Page 7 of Untraced Magic
As I walked, I couldn’t help thinking about Wesley’s invitation, orgatheringas he’d put it, that afternoon. A heaviness settled in the pit of my stomach. There were things about me I kept hidden, things I didn’t know how to explain, so I naturally kept people at arm’s length.
A party with a bunch of strangers was not part of my plan, and liquid courage would definitely be required to calm the nerves.
The footpath soon turned into a dirt trail that wound its way around the outskirts of town, pockets of darkness peering back at me through dense forest. It trailed off to the right up a grassy bank that spoke of hushed whispers in the breeze, and I rested on a rock for a moment taking in the view overlooking the town.
Cutters Cove was small without beingtoosmall, and I liked that about it.
Mountains curved their way around the town as if protecting it with their broad expanse, and in the distance, swampland lay littered with willow trees chasing another life. Further to the north, largecliffs boarded the edge of the cove, their baren rockface scarred by the elements that evidently tore through the exposed side of the town.
A raven sounded high above me, its raspycrawbreaking my attention.
I searched the sky, beady eyes finding mine as it stalked me from its perch on naked limbs. Some people thought ravens were a sign of death or a bad omen. They just gave me the creeps.
With a sigh, I hopped down off the rocky overhang and began following the trail back into town.
Coffee Cove soon came into view, the converted villa a faded timber that had obviously aged over its time. Four women sat at a rustic outdoor table that encroached on the footpath. Wrapped in jackets and deep in conversation, they clutched their coffee mugs, lapping up the morning air.
An older man with a receding hairline leaned against a lamp post. He lifted his gaze at me.
“Good morning.” He smiled genuinely, tipping his head and straightening the newspaper in his hand.
“And to you.” I waved, turning toward the small villa.
Set back a few feet off the footpath, I followed the three cracked pavers to the entrance where a quirky owl held the door open at its base.
As I walked inside, the familiar scent of coffee hit my senses, and the timber floorboards and rustic interior warmed my insides. I admired the reclaimed whiskey barrels serving as leaners in their second life before my head lifted to the wall of photos, all in mismatching frames and randomly placed on the wall in no particular order. Itseemed Coffee Cove was certainly the place for a morning brew, with most tables full of customers of all ages.
A young child’s eyes sparkled as they met mine, evidence of hot chocolate around his mouth in a prominent circle. I laughed freely as his mother caught my eye, shaking her head with a smile.
Heading over to the fridge, I plucked a bottle of water from it.
“Morgan?”
I followed the voice to find the girl from the coffee cart clearing a table, a tea towel draped over one shoulder.
“Oh, hey.” I smiled at her. “It’s Skye, right?”
“The one and only.” She returned to the counter. “Lovely morning for a walk. This is my favorite time of the day.”
“Mine too,” I agreed, handing the water over to her along with my payment.
My gaze shifted to the window where a haze of sea fog still lay over the cove. Its muted tones stood frozen in breathless air, begging for an artist to recreate its dreamy masterpiece.
A palette made for my soul.
The thought spilled from my mind before I could stop it, and I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment to collect myself. I hadn’t picked up a brush since the accident; I wasn’t ready.
The emotions that were bound to my brushes, still heavy. Too raw.
I wound my attention back to her, swallowing over the lump in my throat.
“Tell me, what does a girl do on the weekends around here?” I asked as I worked to keep my voice level, determined to bury my thoughts.
Skye shrugged. “Depends on what you’re into. My brother’s having a party at his house this afternoon.” She tipped her head to the side. “Actually, to be fair, it’s more of a gathering than a party by the sounds of it... but a girl can bring wine and it soon turns to a party, right?” Her irises glistened at the thought.
The wordgatheringcaught my attention for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.
Coincidence maybe?
