Chapter 13
A Curious Lack of Squirrels
Wednesdays are quickly becoming my favorite days. I love running the tea shop, but it’s so pleasant to have an unhurried day at home. If Rowan were here, it would be perfect.
He drove to the college this morning, and I’ve spent the day reading. I can feel his absence. The longer he’s gone, the more uncomfortable I become. I shift on the couch, restless, unable to get comfortable. My magic is uneasy.
For now, it’s like a mild headache. I can ignore it. But I’m afraid that if he’s gone too long, I’m going to be miserable.
At least I’m not here alone. The cottage has been in a state of comforting activity most of the day.
Nadine was here this morning, working on several new hedgehogs. A few hours ago, she requested a ride to the parking garage and borrowed my car so she could do some shopping outside Moss Hollow. Mom and Dad have been in and out, working on projects. They just got back from the garden center.
Once Mom became comfortable calling the livery stable to request pickups, she and Dad started venturing all over Moss Hollow.
Hudson’s service is a lot like a rideshare, but instead of using an app, you just call their office.
(And instead of a car, you get a carriage.) Mom appreciates the simplicity.
“Kit,” Dad calls from the dining room. “Come look.”
I set my e-reader on the sofa table next to the couch and hurry into the kitchen. “What is it?”
Excited, he gestures for me to follow him through the French doors. “We’re making progress.”
I follow him onto the back patio. He’s cleaned it, cut back all the overgrown plants, and added a hanging swing and a birdbath. The kitchen garden Rowan built for Laverna when he was a teen is cleared and ready for planting.
“This looks amazing,” I exclaim. “I knew you were working on a gnome habitat. I didn’t realize you were going to fix up the patio.”
“I thought I might as well, while I was at it.” He smiles at his handiwork. “I found the swing in Laverna’s shed and gave it a new coat of paint. Your mom picked out the fabric for the cushions.”
“Where did you get them?” I ask, admiring the summer red fabric. “They’re pretty.”
“The pixie at the quilting store made them for us. We gave her the dimensions yesterday, and she called today to let us know they were ready.”
“That’s Tessalie,” I say.
“Very pleasant young pixie. I couldn’t figure out her season, though.”
“She’s a spring. She works hard to suppress her magic.”
“Ah, that explains it.” Dad leaves the patio. “Come on. This isn’t what I wanted to show you.”
We pass the small patch of lawn and venture deeper into the backyard, heading for the back-right corner. Dad has created a meandering path through the existing cottage garden, lining it with patio stones and giving it much-needed structure.
“I can’t believe how much you’ve accomplished in just a few days.” I nod to the ceramic pots he’s tucked between bushes and in flower beds. “I love the marigolds. They’re so cheerful.”
“Common gnomes are attracted to garden flowers and vegetables. You can’t have enough if you want to invite them to your home.”
“I should have you redo the whole yard,” I say, only partially joking.
“You used to enjoy gardening.” He looks back, his brow furrowed. “I thought you’d love having this huge space to putter in.”
“I’ve been so busy with the tea shop.”
His expression becomes solemn. “It’s a lot for one person.”
“Rowan does half the work.”
“It’s a lot for even two people.”
“Laverna did just fine.”
“She did,” Dad agrees. “And I’m sure you will too, as soon as you get into the routine. I would like to see you take off more than one day a week, though.”
I smile at the bright blue birdhouse Dad placed on a pole in the yard. “Nadine is thinking of staying and helping me run the place.”
“She’s going to stay here in Moss Hollow?” he asks, surprised. “For good?”
“Maybe. Hopefully. She hasn’t decided for sure yet, but she’s seriously thinking about it.” Trying not to be too obvious, I say, “What do you and Mom think of the town?”
Nice and subtle, Kit.
“I like it—I always have. Moss Hollow feels like home.”
“What about Mom?”
“She’s a bit out of sorts, but she’s enjoyed organizing the cottage.”
“I enjoy having her here to organize the cottage. I haven’t had a chance to go through things, and you know how bad I am at that anyway.”
“We summers are a bit chaotic in our personal space. It’s nice to have an autumn to tidy things up.”
“It is.” I draw in a bolstering breath, and then I say casually, “I wouldn’t mind if you stayed.”
“We talked about it today while we were in town. Your life is here now, and we like being close to you. There’s a lot to think about, though. We’d have to sell the house back home and find something here.”
“You could move in with me.”
“It’s fine for a visit, but if we stay too long, I suspect we’ll end up driving you crazy.”
I very much doubt that. We coexisted peacefully for twenty-six years of my life, and I hate living alone. But…I do miss having a place to share quiet evenings with Rowan.
Though privacy is probably the last thing we need with the bond pulling us together. My parents’ visit is likely a blessing.
Dad and I are almost to the edge of the property when we reach a white picket fence that wasn’t here when I moved in.
It encloses two hundred square feet of space.
It contains a new raised garden bed with several baby tomato and pepper plants, flowers, bushes, and a few trees.
Many are newly planted, but Dad also incorporated plants that previously grew in this back corner into the new gnome sanctuary.
Everything is pruned and happy. I breathe in the green smell of summer, deciding I need to spend more time outside.
Dad opens the gate, ushering me in, and then closes it behind us.
“I built the fence to keep Chester out,” he explains, and then he points to a large maple tree that’s surrounded by bushes and purple coneflowers, eagerly awaiting my reaction.
A little gnome home peeks out from the fat lilac leaves at the very base of the tree. Constructed from garden stones, with a bark roof, it’s just about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“We got one?” I gasp quietly, so excited my heart starts racing. “Already?”
Dad grins, setting his hands on his hips, pleased with himself—as he should be. “I saw it when I came out this afternoon. They must have constructed it while I was at the garden center with your mother.”
“If one moved, then the others will follow, right?”
“That’s the way it usually works.”
“You’ve created a little haven for them,” I say, my heart overflowing. “I love it.”
Dad beams. “I do, too. It’s an honor, you know, to have gnomes on your property. They’re good luck.”
It didn’t feel like an honor or good luck when they moved into the tea shop garden and threatened my livelihood. But they are very welcome here.
Relieved that something is finally going as planned, I step out of the gate. “I’ll take good care of them.”
“We’ll need to start pumpkin seeds as soon as possible,” Dad says. “They’ll like those in the fall. They’ll tend their little garden, and maybe yours, too, if you decide to plant one this year. Though you can’t expect them to do all the work—and they’ll take their share of the produce.”
“As is fair.”
“Keep an eye on the squirrels,” Dad warns. “You know how they get along with gnomes.”
“They don’t.”
“Exactly. A few here and there won’t cause drama, but if you notice an unusually high number, we’ll need to look into getting you a hawk.”
“Or an owl?” I laugh to myself, imagining the unamused look Rowan would give me if I told him I was going to use him for pest control.
Dad frowns, thoughtful. “I wonder if his presence is why you don’t have many squirrels here on the property? They can sense predators, you know.”
“He hasn’t been an owl for a few weeks now,” I point out.
“That should be enough time for them to return. Perhaps it’s unrelated? Though you do have a curious lack of squirrels.”
I look around, realizing he’s right. I see plenty around Moss Hollow, but I don’t think I’ve seen a single squirrel on the property.
How bizarre.
My phone rings. For half a second, I get excited, hoping it’s Rowan.
But it’s not. It’s another unknown Vermont number.
Russell is getting desperate. He’s already left three messages today.
I realized after I deleted the last that I probably should have saved them as evidence for the restraining order.
He doesn’t leave a message this time, though. It’s just as well. I don’t want to hear his voice again.
The rhythmic clop of a horse and cart catches my attention, especially when it sounds like it’s slowing. Chester notices as well and goes tearing for the front, yapping his fool head off.
“Nadine must be back,” I say to Dad.
I follow Chester’s path, but at a far more sedate pace, and end up in the front just in time to see my friend laugh at something the driver says as he helps her from the buggy.
I’ve seen him before—he’s the pixie Nadine asked about. He has golden-blond hair and a wiry build. He’s taller than Nadine by a good five inches, which puts him at maybe 5’8”. His face is pleasant, if not classically handsome, and he has a nice, warm smile.
Together, they round the back of the buggy. He pulls a large box from the luggage shelf in the back.
“I’ll carry it for you,” he says, making his way to the gate.
Nadine follows behind him. When she spots me, she widens her eyes and bites her lip, nodding toward the man in front of her.
“Watch out, Chester,” I say as they approach the gate, scooping him up so he won’t dart out.
My eyes move to the box, and I give Nadine a quizzical look. It’s an ice cream maker—the old-fashioned type that uses rock salt and ice to freeze the cream. Not too old-fashioned, though. It appears to be electric instead of a hand crank.
“Kit, do you know Jax?” Nadine asks.
“No.” I suspect Nadine is right, and he’s an autumn pixie, though it’s hard to tell with her magic in the mix. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He shifts the box to one arm and extends his hand. “I’ve been meaning to stop by the tea shop and introduce myself, but work is insane this time of year.”
“The tourists are keeping you busy,” I say. “I see you guys all over the place.”
“No one has benefitted from the council banning vehicles like the livery stable,” he says. When he laughs, I notice another hint of autumn magic. “Would you like me to take this inside?”
It looks light enough for either of us to carry, but Nadine’s pleading expression suggests she’s hoping to draw this out for as long as possible.
“That would be great.”
We lead him into the cottage, walking through the living room and into the kitchen. Jax sets the ice cream maker on the table.
Dad turns from the sink, drying his hands with a hand towel. “What is that?”
“An ice cream maker,” Nadine says proudly.
“I suspect Nadine wants to experiment with matcha ice cream for the ice cream social,” I tell him.
“Guilty,” she laughs.
Dad looks baffled. “I’m behind on the food trends, apparently. Is matcha an ice cream flavor now?”
“Yes, and it’s great,” Nadine assures him.
“All right… Well, you kids have fun.” Possibly afraid Nadine will appoint him as a taster if he sticks around, he returns to the backyard to continue his project.
Jax chats until he gets a text. Looking at his phone, he says, “I have to run. It was great to meet you all.”
“Why don’t you come by the tea shop tomorrow?” Nadine says as she walks him to the door.
“Will you be there?”
“I will.”
He smiles. “Then I’ll be sure to drop by.”
And yep, she sparkles.
I dart back into the kitchen, unable to handle the second-hand embarrassment. Goodness, our magic is awkward.
The door closes a few minutes later, and Nadine returns to the kitchen. Cheeks flushed, she winces. “I sparkled, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
She groans, claiming a barstool and letting her forehead fall to the counter. “Do you think he noticed?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Guys are so lucky that they don’t get all glowy.”
Technically, male pixies do sparkle, but only rarely. Maybe they’re better at suppressing it, maybe it’s the way our magic works. I don’t know, but it’s always seemed a little unfair.
“Okay,” Nadine says, visibly putting her embarrassment behind her. “Ice cream. Let’s do this.”
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“I asked your mom for her ice cream recipe this morning. We’ll just try adding a little matcha and see how it goes.”
I know very little about matcha, but I do know some is better than others. We have a few different types in the cabinet, but Rowan will probably have a conniption if we use a ceremonial-grade tea while experimenting with ice cream recipes.
But…Rowan’s not here.
“All right,” I say. “Let’s give it a try.”