I could flee to a peaceful refuge and forget I ever fell for the trappings of this quaint tourist town.

As I thought about Frank, I couldn’t imagine what could possibly go wrong.

I followed the GPS and turned left down a dirt road right before I would have entered the village of Stonewick.

As I bumped along the road, the gravel crunching beneath the tires, I couldn't help but laugh at myself.

The towering pines lined the lane like ancient sentinels. Their lanky, tall, and naked trunks stretched high above the land. A plume of branches at the top, laden with needles, created a canopy that swayed in the breeze. If I were outside, I could imagine hearing the timber clank against one another like it did at my old house.

My stomach instantly knotted at the realization that I no longer owned our family home. I didn’t own anything except the wheels under me.

Fresh start.

Fresh start.

I’d gotten good at talking to myself lately and turned my attention back to my surroundings.

The trees were spaced apart just enough to let slivers of sunlight filter through, casting golden beams down onto the forest floor riddled with pine needles and oak leaves.

I took a deep breath the moment a stone cottage came into view.

The mix of pines and deciduous trees felt like an embrace between the steadfastness of the evergreens and the seasonal dance of color and change below, making the forest feel both timeless and alive. The carpet of dried leaves lent itself to the setting perfectly.

I tightened my grip on the wheel, chuckling as I spotted a pair of stone gargoyles perched on the roof’s edge of the cottage. Tiny faces stared down at me with their grim expressions.

The stone cottage was covered in ivy. A few odd wind chimes hung from the nearby trees. And if I let myself truly go there , I could have sworn I saw a sprite bounding from limb to limb.

I smiled to myself at the notion. If nothing else, maybe I’d become a writer because this place unleashed my imagination.

Or maybe this was a middle-aged crisis gone charmingly wrong.

The emptiness I’d felt when Celeste left for college had only been compounded by the divorce, leaving me feeling like a drifting soul. But here, with a slightly eerie cottage, quirky decorations in the trees, and the occasional gargoyle, it felt like the beginning of something strange and wonderful.

Around the side of the house, I spotted a bright red scooter and two matching helmets hanging on the handlebars.

I parked behind it and turned off the car as a deep sigh left my body.

This was it. I was fully embracing something that made absolutely no sense.

I climbed out of my car and stepped on the crunchy leaves left behind by a hard frost until I reached the steps to the front door.

The pale autumn sky stretched as far as the pines let me see. The forest seemed to hold its breath with each step I took. Winter would soon be approaching, and I could just imagine myself tucked away in a place like this with snow piled high and the chimney puffing smoke all hours of the day and night.

Excitement crept into my weary bones as I took the last two steps forward. I couldn’t wait to invite my daughter here soon.

Before I had a chance to knock, Stella flung open the door and grinned. Her lipstick matched the scooter and helmet, and I couldn’t help but grin.

In front of me stood the woman who, by all accounts, was a hundred, wearing a red one-piece velour leisure suit that hugged her body like she was twenty. I prayed I’d age as gracefully as her.

“You made it,” she gushed, reaching to squeeze me. “I was worried you’d have second thoughts.”

I chuckled and nodded as she took a step back to reveal Frank in a matching red one-piece. “Should I?”

Stella handed me a large brass key. The heaviness of it rested in my palm as I smiled at the woman who was offering me so many possibilities all based on kindness.

The key's metal warmed quickly in my palm as I glanced down to see a familiar emblem. I gasped as I studied the candle, the flame swirling into the pattern of the brass.

I turned it over, tracing the lines with my thumb, feeling a strange connection to the little cottage before I’d even stepped inside.

“This is the same pattern as the gate in town.” I eyed Stella.

“Very astute of you,” she said, studying me as I stepped inside.

“Does it open that gate as well?”

“Time will tell, won’t it?”

I groaned with a chuckle. After all, I couldn’t be too upset with the woman who’d managed to find me shelter and a job in a matter of a day.

“Here we are,” Stella said with a genuine smile, stepping aside. “Your new home—well, for as long as you want it to be.”

The cottage’s interior was even more enchanting than the outside. Sunlight poured through the round windows, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. Dust motes danced in the beams of light, adding an ethereal quality to the space. I could hardly believe I’d be living here.

The walls were lined with shelves filled with an assortment of oddities—weathered books with cracked spines, jars of dried herbs and flowers, shiny stones and crystals, and trinkets that looked like they’d been plucked from fairy tales. A small hearth was built into one wall, and a tapestry above it embroidered with symbols and stars added a touch of magic to the inviting room.

At the center was a round wooden table, worn smooth from years of use, surrounded by mismatched chairs. A delicate porcelain teapot sat in the middle, along with a collection of cups, each unique and chipped in its own way. I picked up one with a tiny crack along the rim, its faded floral pattern barely visible beneath the wear. It felt rich, like a piece of history I was now part of.

The cottage, while whimsical and inviting, clearly needed some love. A layer of dust coated nearly every surface, and the floors creaked with each step. One of the windows rattled slightly in the wind from a broken latch. The walls had a few patches where the paint or plaster peeled, revealing the stone beneath. A small stack of firewood sat beside the hearth, but it was dwindling and needed to be replenished before the colder months set in.

To one side was a tiny kitchen area with a cast iron gas stove and a sink with brass fixtures that had dulled over time. Dried herbs hung from the rafters above, filling the air with the faint scent of rosemary and lavender. I brushed my fingers over the stove’s metal surface, imagining the warmth that would fill the room from cooking.

For a moment, I pictured Keegan standing there, stirring a pot, filling the air with a sweet aroma from the scent of something simmering on the stove. I blushed from my imagination and cleared my throat. He kept creeping into thoughts when he shouldn’t.

Stella watched me, a knowing smile on her face. “What do you think?”

I turned to her, smiling. “It’s… magical. But it definitely needs some love.”

She nodded, glancing around with a fond look. “Yes, it’s always had a bit of wildness to it. The vines don’t know whether to grow inside or out.”

I laughed, nodding in agreement.

“So… who exactly owns this place?” I asked.

The question tumbled out before I could stop myself. I had assumed it was just some old town property that needed upkeep, but something told me there was more to it than that.

Stella chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

“It’s Keegan’s,” she said, shrugging as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, not exactly his. He doesn’t own it, per se, but he’s looked after it for as long as I can remember. It’s a bit of an… unusual arrangement.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the odd flutter in my chest at the mention of Keegan.

“So… he’s technically my landlord?”

Stella laughed, the sound rich and warm, filling the quietness. “Not quite. Think of yourself as the cottage’s steward. Keegan has enough on his plate as it is. He’ll check in occasionally, but he’s trusting you with the day-to-day.”

I nodded, though my mind spun with questions. There was something about this place—like everything in Stonewick—that hinted at hidden layers, secrets waiting to be unearthed. I wondered if Keegan would ever share them or if he’d just keep his distance and let me figure it out on my own.

“It’s beautiful. I don’t feel deserving, to be honest.”

Her gaze sharpened on me instantly. “Don’t talk like that, Maeve. We are deserving of what is given to us. Would it be better for this cottage to sit in the woods unused, underappreciated, and decaying?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“Maybe this cottage isn’t deserving of you ,” she said simply.

I shook my head. “Not possible.”

“That’s how I feel when I hear you say such rubbish.” She shook her head, kneeling down near the fireplace.

I glanced toward the kitchen and by the time I looked back at Stella, flames were crackling in the fireplace as the room filled with a comforting scent of woodsmoke.

My eyes flew to Stella’s and then back to the stacked logs in the flames.

A match.

Wouldn’t you need a match?

“There comes a time in life with age and wisdom when you realize that you do, in fact, deserve the good in life. We’re hand-delivered enough of the bad, don’t you think?”

I shook myself out of my daze, realizing the fire didn’t start on its own, and nodded in appreciation of her advice.

“It’s a process, but at least I’m in a beautiful home while I lick my wounds.”

She snickered. “You either find someone else to do the licking, or you just move on. It feels better that way.” She winked at me as I stood frozen from the visual that I wasn’t sure was intended.

Thankfully, she went in a different direction. “I think that’s why Keegan was drawn to it. This place has its own kind of magic, you know?”

I looked around, feeling the quiet energy that pulsed through the cottage. It was subtle, like a heartbeat. “Magic, huh?”

“Of a sort,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “You’ll see. This cottage has a way of showing you things when you’re ready. Just like life.”

A narrow set of steps led up to a loft bedroom. I climbed them slowly, running my fingers along the worn wood of the banister. The loft was small but inviting, with a large bed piled high with blankets and pillows. A dazzling quilt with pieced-together floral fabrics in rich colors caught my eye. My fingers slid over a velvet underside, and I smiled.A tiny bedside table held a tarnished silver candlestick with a barely used red candle.

Alex would never go for something like this. He wanted boring and beige.If he was really stepping out, he’d add in some dark brown. I rolled my eyes at the thought and scolded myself for letting him in my private sanctuary.

Otherwise known as my mind.

A skylight above the bed let in a stream of light, illuminating the dust bits floating lazily in the air.

“I’d wash the linens. They’re probably full of cobwebs.” Stella said from below.

“Good thinking.” I climbed down the steps.

“That’s the one downside,” she said. “The place doesn’t come with a washer and dryer.”

I chuckled, thinking back to my college years. “I’ll survive. Is there one in Stonewick?”

“Sure is. Far end of town. I’d use it before midnight, though.”

“Why’s that?”

Not that I pictured myself doing laundry in the middle of the night, but the statement piqued my interest.

“Every town has some sketchy characters, and Stonewick is not immune.”

“Duly noted.”

I glanced up at the loft, already picturing myself there. Nothing would be more satisfying than curling up in bed with a good book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

“It’s yours, Maeve. For as long as you want it.”

I smiled, touching the edge of the table in the dining roomandfeeling the wood beneath my fingertips. “It’s perfect.”

Stella wandered over to a bookshelf and pulled out a binder. She handed me a small stack of papers detailing the duties of a caretaker.

I glanced over the papers, and everything looked straightforward—keeping the windows in good repair, replenishing firewood, dusting, mopping, andtending the garden out back in the warmer months.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Stella said, gesturing to a polished wooden box on a nearby shelf. “Keegan left this for you.”

Curious, I opened the box to find a journal inside. The cover was soft with worn burgundy leather. I opened it up to see pages filled with notes and sketches. There were drawings of plants, meticulously labeled, and snippets of poetry or reflections on Stonewick’s landscapes. As I flipped through the pages, I felt a strange connection to Keegan, a side of him I’d never seen before.

“Keegan’s not much of a talker,” Stella said with a hint of amusement. “But he’s always been devoted to this place. And to people he cares about. Whenever he has free time, he likes to jot down his observations.”

I closed the journal, my cheeks warming slightly. “Thank you, Stella. I think… I think I’m going to like it here.”

Frank walked over to the fireplace and sat down. A funny noise squeaked from him, but I chose to ignore it.

Stella hugged me before heading toward the door. “I’ll come by every now and then to check in, but I have a feeling you’ll find your own way.” She spun around. “Oh, and when did you want to start at the store?”

“As soon as you’d like.”

“How about tomorrow?” She scanned the bookshelves before returning her gaze to mine. “Make it in the afternoon. Give yourself time to explore your new home.”

“What about Frank?” I asked, pointing at the bulldog, who’d been left in his red motorcycle suit.

“He wanted to hang out with you, and as you’ve seen, once he makes up his mind, there’s nothing any of us can do.”

A bit of excitement tickled through me as I watched her close the door behind her.

When she was gone, I took a deep breath and looked around the cottage, letting it all sink in. This wasn’t just a place to stay. It might be my new way of life.

“You ready for this, Frank?” I glanced at him, and he stared back with his big, drooping chops. “My only house rule is…just try not to gas us out, okay?”

He stretched his paws and laid down, and if I didn’t know better, I’d believe him to be chuckling.

“Off to explore and then to the laundry spot, Frank.”

He’d already fallen asleep when I found a few rags under the kitchen sink.

I spent the afternoon cleaning and organizing the main living areas.

In a kitchen cabinet, I found a set of old cast-iron pots and pans tucked behind some dishes, so those were one less thing for me to buy since Alex took everything and more from me in the divorce.

Jars of spices that had lost their labels had been stacked in a small pantry. I had no plans of using things so old, but I carefully arranged them on the shelves.

When I felt like I needed a break from the inside, I pulled on my heavy coat and wandered out back through a Dutch door. I could see myself swinging open the top half in the summer months while I baked cookies in the kitchen. The thought made my fingers tingle.

I couldn’t wait for Celeste to see this little place.

Out back, I explored the garden, which was a mix of dead herbs, possibly some wildflowers, and tangled vines climbing up a wooden trellis. A beautiful stone path had been built throughout the yard, leading to various areas of the gardens. There was a garden shed not too far from the cottage.

Soon, there’d be no sign of these plants once the snow came.

I brushed my fingers over a cluster of dead lavender, still able to smell its calming scent.

A hidden stone fox, its eyes shining as if it were watching me, sat under an old lilac bush. I reached for it and pulled it closer to the lavender so it could get a little sun and possibly bake some of the moss off it.

I spent an hour or so wandering the paths, plucking dead weeds, and admiring the beauty tucked away. This little patch of Stonewick was mine to care for, and as I stood back, taking it all in, I felt a sense of belonging—a feeling I hadn’t realized I was missing.

And then I heard his voice.