Chapter 24 Danni
DANNI
After my shopping expedition, I wandered through Hidden Hollow, the sharp scent of wood smoke in the air and leaves crunching underfoot. My boots made soft scuffing noises as I ambled along the cobblestone sidewalks, gold and crimson leaves drifting down around me like confetti.
I just couldn’t get enough of my new town.
The sky overhead was a deep, impossible blue and the breeze was brisk enough to sting my cheeks, but not so cold it chased me indoors.
It felt like the whole place was caught in a perpetual October—everywhere I looked, pumpkins grinned from porches, wreaths of acorns and cinnamon sticks decorated doors, and the faint sound of wind chimes mixed with birdsong and the occasional tinkle of enchanted laughter.
This place feels like a fairy tale, I thought, breathing in the sweet scent of roasting cinnamon nuts from a nearby cart.
I had a few gold coins jingling in my pocket, and my stomach gave a hopeful little rumble.
Well, I’ve still got time before lunch, I told myself. And what would tuna salad be without a buttery croissant to go with it?
So I turned toward The Lost Lamb bakery, following my nose.
The warm, sweet scent of fresh pastries wrapped around me as I opened the door, the soft tinkling of a bell overhead heralding my entrance. Inside, a couple of witches in floating shawls were sipping cider and giggling over pumpkin shaped hand pies. Behind the counter, Celia gave me a cheery wave.
“Hey, good to see you again, Danni! You look like you’re settling in.”
“I’m trying,” I said, smiling back. “It’s a lot different from back home, but I like it.”
“Hidden Hollow will feel like home to you before you know it,” she promised. “Now, what can I get you?”
I ordered a croissant—the big, flaky kind that melted on your tongue and left buttery fingerprints on your napkin. Celia wrapped it carefully in parchment and handed it over with a wink.
“Good choice,” she said. “That batch just came out of the oven. Hey, don’t forget our meeting on All Hallows Eve to restore the town’s magic bubble!”
“I’ll be there,” I promised as I left the warm bakery.
I strolled back down Main Street, enjoying the crisp weather and immaculate Autumn vibes. It was a glorious day but finally, I turned back toward my cozy little cottage.
As I stepped inside, I was wrapped instantly in the familiar, comforting warmth of home. The fire in the hearth crackled invitingly. The little side table by the couch had been set with a plate and silverware and a tall glass of water with lemon. I laughed softly to myself.
Guess the cottage knows it’s lunchtime.
In the kitchen, I set my croissant beside the rest of the ingredients and whipped up a quick tuna salad.
The mayonnaise was perfectly chilled, the tuna flaky and mild, and there was even a little sprinkle of chopped celery waiting in a bowl.
Had the cottage diced celery for me like Grandma used to?
She always got it so fine—tiny little pieces just the way I liked them.
Okay, that was a little spooky, but also amazing.
I ate on the couch in front of the fire, the buttery croissant the perfect compliment to the savory tuna. The flames popped and hissed, and I sighed in contentment, curling my toes in my warm, wooly socks.
When I was done, the plate disappeared—just vanished, like the cottage was doing the dishes for me. I was momentarily surprised…but then I decided to just go with it. After all, who was I to complain about not washing dishes?
When I looked back, I saw that a stack of books had appeared on the coffee table. I reached for them and my breath caught in my throat. Harriet the Spy. The Wolves of Willoughby Chase. Dragondrums.
Books I’d read again and again as a little girl—three of my childhood favorites that I hadn’t thought of in years.
Oh, Grandma, thank you! I thought, running my finger over the cracked spine of The Wolves of Willoughby Chase.
I curled up under one of the thick knitted throws the cottage kept providing and cracked open the familiar pages. The scent of old paper and adventure filled my nose, and I was instantly lost in the tale I hadn’t read since I was ten years old.
Halfway through, a steaming mug of hot cocoa appeared at my elbow, complete with gooey marshmallows bobbing on top and golden-brown toast sticks on a little plate.
Okay, this is ridiculous, I thought as I dipped one into the cocoa. Ridiculously perfect. I’m never going to want to leave!
By the time I finished the book, the fire was burning low and the shadows had stretched across the room, soft and cozy. I stretched my arms over my head and felt every inch of myself relax.
I haven’t felt this safe in… God, years. Not since before Craig got sick. The memory of his wan face and haunted eyes threatened to rise, but I gently pushed it back. Not now. Not when I feel like I’m finally coming back to life.
I padded into the bathroom and was unsurprised to find the clawfoot tub full of creamy bubbles again.
The scent tonight was different—not honeysuckle this time, but something richer and more decadent.
Like warm milk and honey laced with jasmine.
I stripped out of my clothes and sank into the hot water with a grateful moan.
The bubbles were thicker tonight, the water velvety on my skin. I leaned my head back and let the warmth sink into my bones.
I should probably think about going back to my house. There are still things there I might need… I frowned, sinking deeper into the tub.
But what exactly would I need? Clothes? The cottage brought them to me. Toiletries? Already here. Books? My favorites were being summoned like magic. Even the food I love appears before I ask for it—as long as it’s something I loved when I was a kid.
And did I really want to return to that house full of sad memories? Where I’d watched my husband fade day by day until he was a hollow shell of the man he used to be? My throat tightened.
No, I thought fiercely. This place is mine now. This is my fresh start. My clean slate. I’m not going back. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I dozed in the bath, drifting in and out of sleep. The bubbles slid warmly against my bare skin, and I felt weightless…supported…cared for in a way I hadn’t been in years.
And then I heard it.
A deep voice, dark and velvet-rich, coming from the bedroom.
"It's dark outside, little witch… are you coming to bed soon?"
My heart gave a little flutter, not of fear, but anticipation.
Shadow.
The corners of my mouth turned up as warmth bloomed inside me, richer than the bathwater and sweeter than the cocoa. My fingers trailed through the bubbles and I smiled.
Yes, I was most definitely coming.