Chapter 2 Winnie
Wow.
As I turn away from the woman who just stepped into my tavern, a lump forms in my throat.
My hands tremble slightly as I busy myself with the empty mugs behind the bar, pretending they need my full attention. But my thoughts keep circling back to her—the stranger with cascading waves of brown hair and eyes that gleam like they know things they shouldn’t.
There’s something about her. The way she moves with quiet confidence, as if she belongs to some other world entirely. Like she’s carrying a secret too heavy to say aloud.
I steal glances from across the room, pretending to tidy, pretending not to stare. She sips her tea, and somehow even that feels deliberate. Measured. Controlled. As if she’s choosing to be calm rather than simply being calm.
How do I know that? I don’t. But I’ve always sensed things in ways I can’t explain. And something about her…it sparks something in me I haven’t felt in a long time. Maybe ever.
After pretending to reorganize the same two mugs for far too long, I finally gather the courage to cross the room again.
“Would you…would you like me to take your cloak?” I ask, regretting how breathless I sound. My cheeks flush hot with embarrassment.
But she just smiles—warm, unbothered. “Sure.”
She looks up at me, her eyes lingering on mine for a moment too long. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I want to imagine it.
She rises with an effortless kind of grace, untying the front of her cloak. As the velvet slips from her shoulders, it reveals a corset in the same deep burgundy hue, hugging her figure. Embroidery glints subtly in the firelight, catching on the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist.
I swallow hard.
My gaze drops, just for a second, to the soft swell of her breasts beneath the fabric, and shame flushes through me as I snap my eyes back to hers. But she’s already handing me the cloak, her fingers brushing mine with a warmth that makes my breath hitch.
“Thank you,” she says softly, and her voice hits me low in my chest, a chord struck just right.
I nod, speechless, and retreat toward the bar with her cloak in my arms like it’s something sacred.
She settles again by the fire, the flames casting gold across her skin, dancing in the hollows of her cheeks, the curve of her mouth. She looks as though she doesn’t quite belong in this world. Like the storm blew her in from somewhere else entirely.
Maybe she’s a dream.
Maybe I am dreaming.
Because the idea of a beautiful woman stumbling into my tavern like this, wrapped in burgundy velvet and smelling faintly of jasmine and amber, doesn’t make a lick of sense.
That scent still lingers in the air, subtle but impossible to ignore, something half-remembered from a dream I’m not ready to wake from.
Maybe, just maybe, I’ll open my eyes upstairs in my bed, the fire out, the storm faded. No mysterious woman. No jasmine. No amber.
At least then I wouldn’t be standing here like a fool, completely disoriented by the simple existence of a stranger.
A woman I don’t know. Not really. But gods, is she fascinating.
I’ve heard whispers—who hasn’t? The witch who lives at the forest’s edge. Mysterious, yes. But not feared, at least not by me.
Last winter, when the frost hit hardest, I fell sick.
Could barely lift my head. A kind regular brought me a potion—said it was hers.
One of the witch’s. I was too miserable to care where it came from, only that it worked.
But now, thinking back…if it was her, maybe I should’ve braved the woods myself.
Maybe it would’ve been worth every frozen mile just to meet the woman behind that magic.
“Excuse me, miss?”
Her voice startles me. I blink, realizing I’ve been standing in the middle of the room, facing away, still clutching her cloak like some wide-eyed idiot.
“Hm?” I turn, heart hammering.
She lifts her eyes to mine. “How much do I owe you? For the tea.”
Her tone is easy, untroubled. Her gaze kind. Thank every god above she can’t read minds.
…Unless she can? Oh my gods, can she read minds?!
I don’t linger on that possibility. Just shake my head. “No charge.”
She arches a brow. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Just a bit of goodwill,” I say, “to warm you from the storm.”
Outside, the wind screams, lashing against the tavern with fresh fury. The shutters rattle. The fire flickers wildly, throwing shadows across the floor that sway and twist as if they have minds of their own.
“I don’t think it’s letting up anytime soon,” I murmur, eyes drifting to the door as it groans beneath the pressure.
She follows my gaze. “No,” she says softly. “It doesn’t seem like it.”
A hush settles between us—not awkward, not forced. Just quiet. Her eyes find mine again, and something passes between us. Something I don’t quite understand.
The words leave me before I can second-guess them.
“You’re welcome to stay the night here, if you’d like.”
She blinks, surprised—but only for a moment. Then her lips curve into the softest smile, something grateful and unreadable flickering in her eyes.
“Are you sure?” she asks, voice low. Almost cautious.
“I’m sure.”
There’s a pause—just long enough to feel it. She studies me, searching for something I don’t know how to offer outright. Then she nods, slow and deliberate.
“Thank you.”
Fleur glances around the tavern, her gaze lingering on the rough wooden floorboards, the empty chairs, the low beams overhead. Her smile falters just a little.
“Here?” she asks carefully, her voice quiet.
It takes me a second to realize what she means. Then it clicks.
“Oh! No—not down here.” I chuckle softly, rubbing the back of my neck. “No, you won’t be sleeping in the tavern. I’ve got a room upstairs. I live above the tavern. It’s private.”
Her shoulders relax ever so slightly. “Ah. Good.” A tiny huff of amusement escapes her. “I was trying to figure out how I’d sleep upright in that chair.”
I grin at that, the tension between us easing for a moment. “Let me grab some blankets for you. I’ll show you the room.”
She stands, gathering her basket and stepping closer as I head toward the narrow staircase tucked behind the bar. The wood creaks underfoot as I lead the way, the dim glow of the hearth stretching shadows up the walls.
“It’s nothing fancy,” I warn over my shoulder, my voice low in the quiet stairwell. “But it’s clean and warm.”
Fleur follows without hesitation, her footsteps light behind mine. “Warm sounds perfect.”
At the top of the stairs, I push open a wooden door and usher her inside. The room is small but cozy—a simple bed tucked beneath the eaves, a washbasin, a chest pushed against the wall. A tiny iron stove flickers faintly in the corner, throwing soft heat into the space.
“I usually keep it empty for travelers or, well…situations like this.” I move to the trunk at the foot of the bed, pulling out folded blankets. “You’ve got fresh linens, and the stove’s already lit. It should stay warm through the night, but let me know if it doesn’t.”
She steps inside, her gaze roaming the room with quiet appreciation. “It’s lovely,” she murmurs. “More than I expected.”
Her words send a flush creeping up my neck. “It’s not much,” I mumble, setting the blankets neatly on the bed.
She turns toward me, her amber eyes soft. “It’s enough.”
We simply stand there for a beat, the silence between us comfortable and strange all at once. I clear my throat, stepping back toward the door. “It’s yours for as long as you need. If you want to freshen up, there’s a basin there. Towels in the chest.”
She hesitates, then says softly, “Thank you again…” Pausing, her brow furrows slightly. “I don’t even know your name.”
I smile, warmth curling in my chest. “Winnie.”
Her lips curve as she repeats it, soft and lilting. “Winnie.”
Hearing my name in her voice makes something leap inside me.
I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “I’ll give you a moment to get settled, but—” I glance back toward the stairs. “I’ve got stew on the hearth downstairs. If you’re hungry, you’re welcome to join me.”
Her amber eyes lift to meet mine, surprise flickering there. “I’d like that,” she says, her voice gentle.
I nod, stepping back toward the stairs. “Take your time.”