Page 8 of Unbearable Attraction (Hollow Oak Mates #4)

LEENAH

B y ten o'clock the next morning, Leenah had reached her breaking point.

She'd managed exactly three hours of sleep between supernatural disturbances, her cottage felt like a supernatural highway with spirits coming and going at will, and Minerva had taken to hiding under the bed and refusing to come out except for food.

Time to call in reinforcements of the caffeinated variety.

The Griddle & Grind occupied a converted Victorian house on Main Street, its wraparound porch decorated with carved pumpkins and autumn wreaths that looked festive despite the late November chill.

Warm light spilled from the windows, along with the comforting scents of cinnamon, coffee, and whatever magical pastries Twyla Honeytree was baking this morning.

The bell above the door chimed as Leenah pushed inside, immediately enveloped by heat that felt like a physical embrace after her cottage's supernatural cold spots.

A handful of early customers occupied the mismatched tables—Edgar Tansley from the Hollow Mercantile reading a newspaper while demolishing what looked like a slice of apple pie, and Mrs. Henderson complaining loudly to anyone who'd listen about her poodle's latest escape attempts.

"Well, well," came Twyla's melodic voice from behind the counter. "Look what the spirits dragged in."

Leenah winced at the too-accurate observation.

Twyla Honeytree looked barely thirty despite being old enough to remember Hollow Oak's founding families personally, her wheat-colored hair catching the light and her soft brown eyes sparkling with amusement and ancient wisdom.

Her fae blood showed in subtle ways, like the otherworldly beauty, the way shadows seemed to bend around her, and the uncanny ability to know everyone's business before they did.

"Coffee," Leenah said by way of greeting, slumping onto a stool at the counter. "The strongest you've got, and keep it coming."

"Rough night?" Twyla asked, already reaching for the industrial-strength blend she kept for supernatural emergencies.

"You could say that." Leenah accepted the steaming mug gratefully, wrapping her hands around the ceramic warmth. "My cottage has apparently become Grand Central Station for restless spirits, and I'm starting to think I might be in over my head."

"Mmm." Twyla leaned against the counter, studying Leenah's face with the kind of penetrating attention that made most people uncomfortable. "Heard there was some excitement at the cemetery yesterday morning. Something about manifesting spirits and a certain handsome carpenter coming to the rescue?"

Heat crept up Leenah's neck. Of course Twyla had heard about Luka's appearance at the cemetery. The woman probably knew what they'd had for breakfast and how many times they'd thought about each other since parting ways.

"It wasn't a rescue," Leenah said firmly. "I had everything under control."

"Oh, I'm sure you did, sweetie." Twyla's tone suggested she was humoring her. "But sometimes it's nice to have backup, don't you think? Especially when that backup comes in such an appealing package."

"I don't know what you're implying?—"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm stating outright that Luka Ashe is a good man who's been alone too long, and you're a smart woman who's forgotten what it feels like to have someone genuinely care about her wellbeing.

" Twyla refilled Leenah's mug without being asked.

"Sometimes the universe gives us exactly what we need, even when we're too stubborn to realize we need it. "

Leenah nearly choked on her coffee. "Did you just suggest the universe is trying to set me up?"

"Stranger things have happened in Hollow Oak." Twyla's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Besides, you didn't come here just for coffee and conversation. You want information about the spiritual disturbances, and you're hoping I might have some insight from the town's collective memory bank."

The abrupt subject change was both relief and frustration.

Twyla's matchmaking instincts were legendary, but so was her knowledge of Hollow Oak's supernatural history.

If anyone knew what Leenah was dealing with, it would be the fae café owner who'd been watching over the town longer than most people realized.

"Have you seen anything like this before?" Leenah asked. "Spirits manifesting in broad daylight, supernatural activity spreading throughout town, temperatures fluctuating for no reason?"

Twyla's expression grew more serious. "Not recently. But there was something similar back in the fifties, maybe early sixties. My grandmother talked about it sometimes—a period when the dead wouldn't stay buried and strange things happened all over town."

"What caused it?"

"No one knew at the time. Or if they knew, they didn't share the information with younger generations.

" Twyla pulled out a cloth and began wiping down the already spotless counter.

"But it stopped as suddenly as it started.

One day the town was overrun with spiritual activity, the next everything went back to normal. "

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. Though my grandmother always said someone had paid a price to make it stop. She never elaborated on what kind of price, but she got a haunted look whenever the subject came up."

Before Leenah could ask more questions, the bell above the door chimed again. She turned automatically to see who was entering, and her pulse did something embarrassing when Luka ducked through the doorway.

He looked tired, she realized with a flutter of unexpected concern. His usually perfect hair was disheveled, and there were shadows under his amber eyes that suggested he'd slept about as well as she had. His flannel shirt was wrinkled, and sawdust clung to his jeans despite the early hour.

"Morning, Twyla," he said, his deep voice carrying just a hint of wariness as he spotted Leenah at the counter. "The usual, if you don't mind."

"Of course, honey." Twyla's smile could have powered the entire café. "Why don't you sit right here next to Leenah? I'm sure you two have lots to talk about."

Leenah shot the matchmaking fae a glare that could have curdled milk, but Twyla just hummed innocently while preparing what looked like enough coffee to caffeinate a small army. The woman had all the subtlety of a supernatural bulldozer when she decided two people belonged together.

"You don't have to—" Leenah started, but Luka was already settling onto the stool beside her, close enough that she caught the scent of cedar shavings and mountain air that seemed to follow him everywhere.

"Rough night?" he asked, echoing Twyla's earlier question but with genuine concern rather than fishing for gossip.

"You could say that." Leenah studied his profile, noting the tension in his jaw and the way his large hands wrapped around the coffee mug like he was trying to absorb its warmth. "You look like you didn't sleep much either."

"Workshop got rearranged sometime after midnight. Tools scattered everywhere, protective symbols burned into my workbench." Luka's amber eyes met hers over the rim of his mug. "Doesn't take much imagination to guess what might have caused it."

The casual observation stung her, specifically coming from him. "You think I'm responsible for whatever happened to your workshop?"

"I think whatever you awakened at the cemetery is spreading," he corrected gently. "Big difference."

"Is it?" The words came out sharp, but between Twyla's matchmaking and the implication that her research was causing problems for other people, her defenses were at full alert.

"Yeah, it is." Luka's voice carried the kind of patient certainty that should have been infuriating but instead made her reluctantly calm down. "You didn't set out to cause supernatural chaos. You were just doing your job."

The understanding in his tone was unexpected and dangerously appealing.

Most people treated her necromantic abilities like a necessary evil at best, something to be tolerated rather than appreciated.

But Luka made it sound like her work mattered, like the spirits she helped were worth the complications they brought.

"For what it's worth," she said quietly, "I'm sorry your workshop got caught up in whatever this is."

"Don't be." Luka's smile transformed his entire face, softening the harsh angles and making him look years younger. "The spirits seem to approve of me, judging by the protective symbols they left behind. Could be worse ways to spend an evening."

Leenah felt her lips twitch upward. "Most people would be terrified to find supernatural graffiti in their workspace."

"Most people haven't lived in Hollow Oak as long as I have." Luka's expression grew more serious. "Besides, if the alternative is you dealing with this alone, I'll take rearranged tools over that any day."

The simple statement meant more than any elaborate declaration could have.

Not because he was offering to help, plenty of people had done that over the years, usually with strings attached, but because he seemed to understand that accepting help was difficult for her.

That her independence wasn't just stubbornness but hard-won self-reliance born from years of disappointment.

"I might have found something," she admitted, the words coming out before she could second-guess herself. "In my grandmother's journals. References to a blood pact between the founding families and the indigenous spirits of this land."

Luka's eyebrows rose. "What kind of pact?"

"The kind that required regular renewal ceremonies to maintain.

Ceremonies that apparently stopped happening over a century ago.

" Leenah wrapped her hands tighter around her coffee mug, using the warmth to anchor herself as she shared information she'd been guarding all night.

"I think the spirits are trying to remind us that we've broken our end of the bargain. "

"And the increasing supernatural activity?"

"Their way of getting our attention. Politely at first, but with escalating urgency the longer we ignore them."

Luka was quiet for a long moment, processing the implications. Finally, he asked, "What do they want us to do about it?"

"I don't know yet." The admission tasted bitter after hours of research that had yielded more questions than answers. "But I'm going to find out."

"We're going to find out," Luka corrected, his tone carrying the kind of quiet determination that brooked no argument.

"I work better alone," Leenah said automatically, though the protest felt weaker than usual.

"Maybe," Luka agreed. "But this is bigger than research and ghost tours now. If the founding families made promises to spiritual entities, that affects everyone in Hollow Oak. Including me."

He had a point, much as she hated to admit it. Her independent streak had served her well over the years, but whatever she'd awakened was spreading beyond her ability to contain.

"Fine," she said finally. "But we do this my way. No heroic gestures, no protective posturing, and definitely no trying to shield me from whatever information we uncover."

"Deal." Luka extended his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, she shook it. His skin was warm and callused from years of woodworking, and the simple contact sent an unexpected flutter of awareness through her entire body that caused more warmth than the coffee.

From behind the counter, Twyla's satisfied humming suggested she was entirely too pleased with this development. She had probably orchestrated this entire encounter, from Luka's perfectly timed entrance to the seating arrangement that put them close enough to share confidences.

Leenah should have been annoyed by the obvious manipulation. Instead, she found herself oddly grateful because as much as she valued her independence, facing down centuries-old supernatural obligations was starting to feel like more than a one person job.