Chapter 3
CHLOE
The Griddle & Grind smelled like cinnamon and fresh bread and the particular warmth that only came from a place where people actually wanted to be. Chloe wrapped her hands around her mug of chamomile and let the steam curl against her face while Twyla Honeytree held court behind the counter.
"—and I'm thinking red and pink, obviously, but not the garish kind.
Soft. Romantic." Twyla's wheat-colored hair was piled in a messy bun today, loose strands framing a face that looked barely thirty despite the centuries of fae blood running through her veins.
Her light brown eyes sparkled with the particular intensity of someone who had already planned the next six weeks down to the hour.
"Maybe some of those paper hearts the Brewster kids made last year. They were sweet."
Diana Merrick sat at the counter, nursing her own tea with the expression of a woman who had heard this speech before.
Her honey-blonde curls were damp at the ends from walking over from the inn through the morning mist and her amber eyes held fond exasperation.
"Twyla, Valentine's Day is barely two weeks away. "
"Which is barely enough time." Twyla set down the cloth she'd been using to wipe the espresso machine. "You can't rush romance, Diana. You have to cultivate it."
"It's a café."
"It's a venue for connection."
Chloe snorted into her tea.
Twyla's gaze swung to her immediately. "Don't think I've forgotten about you. I need someone with actual taste to help me with the flowers this year. Maizy's good with arrangements, but she overcomplicates things. Too many ferns."
"I don't know if I'm the right—"
"You're perfect. You've got the eye for it." Twyla leaned her elbows on the counter, studying Chloe with that unnerving fae perception. "Besides, you need something to keep your hands busy. I can tell when you've had a rough morning."
Chloe's smile flickered. "The herbs behind Freya's are struggling. Winter stress, probably."
"Mm." Twyla didn't push, but her eyes said she knew there was more.
The café door opened, letting in a gust of cold air and two women Chloe recognized from the textile shop. They nodded at Twyla, ordered lattes to go, and settled into the corner booth to wait.
Chloe turned back to her tea.
"—heard the comfrey's dying too," one of them said, not quite quietly enough. "And those herbs she planted near the east fence."
"Didn't she say she had some kind of connection to the soil? That forest magic or whatever?"
Chloe's fingers tightened on her mug.
"Druid blood, supposedly. Though she can't seem to explain what that actually means."
"Convenient."
The word landed like a slap. Chloe kept her eyes on the amber liquid in her cup, watching the steam rise and dissipate.
Diana had gone still beside her. Twyla's expression hadn't changed, but something sharp flickered behind her eyes.
"Ladies." Twyla's voice was bright and carrying. "Your lattes will be just a moment. I'm making them extra special today."
The women fell silent. When Twyla turned back to the espresso machine, she caught Chloe's gaze and held it for a beat. I heard. I see you. Don't let them win.
Chloe managed a small nod.
This wasn't new. She'd dealt with whispers her whole life.
In the small town where she'd grown up, in the city where she'd tried to disappear, in every place she'd ever tried to belong.
The pattern was always the same. Even in a supernatural community, she seemed to come off the wrong way.
People sensed something different about her, something they couldn't name, and difference made them nervous especially when she couldn’t explain or name it herself.
Her sister had called it druidic blood. Ancient.
Rare. "The old green," she'd said during one of their brief phone calls, her voice crackling with that familiar cryptic distance.
"You feel the land because you're part of it.
But you have to figure out what that means for yourself.
I can't hand you the answers, Chloe. They won't stick if I do. "
Helpful. So helpful.
The truth was, Chloe didn't fully understand what she was.
She knew her hands could sense things like the health of soil, the stress in a plant, the slow pulse of growth beneath winter frost. She knew it wasn't witchcraft, not really.
Witches worked with nature through spells and intention, bending it carefully toward their will.
What Chloe did was different. Less controlled. More like listening than speaking.
But in places like Hollow Oak, where earth witches were common and respected, her particular flavor of magic read as suspicious. Druids were rare enough to be myth. And myths were dangerous, especially when no one, including Chloe herself, could explain exactly how the magic worked.
When the land thrived, no one noticed her. When the land struggled, she became the obvious explanation.
"Hey." Diana's voice was soft, meant only for her. "You okay?"
"Fine." Chloe unclenched her fingers from the mug. "Just tired."
Diana didn't look convinced, but she let it go. That was one of the things Chloe liked about her, she knew when to offer space instead of comfort.
The textile women collected their lattes and left without looking back. The bell over the door chimed, and the café's warmth settled again.
Twyla appeared at their end of the counter, refilling Chloe's tea without asking. "Those two wouldn't know real magic if it bit them on the nose. Don't waste your energy."
"I'm not."
"Liar." But Twyla said it gently. "You know what I think? I think you need a project. Something that reminds you why you came here in the first place."
"I came here because my sister told me to find myself, and I was too tired to argue."
"And have you? Found yourself?"
Chloe hesitated. "I'm working on it."
Twyla smiled, slow and knowing. "Good. Then you can work on my Valentine's decorations while you're at it. I need garlands for the windows, something simple for the tables, and maybe a few of those dried flower arrangements you made for the autumn festival. Those were beautiful."
"That was just lavender and wheat stalks."
"Exactly. Simple. Elegant. Not a fern in sight."
Diana laughed. "She's got you there."
Chloe felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease. This was why she stayed. Not because Hollow Oak was perfect—it wasn't—but because people like Twyla and Diana and Freya kept choosing to see her, even when others didn't.
"Fine," she said. "But I'm not doing paper hearts."
"Deal." Twyla's grin was triumphant. "I knew you secretly loved this stuff. You act all practical, but I've seen the way you light up when you're arranging flowers."
Chloe ducked her head, suddenly warm. "You see too much."
"Fae blood, darling. It's a blessing and a curse." Twyla patted her hand. "Now drink your tea before it gets cold. And don't let the whispers get to you. This town has a long memory, but it also has a big heart. They just need time to see what I see."
"And what's that?"
Twyla's eyes softened. "Someone who only spreads warmth and good."
Chloe's throat tightened with the onset of tears of thanks, so she downed her tea to stop her eyes from watering.
When she stood to leave, she paused at the door. "Twyla?"
"Mm?"
"Thanks for the tea."
Twyla waved her off. "Come back tomorrow. We'll start on those garlands."
Chloe stepped out into the gray January afternoon, the cold biting at her cheeks. The whispers still echoed in her head—convenient, forest magic, can't explain—but she pushed them down where they belonged.
She'd dealt with worse. She'd survive this too.
And maybe, if she was lucky, she'd finally figure out what she was supposed to be.