Rabbits. Obviously.
“This is really awkward,” I tell Rowan, clutching the stack of flyers we just printed off. “I can’t believe I have to pass these out.”
And by we, I mean me, while Rowan so helpfully told me what I was doing wrong. I’m not opposed to technology, but printers are not my friends.
“You’ll be fine,” he says. “Besides, you’re only inviting the local shopkeepers, and believe me, they know next to nothing about tea.”
“I still have two weeks before the festival. Maybe we should focus on turning you back first, and then we’ll open the shop.”
“Ansel has to work during the day anyway,” Rowan points out. “We might as well be productive while he’s busy.”
“What’s that? You’re okay with him helping? Did you two come to an understanding?”
He makes a “meh” noise and then says, “We need his workshop.”
“Yeah, okay.” I open the front door, and Rowan flies out over my head.
It’s a sunny day, and the town is bustling.
Tourists loiter on the walkways, chatting in small groups, eating ice cream and carrying cups with the cafe’s logo stamped on them.
Many have dogs with them. Just from my spot in front of my shop, I see two corgis, a chocolate lab, an Australian shepherd, and a cinnamon-colored husky.
We could film a children’s movie right here.
“Your magic is getting away from you,” Rowan warns from a nearby tree.
But there’s no caging it. I’m happy. I like Moss Hollow and the tourists who visit it. It’s nice being surrounded by people who are on holiday. They have a different vibe.
And besides, no one is going to notice if I spread a little joy when they’re already having a nice afternoon.
Rowan follows me as I walk down the sidewalk, flying from tree to tree. “Where are you going?”
“I want to start at the bakery.”
I expect him to point out all the shops I’m skipping, but he miraculously keeps his criticisms to himself.
“I’ll wait here,” he says when I reach my destination.
“It looks busy,” I respond reluctantly, staring at the line at the counter.
“Just give Ryder a flyer and get out.”
Rolling my eyes, I open the door.
And…oh gosh. It smells amazing in here.
“Hello, Kit,” Ryder calls from the counter, giving me a wave before he returns his attention to the woman in front of him.
I join the line, uncomfortable—like maybe I shouldn’t be here when it’s so busy.
But I’ll buy something. Shopkeepers can be patrons, too.
Feeling better, I clutch my flyers to my chest and take in the cute shop. The tables are white, and the wooden chairs have sage green cushions. Potted plants line the bay window. They’re happy—and they make me happy.
Three glass cases make up the front counter. One is filled with bread—baguettes, big hearty loaves, buns, and various kinds of rolls. The middle case holds cakes, pies, and an assortment of doughnuts and danishes. Cookies occupy the final case, many of them too pretty to eat.
When I finally reach the front of the line, Ryder gives me a smoldering smile and leans his arm on the counter. “Hey, Kit.”
If I didn’t know better, I might think he was trying to get me to sparkle. But wait…I don’t know better. That’s probably exactly what he’s trying to do, the wicked elf.
“I’d like a piece of whatever smells so amazing,” I tell him.
“Arista just pulled several lemon loaves out of the oven,” he says. “But they won’t be ready to slice for another thirty minutes. How about I give you a piece of coffee cake now, and I’ll bring you a slice of lemon loaf when the shop closes?”
I can feel the curious stares boring into the back of my head.
“That would be great,” I answer. “I need to talk to you about something anyway.”
The elf lifts his eyebrows. “Color me intrigued. It’s a date.”
“It’s not a date.”
“Right,” he says, lowering his voice and giving me an exaggerated wink. “Not a date.”
I laugh, shaking my head as he turns toward the case to pull out my coffee cake.
His emerald eyes sparkle at me as he hands me my order. “It’s on the house.”
“You can’t just give it to me for free.”
He nods toward the flyer that I casually slid onto the counter for him. “Looks like you’re offering free stuff, too.”
“That’s just because I need practice before I open to the public.”
The weight of the stares is getting heavier. I need to get out of here.
I accept the coffee cake. “I appreciate it. I’ll see you in a few hours? The bakery closes at two, right?”
He nods. “Looking forward to it.”
I press my lips into a flat line to control my grin before I turn around, so thankful I’m not glittering for the man, even if the humans wouldn’t be able to see it.
Hidden in the leaves, Rowan looks at me from a branch of an oak, tufts lowered against his head. “Why do you need to talk to Ryder?”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and pretend someone just called. There are too many people around to carry on a conversation with a tree.
“How did you hear that?” I ask.
“Owls have exceptional hearing.”
“You can hear through closed doors? With all the foot traffic on the street?”
“At this range? Yes.”
That’s good to know.
“I’m going to ask him to help us,” I say, finally answering his question.
“Kit.” Like he’s trying for patience, Rowan turns his neck from side to side, stretching it as only an owl can.
“All I’ve heard since we started this is that we need an elf.” I lower my voice and look around, hoping no one is close enough to hear me. “And Ryder is an elf.”
Rowan doesn’t respond. I’m not sure he can respond. It’s possible I’ve vexed him so greatly that words are beyond him, the poor owl.
Man, I remind myself.
Or…boy.
All I see when I think of him is the eighteen-year-old version of Rowan. I mean, I know he’s older now. But still.
My impression of him has shifted. I feel like I’ve slipped into the role of older sister.
He’s older than you.
That doesn’t matter.
What does matter is I’m in woman form, and he’s in bird form, and we need an elf. And the only elf in town is Ryder.
And by golly, I’m going to get us an elf.
“We need to hurry so I can get back to the shop before Ryder finishes for the day.” I walk down the sidewalk, telling myself I’m not nervous about meeting a bunch of the shopkeepers.
“You missed several stores on your way to the bakery,” he says, unable to hold it in any longer. “Were you in that much of a hurry to see Ryder?”
“I’ll get them on the way back.” I cross the street, heading toward the library. “Wait here.”
The smell of books greets me as soon as I step inside. It’s quiet, with only a few people browsing the shelves.
I pass the displays, on a mission. I find Mrs. Thimbleberry at her desk, halfway through a paperback, the end of a pen pressed to her lips.
The grandmotherly woman looks up when she senses me nearby, allowing her book to close.
The cover is face-up, revealing a shirtless man in firefighter pants and suspenders.
“Can I help you?” she asks pleasantly.
I pull my eyes away from the book, smiling as I offer her one of my flyers. “I’m doing a soft reopening for my aunt’s tea shop. I’d like to invite you to drop in and enjoy a cup of tea on the house.”
“How lovely. And you’re starting this tomorrow?”
My stomach squirms with nerves. “That’s the plan.”
“Well then, I’ll see you in the morning.” She sets the flyer to the side of her desk. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Kit.”
“Like a fox shifter?”
I suppress a sigh. “Yes.”
“But you’re a pixie, dear.”
Honestly.
I shrug, smiling. “Have a good day.”
She’s already returning to her book. “You as well. Thank you for dropping by.”
The next stop is Hat and Heel, a store that appears to sell handmade hats and shoes.
“Welcome,” a young woman says from the front counter. “How may I assist you?”
The shop smells like leather, shoe polish, and magic. Many of the shop’s designs are whimsical, catering to the crowd who would like an old-world souvenir to take home with them. There are top hats, bowler hats, and all styles of Victorian bonnets.
The boots they offer follow the same pattern, some of which look practically medieval.
“Did you make all these?” I ask the woman at the counter, trying not to sound skeptical.
“Oh no.” She pushes her softly curling blonde hair behind her ear. “My mother is our milliner, and my father is our hatter. My grandfather used to make our shoes, but my oldest brother apprenticed him growing up, and he took over two years ago.”
“What’s the difference between a milliner and a hatter?” I ask, perplexed.
“A milliner makes hats for women, and a hatter makes hats for men.”
“I see.” I don’t really. “And you?”
“I just take turns with my siblings watching the counter.”
She’s a shifter. I’d bet Laverna’s money on it. But what kind? Her manner is soft, and her voice is gentle. I don’t think I’ve run into one like her before.
It’s also difficult to determine her age. She might be anywhere from sixteen to twenty-five.
“I’m Kit from Merriweather Tea Shop.”
She accepts the flyer I hand her. “I’m Muriel.”
“I’m doing a soft reopening. I hope you and your family will visit me. Each day you may have a cup of tea, no charge.”
“All of us?” Her nose twitches with humor.
“Yes…?”
“I must warn you—I have nine brothers and sisters.”
“Nine?” I sound aghast, much to my horror. Quickly, I try to hide it. “I mean, you had so many playmates growing up.”
Muriel laughs. “It’s all right—I know it’s a shock. Should I save this for my parents? Tell them the invitation is for them?”
“No, it’s fine. I’d like to meet you all.”
“All right.” Her eyes move to a trio of customers who step through the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
I excuse myself, smiling at the three women as they coo over a tiny steampunk-like top hat constructed upon a headband.
As soon as I leave the shop, I bring my phone to my ear.
Rowan sits in a nearby tree. Sensing I want to ask him something, he says, “Yes?”
“What kind of shifter is she?”
“You couldn’t figure it out?”
“Should I have been able to?”
He chuckles. “They’re rabbits.”
Oh.
Oh.
Right.
“Moving on,” I laugh.