Chapter 12
The town was buzzing with the frenetic, sugary energy of preparation for the annual Pumpkin Hollow Fall Festival.
Despite the happy chaos outside at the park—the sound of hammering booths and excited chatter—Marigold felt a hollow, aching dread in her own chest. She was supposed to be focusing on the festival task of assembling a gift basket for the Pumpkin Carving Competition.
But every time she tried to focus, her thoughts drifted back to Lucian, and then, immediately, to Ellie.
A tiny, cruel pinprick of betrayal had lodged itself in her heart ever since she ran into Gertrude at the diner.
And the feeling hadn’t faded, despite Ellie’s sincere-sounding denial.
It was a terrible, disloyal feeling that she tried to squash down, but it still clawed a new hole in her already wounded heart when she saw how Ellie acted yesterday.
The casual, familiar way Ellie had touched Lucian’s arm, the easy banter that seemed to flow between them, made the memory feel like a vivid, fresh wound.
She knew Ellie was her best friend, yet a poisonous part of her wondered if Ellie had wanted him now.
"You need to make sure the winner gets the best of the best, Goldie,” Ellie chirped, scattering decorative moss onto the basket while Goldie tried to organize the actual prizes.
Ellie had offered to ‘help organize’ the basket with her, but her contribution amounted to unnecessary flair, leaving Goldie to handle the real logistics.
“And don’t worry about Lucian. He was incredibly cold to me at the shop yesterday, too.
Barely said two words. He’s just a grumpy block of ice, truly. "
Goldie listened and nodded, but something had changed, hearing every word with newfound ears. A week ago she would have laughed off Ellie’s comments about Lucian. Now, every mention of him felt deliberate; each casual observation caught against her thoughts like a burr.
“He is nothing but emotional baggage,” Ellie sighed, turning the basket. “Emotional baggage you should drop at the nearest thrift store.”
She watched Ellie fuss over the basket, adjusting a jar of preserves by less than an inch before straightening the raffia around it. The meticulous movements should have been helpful. Instead, they made Goldie strangely uneasy.
A silence settled between them, heavier than it had any right to be. Goldie searched Ellie’s profile for the warmth she’d known for years but found only a carefully composed smile that suddenly felt unfamiliar.
"Seriously, Goldie,” Ellie continued, breaking the silence.
“You’re too gorgeous to be pining after a man who literally accused you of dark magic.
Get out there. Go out on the town and find yourself a date.
A nice, uncomplicated witch who doesn’t come with the scent of leather and ten years of drama. "
Goldie gave a noncommittal nod. She wanted to believe Ellie meant well.
She wasn’t as certain as she used to be.
But the idea of dating, of opening herself up to another male, felt exhausting.
Her heart was still too fragile, still too preoccupied with the impossible, poisoned pull of Lucian.
She knew she wouldn’t take Ellie’s advice.
She didn’t want to just bounce from one male to another; she just wanted the truth, and maybe, the closure that Lucian refused to give her for all these years.
She looked up from the basket and saw Nibbles perched on a high shelf, his enormous amber eyes fixed on her.
He wasn’t causing chaos; he was simply staring, his usual playful spark replaced by a deep, knowing energy.
The Grifflet could feel the turbulent shift in her emotions, the conflict that was starting to tear apart the carefully constructed peace of her world.
He was the only one in the room who didn’t lie.
Just then, Marigold felt the familiar, insistent vibration of her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. She pulled it out and saw it was her aunt Lettie. “Excuse me,” she murmured to Ellie, walking toward the kitchen, “family drama."
Goldie knew her aunt had a knack for sensing trouble, and she felt the familiar storm of her own pent-up emotions welling up, a torrent of doubt and hurt that she absolutely didn’t want Ellie to overhear, just in case her suspicions were wrong.
She walked through the kitchen and slipped out the back door, closing it quietly behind her.
She inhaled the crisp, earthy autumn air, letting the coolness soothe her skin before she answered. “Hey, Auntie."
"Hello, my lovey,” Lettie’s voice was soft, carrying a gentle hum of magic even through the phone line. “I was just out for a stroll and the nagging feeling hit me. I just knew you needed to talk to me.”
And just like that, the dam broke. Goldie didn’t hold back, dumping everything onto her aunt: the gut-punch of seeing Lucian, the raw feeling of betrayal, the accusation, the spark that refused to die, and the poisonous new doubt about Ellie.
Lettie listened quietly, only offering soft, encouraging noises when Goldie paused for breath.
When Goldie finally ran out of words, leaving a silence thick with her shame and hurt, Lettie’s voice was a warm whisper.
“Oh, Goldie. Listen to me. Some hearts can’t see past their hurt, my lovey.
Others hide behind it. Don’t let either one harden yours.
Make sure you steel your own heart for whatever is to come, my lovey. ”
Marigold laughed, a wet, hiccuping sound that felt lighter than air just from having vented the poison. “Thanks, Auntie, just for listening. I think I needed someone to hear me more than I realized.”
“Trust your instincts, my lovey. When everyone starts telling different stories, stop listening with your ears and listen with your magic.”
Goldie laughed, feeling a sense of relief just releasing the words that circled her thoughts. “But now I want to talk about you. Tell me something good, I want to hear whatever recent adventure you’re on.”
Lettie chuckled, the sound of crinkling paper audible on the line.
“Well, I was just near a beach in a little village I can’t quite name, but I met an amazing garden witch.
” Lettie’s voice grew bright with excitement.
“She brought me back to her hometown in the hills, and I’ve been learning the most marvelous gardening magic.
Did you know a single mandrake root can improve the aeration of your soil by twenty percent? ”
Goldie rolled her eyes with a smile. “Mandrake roots for soil aeration. Right. And was there anything besides gardening tips, Auntie? Like, maybe sparks flying between the two of you?”
Lettie laughed, a rich, genuine sound. “Maybe,” she confessed playfully, “but a lady never tells her dalliances.”
Goldie snorted. “You literally sent me a postcard once that said, ‘Currently kissing a pirate in moonlit hot springs’.”
“That was different,” Lettie replied immediately. “She made excellent soup.”
Goldie laughed harder, shaking her head. “You are impossible.”
“And yet deeply charming,” Lettie corrected. “Also, for the record, the garden witch has forearms that could absolutely ruin a woman’s common sense.”
“Auntie!”
“What?” Lettie said innocently. “I’m old, not dead.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I love you, my lovey.”
Goldie’s smile softened. “Love you too, Auntie.”
“Now go get some rest, my lovey, I know it’s been a long day. Tomorrow has a funny way of untangling today’s knots.”
“Is that witchy wisdom I’m supposed to follow?”
“No,” Lettie laughed. “That’s just being old.”