Page 29 of The Lucky One

There’s a small hole in the trunk of the tree at the base that’s shaped like a door.

“A leprechaun door?” I ask.

“Ah, so you do know some folklore. There’s hope for you yet.”

I half expect for there to be a big gust of wind or strange whispers surrounding us. But there’s nothing except the quiet of this space and Irish music in the distance. Only slightly disappointed, I walk over to it, careful to not cross the faerie ring.

Not that I’m worried about being captured.

I crouch down to look at the space, and let out a gasp. Instead of a hollow space, there’s a tiny wooden door. The paint is faded and chipped but it’s as real as the two of us.

“There’s actually a door here, Weston.”

His eyebrows shoot up and he comes closer. “Maybe the town put it here?”

“It’s possible.”

This town definitely plays up all the folklore and magic that exists here, so I wouldn’t put it past them to make it a bit more theatrical.

“It’s pretty cool, either way,” he says. “Let's get back.”

I nod, pushing to my feet.

Magic has been an undeniable piece of my life for the last six months. Specifically in my life since I arrived. Sometimes things just don’t have an explanation, but they’re plenty real.

Weston glances back at me and grins before heading back down the trail.

Maybe it’s time that I accept that there’s something between Weston and I. It doesn’t have to make sense.

It’s just there.

Of all the things I’ve seen since I came back to Enchanted Hollow six months ago, that scares me the most.

ten

WESTON

MARCH12

According to the town’s social media account—the Hollow Hub—the Enchanted Hollow Ceili dance is a long-standing town tradition.

Last night when I couldn’t sleep, I finally climbed down the rabbit hole of this place and all the lore and history surrounding it. Like most of Texas, it’s a melting pot of culture. They don’t hesitate to honor all the places that make Enchanted Hollow unique.

I even learned that eleven Irishmen died defending the Alamo. Definitely tucked that away for the trivia night—Riddles and Rounds—tomorrow night, just in case I need it.

Not that Bridget would be surprised, but I’m kind of excited for tomorrow’s festival day: Luck and Legends Day. There’s a whole Irish Immigrant exhibit at the town hall, and while I do love to collect random facts like some people—Bridget—likes to collect mugs, I’m just eager to tuck away a little more about my heritage.

Honestly, most history intrigues me.

Like right now, I’m fighting the urge to pull aside an elder and beg for stories about The Enchanted Ballroom, the dancehall where all the dancing is going to take place tonight.

Like most everything here, the weathered wood planks and tin roof that comprise the exterior is full of charm. But when you step inside? That’s where the real magic is. I can feel it. Lights dangle from the massive wood beams that criss cross the ceiling. I can only imagine the people that have danced here, smoothing the wood in some areas to the point that you can barely tell where the edges meet.

The wooden walls have carvings of mythical creatures, vines and tree branches almost racing toward the focal point of the whole building: the mural behind the stage where an Irish group is already churning out music. An enchanted forest with deep and vibrant colors, framed by shimmering drapes of blues, golds, and silvers.

It’s like a dream.

“There’s things hidden in there,” Bridget says.

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