The Cinnamon Spellbook Bakery (The Magic of Hudsbury #1)

Chapter 1

NEW YEAR

Aiden was already in a bad mood by the time he’d limped his bike into the unfamiliar little town.

He’d desperately needed the peace and clarity that he really only found in the rumble of the engine and roar of the wind.

But what he’d got – less than half an hour into his ride – was a tiny pothole that he hit at the perfectly wrong angle to do some damage.

Just his luck lately.

He’d ridden over far worse without so much as a ding, but this time he felt it as soon as he tried to change gear: the clutch snagged, too stiff in his palm, and the gearbox faltered.

He’d sighed and dropped speed a little, hoping he’d imagined it…

but it was there again, the hesitation in the engine that meant he really needed to stop and pay attention before something worse happened.

It was the first decent ride he’d managed since moving down here, and he was annoyed that it had been ruined by a dimple of a pothole and a technical glitch that was usually a once-in-a-blue-moon adjustment.

Just what he didn’t need as heavy, eerie fog rolled in and blotted out the bright blue January sky.

He’d briefly considered ignoring it – saying screw it and taking the risk instead of being sensible and finding a safe place to pull over and repair the damage the festering micro-chasm had done. It was tempting…

But then he’d remembered. About change. Responsibilities. And how sensible had become his middle name.

So he’d taken the responsible option and turned down a road he didn’t recognise, following signs to a place he’d never heard of, and rode into a little town so twee it could have been lifted right out of one of those cosy TV dramas he’d started watching recently.

Even the buildings somehow managed to emanate an air of friendliness that made the fog seem almost soft and cosy.

He stripped off his gloves and helmet, half-expecting a jolly farmer with a red nose or a gruff but brilliant doctor or detective-type to pop up and greet him in a broad country accent.

He shook his head at his own silliness and unlocked the seat to get to his tools.

Or tried to. The key refused to turn. He dragged his hands through his hair, feeling more and more annoyed.

Now he’d have to find a knife or something to try and pop the lock before he could even start the repairs and he really wasn’t in the mood.

The first cold drops of rain splatting against his face made the decision for him, and he snatched his key from the obnoxious lock and headed towards the nearest shop.

The door tinkled cheerily, and he was enveloped in soft warmth and a delicate hint of something floral – honeysuckle? He closed the door gently, shutting out the miserable weather and wishing he could so easily leave his mood behind too.

‘Get out!’ a woman yelled.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Not you. Her!’ She shooed a slim grey cat out of a large window. ‘And don’t you dare bring brownies back here again or… or… I’ll make your tuna into an omelette and eat it in front of you just to spite you!’ She slammed the window shut and turned to look at him.

‘You scold your cat for stealing cakes?’

‘Cakes?’ The woman looked at him for a few seconds, clearly confused, then smiled brightly. ‘I’m so sorry you had to witness that. Can we start over? Welcome, greetings and felicitations! Are you looking for a glimmer or a sparkle today?’

‘I… umm… I think I’m just browsing?’ She’d knocked him completely off-kilter: absolutely stunning, with long glossy blonde curls and a mismatch of rainbow skirts that would have looked a mess on anyone else but somehow suited her perfectly.

And clearly at least slightly nuts. Because what sane person would bother threatening a cat like it could understand you? Especially over stolen baked goods.

‘Browsers are always welcome here. Feel free to nosey to your curiosity’s content. Let me know when you’ve figured out what it is you need.’

‘Thanks.’ He puzzled over her words slightly, thinking it was a bit presumptuous to assume there was anything he needed in this store, but then shrugged. Probably just sales patter.

He looked around the store again, a bit confused.

It was a lot bigger, and brighter, than he’d expected from the outside…

in fact, it almost seemed bigger than it had any right to be.

From the outside, the slightly crooked, narrow building looked like it would probably sell postcards, alongside dusty candles and dustier bags of potpourri and generic boxes of sweets thanking an even more generic neighbour for ‘looking after my dog/cat/budgie/hamster/spider who climbed up the plughole one day’.

But instead of tourist tat, the shop unfolded into a bright and welcoming space, filled with shelves and trinkets, and a staircase that curled around itself before snaking up the wall.

The floorboards creaked as he moved, but instead of the usual grinding squeak that wood should produce, they sounded almost melodic.

Like they were welcoming him and encouraging him to keep moving – wandering and exploring further.

Every surface shimmered with light, reflecting back to him off jars, packets, crystals, jewellery and bright glass, but he couldn’t see the source of it.

There were stacks of cups and saucers, and mismatched teapots.

Somewhere deeper in the shop a clock ticked lazily, and piles of books that had escaped the shelves were stacked in haphazard mountains that looked only a sneeze away from toppling over.

There was a low, contented hum in the air – not from any machine, but from the space itself – making it feel like one of the most soothing and welcoming places he’d ever been.

It somehow felt comfortable and familiar at the same time as sparking his curiosity and pleading with him to come further in. To look at more.

He picked up a dark purple candle that had been poured into an old porcelain cup, then jumped guiltily when the others around it rattled in complaint, even though he was sure he hadn’t touched them.

Almost immediately, he felt eyes on him and spun around.

The shopkeeper’s gaze locked with his and for a few uncomfortable moments Aiden felt like she was staring past his eyes and looking deep into his mind and soul.

He swallowed hard, feet glued to the floor, while his heart thundered against his ribs and everything seemed to drop out of focus around her, until even the strange shop blurred and faded.

Then she blinked, flashed him a bright smile, and the spell was broken. He shook his head, trying to clear it from the foggy daze her gaze had left. Then it was gone – as if it had never existed – and he was left holding a candle that smelled of blackberries and autumn mornings.

He put the candle back down carefully, thinking he might come back for it, and headed towards a mini book mountain.

He was only half-surprised to see the books went back further than normally possible in standard architecture, disappearing far enough into the wall to form a nook with a comfy-looking sofa and chairs.

He browsed the books for a while – an esoteric mix of modern and old peculiarities that seemed to be in no particular order.

When he turned to leave, the shopkeeper was blocking his way, and he wondered how long she’d been standing there, watching.

‘I think I’ve figured out what you need.’

‘You have?’

‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘Definitely. May I give it to you?’

‘Sure.’ He held out his hand.

But instead of a trinket or crystal, she stepped into his space and wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug. He tensed at first… it felt strangely intimate… more so, somehow, than any hug he’d had in a very, very long time. Maybe ever. It was open, vulnerable, honest and accepting. Healing.

As he stood there, hugging a stranger, some of the tension that had been present for so long – a never-ending ache deep within, which stole his peace – started to drain away.

It could have been brief seconds, or long minutes – he’d never know – but eventually she gave him a gentle squeeze then stepped away.

She looked at him for a few more moments then nodded decisively. ‘You’re having tea with me.’

‘I was… umm…’

‘You’re not in a hurry. Stay here and have a brew with me. It’ll do you good. Help with finding your spark again. Maybe it’ll even be a glimmer.’

‘How do you know I’m not in a hurry?’

She tilted her head, looking at him as if the question confused her.

‘Because you’re not. Obviously.’ She turned on her heel and strode towards the back of the store where there were yet more shelves filled with a fascinating array of ornaments and pictures.

He either had to follow her, or be rude – which seemed unthinkable.

She fumbled with a book on the shelves, and there was a click before the bookcase swung open to reveal another bright room – this time a full kitchen.

‘Are you kidding?’

‘You like it?’ She laughed. ‘I needed to keep the kitchen separate from the main shop… and keep Mist out of it. That’s the cat, by the way. This is where I blend all my teas, and my other half thought this was fun.’ She busied herself with the kettle and cups, leaving him to look around.

‘It’s brilliant.’ His eyes were drawn to the rows of herbs, spices and tiny bottles lined up against one wall, the heavy mortar and pestles, matcha whisks, old-fashioned scales, and stacks of jars, bags and labels. It looked, and smelled, incredible, and he felt a pang of jealousy.

He used to bake a lot when he was younger.

When his gran had still been alive. She’d always said he had a knack for it, and had taken great delight in sharing recipes with him over long, lazy summer holidays.

But the magic of it seemed to die with her, and then life, work and responsibilities took over.

Lately, all he cooked was dinner – easily made and easier to digest reliable recipes on repeat.