5. Isabella
CHAPTER FIVE
ISABELLA
When I was growing up, I wasn't particularly interested in dating. Instead, I focused on reading, learning, and all the extra-curriculars my parents insisted on signing me up for.
That’s not to say I haven’t dated, haven’t had crushes. But now? Now I question if I’ve ever been attracted to anyone before I met Nick.
Working with him is going to be a whole problem, but he’s doing a lot for the event. I refuse to let that go to waste.
The tip of my shoe catches on a crack in the sidewalk, sending my notepad—I’ve always preferred physical lists to digital ones—clattering to the ground. I groan as I reach for it.
I’m not here to obsess over Nick. I’m here to work.
I refocus on my task, on walking down Main Street to meet with vendors and the locals. While the town has close proximity to the water, Main Street itself is far enough away that you just get a touch of that salty sea smell.
Little boutiques, restaurants, and shops line the lane like something out of a fantasy. A couple of cars dot along the way, but with the hustle and bustle, it seems like most people walk instead of drive.
There’s something comfortable and cozy about that that makes my heart yearn for a life like this.
Mayor Vale sent an initial list of shop owners, and then I gathered a few more during a research excursion after breakfast yesterday. I haven’t talked to anyone yet, but I’ll start today.
I want to find out what makes Lunamois, Lunamois. What makes this place special?
My first stop is Tea Leaves. I very much need the caffeine, but I also want to ask the redheaded woman behind the counter to set up a booth to sell warm drinks and baked goods at the anniversary event. Fall may be lovely in the Pacific Northwest, but it can also get a bit chilly.
The redhead smiles as I open the door, the waft of baked goods bringing a matching grin to my face. “Two days in a row! I’m flattered.”
“What can I say? I’m addicted to your tea.” I step up to the counter. “I’m Isabella.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Georgie. What can I get you? On the house, of course.”
I open my mouth to protest—despite the increasingly tiny number representing my bank account balance at the moment—but she silences me with a hand. “Tradition. New residents get a free order on their first visit to Tea Leaves. Or I guess the second visit, in your case.”
My cheeks heat, but I nod my head. “Well, if it’s tradition…I’ll take a pumpkin spice black tea and a chocolate chip scone, please.”
“Excellent choices.” She rings them up and hands the order off to a barista working beside her.
“Can I ask you a quick question, actually?” I glance behind me, checking to see if there’s anyone else in line. There isn’t.
She nods, tapping her long, painted nails against the counter rhythmically with a cocked head. Maybe curious about what’s about to come out of the new girl’s mouth.
“I’m planning Lunamois’s seventy-fifth anniversary event in a couple of weeks. It’s going to be an outdoor festival, and I was hoping I could talk you into putting up a booth to sell hot drinks and baked goods.”
“Oh, I heard about that but didn’t realize it was actually happening.” She taps her lip. “I’ll send out a request and see if any of my employees can do some extra shifts to cover it, but yeah. I don’t see why we can’t make that work.”
“Fantastic!” I put a little smiley face next to Georgie’s name on my list.
“Is that what you and Nick were planning yesterday? Is he helping you? I know his definition of ‘handyman’ has basically turned into ‘whatever-anybody-needs-man’ but that certainly never included event planning.”
“It’s mostly me, but he’s helping with a lot on the building side of things.”
“Ahhhh.” She chuckles. “Makes sense. We’ve really needed an event planner in this town.”
Warmth suffuses my chest. It feels nice to be needed.
She passes me my tea and scone, and I take a nice long sniff. Mmm. Cinnamon, clove, and all the things that make pumpkin spice smell like autumn.
“Thanks for agreeing to help!” I turn on my heel. “I’ll probably see you tomorrow morning.”
She nods, fire-red hair falling into her eyes. “I know a caffeine addict when I meet one. Here’s my phone number. Let me know if you need any help as you’re meeting with people.”
She hands me a napkin, and I pop it next to the list in my bag. “I will. Thanks.”
Having another townie on my side can only help.
When I exit the café, a brisk fall breeze greets me. I can’t wait to see how the town decorates for Halloween.
Although I guess I’ll be gone before that, won’t I? I squash down the disappointment rising from my belly.
With one long sip of beautiful, beautiful caffeine, I look at the next name on my list. Clover—the woman who initially emailed me about two weeks ago—who apparently runs the local grocery store, Clover’s Market.
Baked goods and hot drinks are great, but feeding people is always the number one priority.
My sneakers crunch on fallen leaves as I stride along the sidewalk. Decorated lamp posts line the road itself. Do they change the decorations with each season? This feels like the kind of town that would do that.
Something about this place just feels like home. It feels safe.
Stop it, Izzy. Don’t get attached.
Clover’s Market is at the end of Main Street and is one of the few actual independent buildings.
It has a sort of ‘thrift shop in a barn on the side of the highway’ vibe to it, but if they took immaculate care of the building.
The white paint is fresh, and the red sign announcing the name looks like it was recently made.
Probably by Nick, if I had to guess.
I step through the front door and am immediately transported into an indoor farmer’s market. Booths and tables fill up the space to bursting, with haphazard walking paths set up in a way that I know is going to get me lost.
It smells like wood and bread, and my stomach growls despite the scone in my hand.
How many local farms are there?
“Ten just within twenty miles,” a female voice answers my internal question. “More once you open up the radius. We have many supernaturals who come here from around the state.”
I leap into the air at having my mind read, turning to find an older woman in a crochet shawl and about three million necklaces and bracelets. Her hair is short and entirely white.
I don’t necessarily enjoy the idea of someone seeing into the mishmash that is my head.
“You are Isabella Gregory, and I am Clover. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, finally,” she continues, sticking out a time-weathered hand.
I shake it, bracelets bangling and jangling. “It’s nice to meet you! How did you... never mind. I’m here to—”
She laughs. “Come.”
With a wave of her hand to follow her, she turns and weaves her way through the people and stalls. I do my best to keep up while also absorbing all the sights, sounds, and smells.
It’s a sensory smorgasbord.
The scents shift and change above us as we walk past fresh vegetables and fruits and things I’ve never seen before. Fresh fish, meat, grains, coffee…I could spend a year here and not see everything.
“My office,” she announces, opening a door in the back of the building. “Come in, come in.”
I allow her to herd me inside and settle down in the open chair in front of what I assume is her desk. She sits slowly, easing into the chair as if with a certain amount of difficulty, on the other side.
“I’ll manage my vendors. They know me and I’m very protective of them, but we would be happy to supply the event.”
“Oh,” I chuckle, the wind leaving my sails. I had planned a whole pitch.
“That’s why you’re here, yes?”
I’m out of my depth with this woman. I can only nod as she grins at me—she’s missing two teeth.
“I’m a seer. You haven’t encountered one of us before.” It’s not a question, but I find myself nodding again anyway. I’ve never met a seer before, and to be honest, I didn’t even know they were a thing.
I’m going to be doing quite a bit of research tonight.
Her weathered fingers trail along the desk in front of her. “It can be intimidating to converse with someone who knows what will come to pass before you’ve even decided. Strange, even.”
Strange is certainly a word for it.
“You’ll get used to it,” she finishes with a twinkle in her eye. “For now, I will email you a full list of my vendors and what they will be providing. Crafts, foods, and local artisan goods. And there’s a booth you should visit today. Number twenty-six.”
She produces a map from her desk drawer with the booth location already circled.
Anything to get me out of this room. I miss feeling like my thoughts are my own.
I shake her hand and let her shoo me away, slamming the door shut behind me as I’m once again overwhelmed by the sights and smells of the indoor market. It’s like a miniature Pike Place Market.
I’m incredibly thankful for the map as I twist and turn through the people and booths. Until I stop, and I’m met with a table filled to the brim with knick-knacks.
Maybe having a seer read my mind isn’t so bad after all.