Page 3 of The Autumn Leaf Bookshop (Everly Hollow #1)

She raves about Flora every time we talk and says her plant apothecary is a must-see before I return home.

“We also have enough food frozen to last us a good few weeks to start.”

“Yay! Casserole and soup season are my favorite.” I laugh and roll my eyes. But food is food, and at least neither of us will have to stress about cooking while she’s healing.

She leans over to the side table, slipping on her glasses before reaching for her notebook .

“I made a list of some things I’d like for you to take care of tomorrow, if possible.” Her voice is soft, but she means business.

She turns a page and hands me the notebook with a smile. Always the planner. She always has multiple things scheduled all at once and makes notes of everything so she can get it done.

Planning can help prevent stress, and if something comes up, push it away till tomorrow. That’s her motto.

“So tomorrow,” she begins, settling back into her seat, “I’ll start packing for my overnight hospital stay on Friday after the surgery. But I’d like you to run to the market first thing. I need fresh produce, eggs, cheese, and bread. Maybe grab some snacks for us, whatever you think looks good.”

I nod, mentally making a note. “Got it. No problem.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” she adds, lifting a brow. “Can you please make a stop at the bookshop? I placed an order last week. I want a good stack of books to read while I’m healing.”

“Of course,” I say. “Easy.”

She grins, smug and just a little wicked. “I haven’t read your newest book yet, but it’s included in the pickup.”

My latest book. The one with the stranded lovers, the one hammock , the sex scene that basically melted BookTok. That book?

I laugh and give her a tight smile. “Seriously, Grandma, that one?”

She winks at me like this is our little inside joke. I internally shudder. She’s always been supportive, never once complained, and I love her for that, but the idea of Grandma Vera reading my sun-drenched, hammock-tangled summer smut? I just can’t .

“Whatever you want to read, Grandma, is not my business,” I say, holding back a wince. “But I do hope you love it. And I seriously appreciate the support. Always.”

I scoot closer and rest my head on her shoulder, the scent of her rose perfume grounding me as we go over the to-do list and prep for her surgery.

She already has the shower chair set up in the bathroom and a new plush cozy robe hanging by the door like she’s prepping for a weekend at the spa instead of going to the hospital for a joint replacement.

When I mention ice packs, she waves a hand. “No need, baby. Flora already took care of that.”

Of course she did.

“She dropped off a jar of her Frost Leaf Serum earlier this week,” Grandma says, shuffling over to a side cabinet and pulling out a squat, hand-labeled glass jar with a shimmering swirl of silver-blue inside. “Said she made this batch special: infused it with starlight and winter mint.”

“Starlight?” The word catches me off guard, my brows lifting in surprise.

Grandma shrugs. “It works. I’ve been using it after my physical therapy treatments. She said the more severe the pain, the more effective it gets.”

Curious, I reach for the bottle. It’s supposed to cool the skin and can help dull pain and inflammation.

The jar itself is cool to the touch. I dip a finger in and rub it against another fingertip.

The texture is dreamy—like whipped shea butter.

As soon as I apply a little to the back of my hand, my skin takes on a silver glow.

A tingling sensation spreads throughout my arm.

It’s not like an icy shock; it’s soothing waves.

Coolness sweeps over my skin, followed by a slight numbing effect.

“Damn,” I whisper, tilting my arm this way and that. “This knocks ibuprofen out of the park.”

“Flora doesn’t mess around,” she says proudly, chuckling, and tucking the jar back into its home. As Grandma makes her way to the kitchen to pop a casserole into the oven, I decide it’s time to go to my bedroom. Get settled and unpack a little.

“Get cozy, baby,” she says. “You’ll catch the scent of chicken and dumplings in the air when it’s almost time.”

The small staircase creaks under my feet as I climb, chest warming and hands full of luggage. I’ve missed her so much. I’m also excited to see what my bedroom looks like.

The door creaks open with a soft groan, and I step inside, blinking at the amazement that greets me.

The bedroom is…beautiful. The walls are painted a soft lavender that immediately soothes my senses. The sunset glides through the window, casting a warm golden glow across the space and catching on the glass vase of fresh wildflowers.

The soft scent of my grandmother’s perfume of roses and lavender mingles in the air.

My bags and suitcase hit the bed with a soft thud. I step closer to the window. The wooden blinds are perched up, with billowy sheer curtains swept to each side.

A white picket fence outlines the backyard, protecting a garden that looks like it’s been blessed by Mother Nature.

Beyond that, a large forest and the mountains stand tall in the distance as if they are ancient sentinels.

The sky is painted in soft strokes of orange and pink as the sun begins to dip into its quiet slumber.

I blink.

I blink again, just to be sure I’m not dreaming. What in the world? What is this world?

I wouldn’t mind waking up to this view every morning. Well, maybe with a beach somewhere nearby, and remove three of the four seasons. But still. This?

A ripple of movement catches my eye. From between the trees, a creature steps into the clearing. It’s slender and deer-like, but something far more… ancient . Its coat shimmers and shifts in a gradient of soft twilight hues to a deep lavender.

The variant shades of deep blues and silver are magnificent. Long, twisting dark grey antlers crown its head, tangled with vines and tiny blossoms that pulse faintly with a glow, in the fading light.

For a long moment, it stands still, its hooves making its mark in the thick, plush grass. Its luminous golden eyes meet mine. Like it sees through me.

Then, with just the blow of the wind, it turns, runs, and melts back into the shadows, leaving behind only the rustle of leaves and the crack of a stick, piercing the air.

Turning away from the view, I take in the rest of the bedroom. A queen-size bed sits against the far wall, framed by a matching walnut wood dresser and twin nightstands on either side with antique lamps. The bed is made with a deep purple, floral-printed quilt that matches the pillows .

It looks ridiculously cozy, like the kind of bed you dive into after a long day and forget the rest of the world exists. Something I desperately want to do right now.

Maybe I’ll block everyone for the entirety of this trip?

Trailing my fingers atop the soft stitches on the bedding, my lungs release a deep breath.

Hopefully, I find some peace this month amongst the pumpkins.