Page 22 of Shamrocks & Second Chances

“Magical chaos,” says Hecate. “The best kind.”

Moonwake Café comes into view at the end of the street. Bella pulls a set of keys from her pocket as we approach the front door. The café is dark inside, chairs still stacked on tables from the previous night’s closing. “Home sweet home,” she murmurs, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

I follow her in, inhaling the familiar scents of coffee beans, cinnamon, and the subtle undertone of magic that permeates everything Bella creates. The café is cool and quiet, waiting for the day to begin. I also feel like I’m in stasis waiting for the future to being...or resume.

Chapter 7—Bella

THE FAMILIAR SCENTof coffee and vanilla wraps around me as Seamus and I step into my café. I flick on the soft amber lights that line the walls rather than the harsh overheads. “Home sweet home,” I whisper, running my hand along the counter as I pass. The polished wood is smooth beneath my fingertips, worn from thousands of cups sliding across its surface.

A small brown blur zips past us, and Hecate materializes on the counter, her tiny paws making soft tapping sounds as she prances across the surface I normally forbid her from walking on.

“I expect snacks after this,” she says, sitting primly and wrapping her fluffy tail around her paws. “Preferably those cranberry scones you hid in the back. I know they’re there.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course you do.”

Seamus chuckles, the sound warm and rich in the quiet café. “Your dog has expensive taste.”

“She claims it’s her dragon ancestry,” I say dryly. “Apparently, hoarding pastries is genetic.”

Hecate sniffs indignantly. “Mock all you want, but when I breathe fire one day, you’ll both apologize.”

The necklace in my pocket seems to pulse with warmth, reminding me why we’re here. The enchanted message led us back to my café, though I’m not convinced anything is actually here. Still, we’ve followed the trail this far. “I should check the storage room,” I say, more to myself than to Seamus. “That’s the only place I haven’t thoroughly cleaned in weeks.”

Seamus nods, his green eyes catching the amber light. “Lead the way.”

The storage room sits at the back of the café, past the kitchen. I unlock the door with a key from my ring and push it open. The space is cramped but organized with bags of coffee beans stacked neatly on metal shelves, flour and sugar in labeled containers, and spare dishes and equipment tucked away in boxes.

“What exactly are we looking for?” he asks, ducking to avoid hitting his head on a hanging pot.

“I have no idea besides your gold.” I move deeper into the room. “Something that doesn’t belong, I guess.”

I start pushing aside sacks of flour and containers of coffee beans, checking behind and beneath them. The shelves are dusty in places I can’t reach during my regular cleaning, and I make a mental note to do a deep clean soon.

Then I stop cold.

Right there, tucked neatly on a lower shelf behind a row of spare mugs, sits a small wooden chest. The dark wood gleams in the dim light, the intricate Celtic knotwork carved into its surface unmistakable. “Seamus, is that—?”

He’s already moving past me, kneeling down to get a better look. He runs a hand over the lid, his eyebrows raised in surprise. He lifts the lid and whistles softly. “It’s here in this warded box. I guess they stored it in this for safekeeping,” he says softly. “I usually keep it in the bag on my belt.”

I stare at him, then at the chest, then back at him. “You’re telling me your precious gold has been sitting in my storage room this whole time?”

Hecate appears from nowhere, sitting beside the chest and looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Oh, she’s finally catching up.”

I whirl on my familiar. “You knew about this?”

Hecate licks her paw delicately. “I know many things. It’s a burden, really.” Then she looks sheepish. “I smelled it when we entered the storeroom, but it wasn’t here last night when we closed up.”

Seamus carefully pulls the chest out from its hiding place, setting it on the floor between us.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” I say, crossing my arms. “How did it get here? Who put it here?”

He looks up at me, his expression thoughtful. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Someone went to a lot of trouble to make me er, borrow, my gold and hide it in your café.”

I kneel down beside him, studying the chest. I lean forward, curious despite myself. Inside, nestled on a bed of deep green velvet, are dozens of gold coins, each one gleaming in the dim light of the storage room. They’re ancient-looking things, with worn faces and edges that speak of centuries of existence.

“It’s all here,” he says, sounding bewildered. “Every last coin.”

I sit back on my heels, trying to make sense of it all. “So, someone took your gold, thoughtfully put it in a warded box, didn’t steal anything, and planted it in my café? That makes no sense.”

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