Thankful For You (Charcoal City Holidays #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

I yonna

The sweet, buttery aroma of freshly baked pies and spiced breads filled the bakery, wrapping around me like a cozy blanket as I sprinkled powdered sugar over a batch of pumpkin muffins. The scent should’ve been comforting, a reminder of why I loved this time of year, but instead, a thin line of stress tightened across my forehead.

“Order for a dozen pumpkin muffins!” my sister, Delilah, called from the front counter. The bell over the door jingled again, followed by the cheerful chatter of more customers entering.

I glanced at the tray of muffins. Almost done. Just needed one last sprinkle of—

*Poof!*

The powdered sugar burst out of my hand like a mini firecracker, exploding across the kitchen. White dust coated the entire countertop, the mixer, and my favorite set of enchanted measuring spoons. Worst of all, it stuck to the muffins in a thick, clumpy mess.

I groaned as I grabbed a towel to wipe my face. “Great. Just what I need today.”

This was the third magical mishap in the last hour. My kitchen magic—the spells I infused into every treat—had been acting up for days, and now, in the middle of the Thanksgiving rush, it was getting worse.

“Iyonna!” Delilah’s voice carried through the swinging door. “How’s that muffin order coming?”

“Almost done!” I called back, though it was more of a lie than I’d care to admit. With a quick flick of my fingers, I tried to salvage the muffins, hoping to use a charm to disperse the sugar evenly. Instead, the magic backfired, sending the muffins flying into the air. They flipped, twirled, and tumbled before landing on the counter upside down. I caught the last one in my hands, feeling the warmth seep through my palms.

“Well, at least I can still catch,” I muttered to myself as I gently setting the muffin down.

This wasn’t just regular kitchen chaos. Something was wrong with my magic. I could feel it buzzing inside me like a tangled ball of energy, sparking at random. Normally, when I baked, I infused every dish with a bit of emotion—joy for pies, comfort for breads, love for cookies—but lately, the emotions weren’t coming out right. Joy was bursting into excitement, comfort was tipping into lethargy, and love? Well, love spells were the worst of all. Last week, a couple came in for a dozen heart-shaped sugar cookies, and I’d somehow infused them with infatuation. They nearly proposed in the middle of the bakery.

“Iyonna! Customers are waiting!” Delilah poked her head into the kitchen, her dark curls bouncing around her face. She had flour on her cheek and her apron was just as messy as mine, but at least she wasn’t the one whose magic was malfunctioning.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” I said, quickly fixing the toppled muffins. I placed them in a box, gave a half-hearted attempt at another charm to make them extra soft, and hurried to the front.

The bakery was packed, just like it always was the week before Thanksgiving. Families and friends milled about, browsing our pumpkin pies, cranberry scones, and honey-cinnamon rolls. The warmth of the ovens mixed with the hum of chatter, creating that familiar pre-holiday buzz.

But even in the middle of all the bustle, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was… off.

“Iyonna, can you help this gentleman?” Delilah waved me over to a man at the counter. “He’s asking about your famous caramel apple pie.”

I wiped my hands on my apron and forced a smile. “Of course! How many would you like?”

The man, who was tall with a salt-and-pepper beard, smiled back. “Two pies, if you’ve got them. My wife won’t let me come home without them.”

I chuckled. “You’ve got good taste. I’ll go check in the back.”

Turning on my heel, I rushed to the storeroom, where the pies were cooling on wire racks. I whispered a small spell under my breath to check the infusion—each one should’ve been filled with warmth and happiness, perfect for a Thanksgiving dinner. But when I reached out to feel the energy in the pies, a jolt of irritation shot through me.

“What the…?” I blinked, pulling my hand back.

I tried again, this time more focused. The pies’ magic should’ve been smooth, like a cozy blanket wrapping around you. But this? This was like sticking your hand in a beehive. The warmth had turned to frustration.

No, no, no. Not frustration! That’s not what I meant to infuse!

I glanced back toward the front. If this got out, my family’s bakery—*my* bakery—would be ruined. No one would want pies that made them feel irritable and cranky during Thanksgiving dinner. I had to fix this before anyone noticed.

Taking a deep breath, I muttered a cleansing spell and gently touched the pies again, channeling all my focus into reversing the emotional mix-up. Slowly, the energy shifted, though it still wasn’t quite right. The frustration faded, but what replaced it wasn’t the soothing warmth I wanted. It felt jittery, almost like nervous excitement.

“Good enough,” I whispered. I didn’t have time to fight with my magic right now. Thanksgiving orders were flying in faster than we could bake, and I couldn’t afford to keep falling behind.

I boxed up the pies and rushed back to the counter, hoping the nervous energy wouldn’t be too noticeable.

“Here you go,” I said with another smile, handing the pies to the man. “Two caramel apple pies, fresh from the oven.”

He grinned, handing me a crisp bill. “You just saved my Thanksgiving. My wife will be thrilled.”

I waved him off with a laugh, but as soon as he left, my smile faded. I had no idea what that pie was going to do to his wife.

Delilah sidled up to me, brow furrowed. “Everything okay back there? You seem… off.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly. Too quickly.

Delilah knew me too well. She narrowed her eyes. “Iyonna, don’t lie to me. You’ve been jumpy for days. What’s going on?”

I hesitated, glancing around the crowded bakery. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t want to worry anyone.”

Her frown deepened. “You’re worrying me now. Is it your magic?”

I swallowed. Delilah might not have the same kitchen magic I did, but she knew when something was wrong. “It’s just acting a little weird,” I admitted. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Are you sure? Thanksgiving’s the worst time for your spells to go haywire. We’re getting busier by the hour.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered. “But I’m working on it, okay? I’ve got it under control.”

Delilah didn’t look convinced, but before she could press me further, the bell over the door jingled again, and more customers poured in. She shot me a worried glance, but I waved her off.

“I’ve got this,” I assured her. “We’re fine.”

But as the afternoon wore on and more orders came in, my magic continued to misbehave. By the time the sun set, I’d managed to bake half a dozen pies, several batches of cookies, and more muffins than I could count, but none of them felt right. Each spell came out twisted, the emotions I infused skewed in strange directions.

And it wasn’t just affecting the food. Every time I tried to cast a simple charm, something would go wrong. Earlier, I’d tried to summon a spoon from across the counter, and instead, all the silverware had flown off the shelves in a cacophony of clattering. My nerves were fraying at the edges, and it felt like the magic inside me was building up, ready to burst.

As I wiped down the counter at the end of the day, I caught my reflection in the window. My hair, normally in neat braids, was frizzy and sticking up at odd angles. There were dark circles under my eyes, and a smudge of flour streaked across my cheek. I looked like I’d been through a war zone.

I let out a deep sigh, resting my forehead against the cool glass. “What is wrong with me?”

Behind me, the door jingled again, but this time, it wasn’t a customer. The air in the bakery shifted, and I felt it before I saw him—the low, humming pulse of magic that was both familiar and unsettling. I waited until Delilah took his order. I turned slowly, my heart pounding, I walked back to the lobby.

Standing in the doorway was Griff.

Griff, the shifter who disappeared from Charcoal City years ago without a word. The one who’d always gotten under my skin, even when we were younger. Now, here he was, looking rougher around the edges, like he’d been through more than a few battles of his own.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t say a word. Just stood there, watching me with those dark, piercing eyes.

And in that moment, I knew—my magic wasn’t the only thing about to spiral out of control.