Page 13 of Claws for Celebration
"Two coffees, two cinnamon rolls, and maybe some of that special honey you keep for researchers who need their nerves settled," Lucien requested with the easy familiarity of a longtime customer.
"Oh, I have just the thing," Twyla said, her eyes twinkling with what looked suspiciously like mischief. "My newest blend. Perfect for folks who are rediscovering their roots."
As Twyla bustled away to prepare their order, Moira found herself studying the other café patrons. An elderly man inthe corner was reading what appeared to be a leather-bound journal written in symbols rather than letters. Two women at the counter were discussing herb gardens with the kind of technical precision usually reserved for scientific research. Even the background conversations carried an undertone of topics that seemed just slightly left of ordinary.
"Lucien," she said quietly, "is everyone in this town a little... eccentric?"
"Depends on your definition of eccentric," he replied with that subtle smile she was learning meant he was choosing his words carefully. "What makes you ask?"
"It's nothing specific. Just a feeling that I'm missing some crucial context about this place. Like everyone's speaking a language I only partially understand."
Twyla returned before he answered with their order, setting down ceramic mugs and plates with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd been serving coffee for decades. The cinnamon rolls were still warm, their icing creating artistic swirls across golden pastry, and the coffee smelled like heaven mixed with mountain air.
"Here you go, sweethearts," Twyla said, settling into the third chair at their table without invitation. "Mind if I join you for a minute? Slow morning, and I've been wanting to check on how our visiting researcher is settling in."
"Please do," Moira said, though something in Twyla's manner suggested this wasn't entirely a social visit.
"How are you finding our little community?" Twyla asked, her warm brown eyes studying Moira with surprising intensity. "Sometimes it takes a while for newcomers to adjust to our mountain ways."
"It's been... educational," Moira replied carefully. "I'm learning more about my family history than I expected."
"Families have deep roots in these mountains," Twyla said, stirring honey into her own coffee with slow, deliberate movements. "Sometimes those roots go deeper than we realize. Blood calls to blood, especially in places where the old ways are still remembered."
The phrase made Moira's skin prickle with recognition, though she couldn't identify why. "Old ways?"
"Traditional knowledge. Herbal remedies, weather wisdom, the kind of practical magic that helped our ancestors thrive in isolated mountain communities." Twyla's voice carried the same careful neutrality that Moira had noticed in Lucien when they discussed local history. "Some families carry those traditions in their very bones, even when they've forgotten the specific teachings."
"Magic," Moira repeated, testing the word aloud. "You keep using that term."
"Do I?" Twyla's smile was innocent, but her eyes sparkled with secrets. "Maybe it's just the mountain air talking. We tend to be a bit more... colorful in our descriptions up here."
Lucien shifted slightly in his chair, and Moira caught the subtle tension in his posture. Whatever was happening in this conversation, it was more significant than casual small talk.
"Twyla," Lucien said quietly, "perhaps?—"
"Oh, I'm not saying anything that isn't already obvious," Twyla interrupted with a wave of her hand. "Anyone with eyes can see that our Moira is coming home to herself. The question is whether she's ready to accept what that homecoming means."
"Coming home to myself?" Moira's voice rose slightly, drawing glances from other patrons. "What does that even mean?"
"It means," Twyla said gently, reaching across the table to pat Moira's hand, "that some journeys take us away from our true nature, and others bring us back to it. Your grandmother'sjourney took her away from Hollow Oak for good reasons. Yours has brought you back for equally good ones."
The casual contact sent warmth spreading up Moira's arm, the same electric sensation she experienced when touching certain books or when Lucien's fingers brushed hers. But this felt different, more like recognition than attraction.
"How do you know about my grandmother?" Moira asked, pulling her hand back.
"Small communities have long memories," Twyla replied. "Elara Shadowheart was well-regarded here before she chose to leave. Her return, even through her granddaughter, is cause for celebration."
"Return?" Moira looked between Twyla and Lucien, noting how the latter had gone very still. "I'm not returning. I'm here temporarily for research."
"Of course, dear," Twyla said with the kind of indulgent tone usually reserved for children who insisted they weren't tired while rubbing their eyes. "Temporary can become permanent when a place calls to your soul."
"My soul is perfectly happy with my life in the city," Moira protested, though even as she said it, she realized it wasn't entirely true. The past week in Hollow Oak had felt more like home than anywhere she'd lived since her grandmother's death.
"Is it?" Twyla asked with genuine curiosity. "Or is it simply familiar? Sometimes we mistake routine for happiness, especially when we haven't discovered what true belonging feels like."
Moira became filled with an emotion she couldn't name. "You don't know anything about my life."
"I know you've been searching for something you couldn't identify," Twyla said softly. "I know you've felt like you don't quite fit anywhere, despite your academic success. I know you'vebeen having dreams about this place since you were a child, even though you'd never heard of Hollow Oak before last week."
