Page 5 of Shamrocks & Second Chances

Throk shrugs his massive shoulders. “They don’t care about such things. Love doesn’t care about species.”

His words hit close to home. My family’s disapproval of a human witch was what drove me away from Bella in the first place. The ancient leprechaun belief that humans and fae shouldn’t mix had been drilled into me since childhood. “No,” I say softly. “It doesn’t.”

Throk studies me, his amber eyes knowing. “You never got over her, did you?”

I look back toward the café, where Bella is now wiping down tables, her movements quick and efficient. “Not for a single day.”

“I’m not surprised you’re back.” Throk straightens up, adjusting the tool belt around his waist. “The universe has a way of bringing us back to what matters most.”

“The universe also has a way of stealing my gold and leaving cryptic notes,” I mutter.

Throk laughs, a deep rumbling sound that echoes across the water. “That’s Evershift Haven for you. Nothing is ever simple here.” He claps me on the shoulder, nearly knocking me off my feet. “I’ve got to get back to the garage. Good luck with Bella. You’re going to need it.”

As Throk lumbers away, I return my attention to the café. Through the window, I can see Bella’s familiar, Hecate, perched on the counter. The tiny dog is watching me, her fluffy tail swishing back and forth. Even from this distance, I can feel her judgment.

The afternoon wears on as I remain at my post, ignoring the curious glances from passersby. A group of school children—a mix of young witches, fairies, and other magical beings—cross the bridge, pointing and whispering when they spot me. I offer them a small wave, which sends them into fits of giggles.

The scent of lavender and sage says another visitor before I see her. Grizelda Greenwarth, the town’s guardian witch, waddles onto the bridge, her pregnant belly preceding her. Her wild mane of silver-streaked purple hair seems to move with a life of its own, and her pale green skin glows with the special radiance of impending motherhood.

“Seamus O’Connell,” she says, her voice musical. “I thought I sensed your aura back in town.”

I bow slightly, a sign of respect for the descendant of Evershift Haven’s founder. “Grizelda. You’re looking well. Pregnancy suits you.”

She smiles, one hand resting on her swollen belly. “I love it, but it causes problems with my magic sometimes.” Her purple eyes, which glow faintly in the afternoon light, study me intently. “You’re here about your gold.”

It’s not a question. Grizelda has always had an uncanny ability to know things she shouldn’t.

“Yes...and about Bella.”

“Ah.” Grizelda nods sagely. “The two things you value most in this world, and both are currently beyond your reach.”

I wince at her accuracy. “I’m hoping to change that.”

Grizelda’s hair shifts, coiling and uncoiling like snakes. It always does that when she’s thinking deeply. “She won’t make it easy for you, you know. You hurt her badly when you left.”

“I know.” The admission tastes bitter on my tongue.

“Do you?” Grizelda’s eyes flash. “She cried for weeks. The rain in Evershift Haven lasted for a month after you left. The flowers refused to bloom until midsummer.”

Each word is a dagger to my heart. I had no idea my departure had affected the town’s magical ecosystem so profoundly. Bella’s emotions must have been powerful indeed to cause such disruption.

“I didn’t know,” I whisper.

“Of course you didn’t. You were too busy running away.” There’s no malice in Grizelda’s tone, just simple truth. “But you’re here now, and that counts for something.”

A small kick from within her belly makes Grizelda gasp, then laugh. “The baby agrees you deserve a second chance.”

“I hope Bella thinks so too.”

Grizelda pats my arm, her touch warm and comforting. “Just remember, sometimes the things we lose come back to us in unexpected ways.”

With those cryptic words, she continues her waddle across the bridge, humming a tune that makes the flowers along the path bloom as she passes.

The afternoon stretches into evening. The café grows quieter as the day winds down. I watch Bella begin her closing routine of wiping tables, sweeping floors, counting the till. My legs ache from standing so long, but I refuse to move. I need to be here when she leaves.

As the sun begins to set, a new figure approaches the bridge. Zephyr Windwhisper, the air spirit who works as a barista at Moonwake Café, practically floats toward me. His translucent form shimmers in the fading light, his features constantly shifting like clouds in a breeze.

“Planning to take over the bridge troll’s job since he’s taken up ballet?” Zephyr’s voice sounds like wind chimes in a gentle breeze.

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