Chapter 3
HAZEL
“That wraps it up, my dear. You’re a quick study.” Mrs. Holmes flips the Closed sign with a decisive snap, dusting her flour-caked hands on her apron. The scent of peppermint and sugar clings to her like a second perfume. “Now, remind me—how was it you said you found this job?”
“I received an email saying you were hiring,” I reply, sliding my notepad into my apron pocket, where I’ve been scribbling furiously all afternoon.
Her brow quirks as she studies me with keen eyes. “How peculiar.”
The shop feels strangely still now that the last customer has gone. Shelves gleam, the glass counters sparkle under the golden light, and for the first time all day the quiet hum of magic beneath the surface is noticeable.
“Why peculiar?” I ask, trailing her behind the counter as she begins counting down the till. I snatch up a rag and start wiping fingerprints from the glass, more to keep my hands busy than anything else.
“It’s peculiar, my dear, because I never sent out any emails.
” Her laugh is warm but incredulous. “I posted a flyer at the rec center, the post office, and the town bulletin board. I wouldn’t even know how to put something online.
It takes me ten minutes just to text my grandchildren.
And don’t get me started on electronics—they spark, crash, or sputter the moment I touch them.
Always have. I don’t know how you young witches manage without everything going haywire. ”
I freeze mid-swipe, the rag halfway across the counter. My pulse skips.
“How did you—” The question catches in my throat. How many witches could possibly be hiding in a town this small?
She closes the register with a clang that lands like punctuation.
“How did I know?” Her eyes twinkle, sharper than her years.
“Your aura shines like a lantern, my dear. Hard to miss. And don’t think I didn’t notice that little creature wriggling in your pocket. Nosey thing—more nosey than Henrietta.”
As if summoned, Henrietta meows from the stair landing, her plump black tail twitching with impatience. My hand flies to my pocket where Pretzel is curled, finally asleep, his tiny breath puffing warm against my fingers.
“He’s always been like this,” I admit with a sheepish smile. “My house’s heater isn’t working, and I couldn’t bear to leave him shivering alone. I called a repair tech, but they can’t come until tomorrow evening.”
“Well, as long as he minds his manners, he’s welcome.” Mrs. Holmes softens. “Henrietta knows better than to wander past the stairs, but that cat’s never let me out of her sight in all her years. Loyal creatures, familiars are.”
A lump swells in my throat as I catch her hands in mine. “Thank you.”
But she doesn’t let go—she pulls me into a surprisingly strong hug, her arms wrapping me in warmth, peppermint, and the unmistakable hum of old magic.
For one dizzying moment, I feel as though I’ve been claimed—not just as an employee, but as family.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and my breath catches at the thought.
Nothing could replace my parents, but maybe—just maybe—I’ve found the right place to heal.
When she releases me, her eyes crinkle. “Now, off with you. Go explore the town before the sun sets. And get that heater fixed. You won’t survive the week, let alone the winter. Last night’s storm was a gentle one.”
I beam, hanging up my apron and slinging my purse over my shoulder. “Is there somewhere nearby where I can buy a Christmas tree?”
“Plenty of places. There’s the lot on 12th Street, the new department store has some this year—but my favorite is Harry’s General Store. He always gets the best ones. Though you’d better hurry because they sell out fast.”
“Perfect. A tree’s all I want this year.” My grin falters just a touch as the thought slips in, unbidden. Well… all I want that I can actually have. No wish or spell could bring back what I really want—one more day with them, one more year. One more Christmas.
Mrs. Holmes squeezes my shoulder gently, as though she’s read my thoughts.
“Everyone deserves their Christmas wish. And while you’re at it, get snow tires or chains for that old car of yours.
” She nods toward the yellow clunker waiting outside, frosted over like a sugar cookie after this afternoon’s flurry.
We’d rarely gotten snow down south where I grew up.
Just a few days here already feels like a winter wonderland.
“It’s on my list,” I say quickly, my grin returning. “But first—the tree.”
The bell jingles cheerfully as I push out into the cold. My breath clouds in the air, cheeks stinging, but excitement buzzes through me. I slide into my car, crank the ignition, and sigh with relief as warm air blasts from the vents.
My first day couldn’t have gone better—my boss is a dream, Pretzel didn’t destroy the shop, and somehow I’ve landed exactly where I’m meant to be. Peppermint magic still clings to my clothes, and the thought of a tree, glowing and alive in my little house, makes my heart swell.
For the first time in years, I let myself hope.
And tonight, I’m going to find my perfect Christmas tree.
“Thank you, I really appreciate your help,” I say, forcing a smile as I wave goodbye and trudge back toward my car. Four stops. Four lots. All sold out of trees. Each disappointment feels like another weight added to the hollowness already pressing at my chest.
But I refuse to give up. Not tonight. Not just days before Christmas.
I crank the radio, letting cheerful carols fill the silence as I follow my GPS through winding streets.
Finally, I spot the quaint little general store Mrs. Holmes told me about, tucked at the edge of Main Street.
A chain-link fence surrounds a lot scattered with pine needles, and an old man is just pulling the gate closed.
My heart leaps. This has to be it.
Grabbing my travel mug of cocoa, I swing out of the car and hurry toward him. My boots skid on a slick patch of ice, and I stumble, sloshing cocoa over my fingers. The hot splash makes me hiss, but I steady myself before disaster strikes my sweater.
The last thing I need is to be cold and soaked in cocoa while running around town.
“Careful there,” the man calls, his voice warm and steady as he rests a hand on his cane. “The streets are treacherous this time of year. What can I do for you, my dear?”
“Please—” My breath puffs white in the chilly air. “Please tell me you have just one Christmas tree left.” I point hopefully toward the empty lot behind him.
But when his lips press together, my stomach sinks like a stone.
“I’m afraid we sold the last of the delivery this morning. I was just closing up for the night.”
My throat tightens. “Will… will you be getting more?”
He shakes his head. “Not this season, I’m afraid. Now, what was your name again?”
“Oh—sorry! Hazel.” I rush to fill the silence, clinging to hope.
“I just moved here. I’m apprenticing for Mrs. Holmes, and she said to try your shop.
I was hoping to start my first Christmas in a new town with a tree.
Do you maybe have… broken branches I could gather?
Anything would mean so much to me. My Christmas wish. ”
I try to laugh it off, but the ache in my chest feels too raw. A pile of branches won’t fix it, but at least it would be something.
His eyes soften, and for a moment he looks at me as though he can see straight through the brave smile to the lonely girl beneath it. Then, suddenly, his expression brightens, his whole face lighting up.
“Well now,” he says, eyes twinkling, “I may not have a tree here, but I know a place. A bit of a drive, up the mountain where the best evergreens grow tall and wild. You won’t find it on that little gadget of yours—there’s hardly any signal up there. But if you’re willing to take a chance…”
“I am. Absolutely.” My voice trembles with excitement. “Oh, thank you, thank you!”
He chuckles and waves me inside the general store, where the scent of pine and cinnamon clings to the air. It seems like everyone in this town goes all out for the holiday season. From behind the counter, he pulls a notepad and scribbles down a set of directions in looping script.
“Stick to the main highway until you reach exit 237, then follow these roads here. Don’t dawdle, though. It’s getting late, and the mountain has a way of keeping her own secrets.”
I clutch the note to my chest as if it’s a golden ticket. “I won’t. Thank you so much.”
“Safe travels, Hazel. Everyone deserves their Christmas wish.”
When I push through the shop door back into the evening, the air feels fresh instead of cold and cutting. My heart is lighter than it’s been in years, buoyed by hope and the thrill of the unknown.
I slide behind the wheel, humming along to carols, directions clutched in my hand.
This has to be it.