Page 10 of The Autumn Leaf Bookshop (Everly Hollow #1)

Siren Song

Raene

H ome again. Finally. After a long day of surgery waiting rooms, doctor updates, and far too much hospital coffee, Grandma and I are back in her little cottage, tucked away from the chaos of the outside world.

There’s a bigger hospital a couple of towns over, thank the Goddesses, because the idea of driving four hours back from the city with Grandma shifting uncomfortably in the passenger seat? Hard pass.

Her post-surgery rules and discharge papers read like a scroll in need of a binder: no bending past ninety degrees, no soaking in the tub—which is her favorite, no driving, plenty of naps, and, of course, mandatory physical therapy.

I may or may not have bribed her to follow the rules by gifting her a hot pink grabber device, topped with a ridiculous silver bow. She rolled her eyes, but she smiled. I call that a win.

Now we’re tucked at the kitchen table like it’s our tiny fortress, wine glasses in hand, Funyuns in a shared bowl, and a puzzle stretched between us.

Not just any puzzle, either. This one is a cozy farmhouse, all golden fields and distant mountains, the porch so overloaded with hay bales, gourds, and pumpkins, and seasonal flair.

It looks like a craft store and a scarecrow had a baby and named him September.

Honestly, it’s excessive, even for fall.

Grandma clicks an orange piece into place with a sigh loud enough to echo through the cottage. I freeze mid-sip, glass hovering near my lips. Immediate panic response. Is she in pain? Do I grab the magic cream? Call the doctor? Wrap her midsection in bubble wrap?

She waves me down with a dramatic flap of her hand, settling me in my seat.

“I’m fine, sweetheart. This puzzle just makes me realize I probably won’t be able to decorate for fall.

You know, with my moving all slow. I can’t bend.

I can’t even try out for Little League if I wanted to.

” She crosses her hands and mumbles a word under her breath.

If you listen closely enough, it sounds similar to ‘damn healing’ .

She props her chin in her hands, sighing like some damsel in distress. “I won’t be able to decorate for fall this year. Not properly. Not like last year, my first year here.”

“Oh!” She says excitedly, and another puzzle piece slips into place while I’m still struggling to find a corner piece. How is she this good at puzzles when she’s recovering from hip surgery?

And of course, here it comes, the need for help I wouldn’t want to poke with a four-foot stick.

It’s wrapped in pumpkin spice and tied with a cinnamon-scented ribbon.

A ribbon that is probably edible. I’m all for helping my grandma with anything.

Truly anything else. Bury a body in the backyard garden under enchanted lilies? No questions asked? I’m down.

I’m your alibi. Body comes back to life because who knows what the fuck is in this magic soil…well…but seriously, fall decorating?

My soul is drawing the line here, but my shoulders sag. I already know what I’m about to do. I can practically hear the universe laughing at me because it knows my heart.

With a groan, I set my glass down and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fine. I’ll help. Even if it means battling the forces of pumpkin…everything. You know you can ask me for anything. No matter how much I hate fall, I’ll do this for you.”

Her face lights up as she claps her hands, delight practically glowing from her like the sun.

I’m doomed.

And this...this is only the beginning. I feel it in my bones. I lean back in my chair and take a long sip of wine, already regretting my life choices and the next question.

“When were you thinking of decorating, Grandma?”

She pops another puzzle piece in place without missing a beat, smiling sweetly like this was all part of her scheme. “Oh, right after we finish this puzzle. The day’s still young.”

I stare at her, Funyun halfway to my mouth. The day’s still young, huh? So much for a relaxing night in. I toss back the rest of my wine .

Fall: 1. Raene: 0.

“That’s the last tote,” I say, pulling it out of the crawl space and setting it beside the other five.

And this is just fall. Easter, Christmas, and who knows what else are still lurking back there like holiday hoarders waiting to pounce and conquer their special day.

Unscrewing my water bottle, I take a long drink, then glance at the sea of scarecrows peeking from the tote lids. “Grandma, honest question?”

She looks up from the TV.

“How many scarecrows does one woman need? Is this a cute cottage in the woods by day and haunted scarecrow manor by night?”

Do they come awake at night? “Should I be worried?”

She just shrugs, waving me off like I’m the crazy one.

Of course. Taking a lid off the nearest tote, I begin my work.

I weave the autumn garland across the mantel, golden leaves and tiny pumpkins tucked between eucalyptus and twinkling lights.

It looks…cozy. I adjust a ceramic squirrel that’s a little too happy about holding an acorn and a prickly hedgehog with blooms growing from a few quills, then step back to assess my work.

Oh, I know! I’m forgetting something. Her ‘It’s Fall Y’all’ pennant banner. Gotta throw some sarcasm in while I still can.

The dining room table is next. It gets the full luxurious experience of the only day in my life special. I lay down her ivory tablecloth, then add a fall-themed table runner decorated with pumpkins in two shades of pale blue and a perfect white Cinderella pumpkin.

A few faux pumpkins and sprigs of greenery complete the centerpiece.

From the cabinet, I set out her fall dishes, pairing them with deep sage cloth napkins and gold pumpkin napkin rings.

I move to the kitchen adding fall trinkets to the little window inlets and scatter autumn décor around the counter tops.

Out on the porch, I string a thicker garland along the railing, hang up a fall wreath, change the rug under the welcome mat to orange and white buffalo plaid, and prop a couple of scarecrows near the steps.

Just not the whole scarecrow tribe. I promised her porch pumpkins and a new welcome mat.

I mentally pencil that onto my to-do list.

Lastly, I swap out the living room pillows for ones stitched with leaves and a couple of woodland animals and one shaped like a pumpkin.

Draping a chunky knit blanket over Grandma’s favorite chair, I take a look around. I hate to admit it but, just like that…the cozy little cottage somehow got cozier.

And for a moment, my thoughts drift.

Sylas. The man is practically autumn personified. Does his home look like this year-round? Like him. Cozy sweaters, warm, relaxing smiles with that dimple, and perfect white teeth with fangs. I wish he would drag the pulse on my neck. A shiver runs down my spine just thinking about it .

He is beyond gorgeous and has a sexy, yet book nerd vibe, and I love that. But that bookshop…that tree in the middle of the shop. How it shimmered like sunlight with its fall leaves. The magic in that place seems to bring everything there to life.

My thoughts scatter away, hearing my phone chirp as I walk through the door. I click the notification and see an email from my publisher. She knows I’m on vacation, but she tells me any news about my newest book release.

I click the screen off and shuffle to the couch, sinking into the cushions beside Grandma.

One hand automatically reaches around to massage my lower back.

Okay, seriously, does Everly Hollow have a chiropractor?

And if so, is it one of those giant, coiled snake shifters that may be half man who just wraps around you until your spine sings the song of its ancestors?

Because honestly, I’d really consider it.

Grandma pats my leg gently. “I truly appreciate the help, thank you.”

I nod my head. “You’re welcome Granny.”

“Take yourself a hot bubble bath,” she continues. “I’ve got the perfect salts. They’ll take the ache right out of you.”

“Let me guess…they’re enchanted?”

“Yes!” She says, eyes twinkling as she winks.

Hell, I’d try anything at this point. “How about you relax here. Don’t move. If you need me, holler. I’m going to soak for an hour, and for dinner...I’m cooking. We need a break from all these casseroles before I turn into one,” I say .

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” she says, adjusting herself against her pillows.

Whatever is in these bath salts, it smells amazing. It has a floral scent wrapped in cashmere and vanilla. I added them per grandma’s instructions, one heaping scoop, sprinkle it over the water, and let it dissolve sore muscles away.

I twist the cork off the bottle of bubble bath elixir and tip it into the steaming water. The label reads Siren Song Tonic: For soothing aches, stubborn stress, and your spirit. May induce musical hallucinations and provide clarity.

Figures.

The second the shimmering lavender liquid hits the water, soft notes begin to float around the bathroom.

There are no speakers. No instruments. Just a slow, hauntingly beautiful melody that wraps around my body and settles in my chest. A whimsical, enchanting voice sings along, low and achingly beautiful, like moonlight being threaded into the stars.

I pull my braids up to a high pile at the top of my head, and sink into the tub, my limbs going loose and my muscles sighing in pleasure. Warmth creeps into every inch of me, and suddenly there is a... vision?

Sylas. I see him. He’s here. While I’m in…here?

The note reaches a crescendo.

I immediately sit up, the water still high enough to cover my nipples, but it doesn’t hide the swell of them. He’s walking toward the tub, barefoot, with golden eyes filled with lust and hunger.

Have mercy…

With every step he takes, I hear the rustling of leaves and the faint scent of fall spices and citrus around him. I audibly gulp, because vision or not, my brain’s doing a damn fine job with the details.

Fuck.