Page 40 of The Messengers of Magic

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A fter a quick stop at the hardware store for a handful of paint samples and a few odds and ends, Adelaide made her way back to Hemlock Lane.

Her thoughts whirled like a tornado, spinning out of control with everything that had happened over the past month, the most recent being the unsettling realization that she may have spent her inheritance on a haunted bookshop.

The jury was still out on that one. But even with the yellow eyes in the shadows, she didn’t feel afraid.

If anything, the Feather Thorn made her feel calm.

As if something within its walls had been waiting for her, not to scare her off, but to welcome her home.

She wanted to ask Carolyn about the photo in the flat, but her intuition told her to wait. Better to tell her about the bookshop first, then maybe Carolyn would open up and share her story, and the connection she had to the Feather Thorn.

When she arrived at Carolyn’s, a utility truck was parked in the driveway, its back piled high with firewood.

“Thank God,” she muttered. The wood delivery had finally come. She was down to splinters and not in the mood to scavenge the woods this afternoon.

She rounded the path, distracted, and nearly collided with a man hauling a wheelbarrow.

“Oh, God! I’m sorry,” she blurted, stumbling back. The man stopped short, his wheelbarrow squeaking to a halt.

He glanced up, dark curls damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead. His T-shirt clung to a broad chest, streaked with sawdust, and his moss-green eyes met hers with a blink of surprise.

“No bother,” he replied, voice rich with a thick Scottish brogue.

Adelaide stared for half a second too long before catching herself. “Right, sorry again.” She nodded and turned toward the cottage, her cheeks flushing.

When she reached the porch, she couldn’t resist glancing back.

He had lifted his shirt, wiping his brow, revealing a sculpted six-pack.

A rush of heat tickled her neck, crept higher, and she quickly ducked inside, firmly closing the door.

Leaning against it, she let the cool wood steady her racing pulse.

In the kitchen, she set the paint samples on the counter and filled the kettle. As it began to rumble, the scent of bergamot and black tea curled in the air just enough to calm her down.

Over the next hour, she tried to read, tried to focus, but every thump of wood landing on the growing pile outside the cabin made her ears perk.

She forced herself to stay put, flipping pages more with tension than attention.

Her eyes kept drifting to the window, without her permission, her heart ticking along to the rhythm of the logs.

A knock at the door jolted her back to reality.

She tossed the book into the chair, ran a quick hand through her hair, and tried to act normal as she approached the door. Her heart, naturally, refused to play along.

When she opened it, the man stood on the porch, not five feet away. A sweat-stained V darkening his T-shirt.

“Hello, there’s a half-cord stacked there for you,” he said, locking eyes with her. “Told Carolyn I’d bring another in a few days. Sorry, it took so long. Dave’s been out for a week with a stomach bug, so it’s just been me running the shop. I haven’t had much time to chop and split this stuff.”

She had no idea who Dave was or what shop he was talking about, but nodded along anyway.

“It’s fine, really,” she told him, hoping her voice sounded casual and not completely flustered. “There were a few logs left in a pile by the path. They did the trick over the past few days.”

He offered his calloused hand. “Ewan.”

“Adelaide.” She shook it, firm but ladylike.

“Carolyn said you’d just moved here from Gaddesby?”

Not quite, but she let it slide.”Yup, needed a change of scenery.”

“Well. Let me know if you need that other half, and I’ll get it over to you next week.” He flashed a smile, boyish, and maybe just a touch flirtatious.

“Okay, thanks, Ewan.”

“Nice meeting you, Adelaide.” He turned, pushing the wheelbarrow back down the path.

She watched him go, her pulse still skipping like a scratched record. She hadn’t expected that. Then again, she hadn’t expected any of this. Fresh out of an almost decade-long marriage, she was hardly in a place to be distracted by a guy, wasn’t she?

Then again, they did say something about getting back in the saddle … Not that she was about to start entertaining reckless ideas.

But…

The old Adelaide wouldn’t have bought a bookshop unseen. She wouldn’t have wandered through overgrown paths or dared to climb creaking stairs alone. But the new Adelaide?

Well.

Maybe she didn’t mind a little recklessness. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.