Page 47 of Magical Melee
“They’re not lucky. They’re listening to the world around them. They don’t close themselves off. If an opportunity arises, they take it. They create their own luck.”
“Sometimes I wonder who the mature one is in our friendship.”
She chuckled. “Duh. It’s obviously me.”
I laughed and nodded. “Okay. Fine. You’re right. What could possibly go wrong?”
Skye grinned. “Well, I didn’t say that. A lot could go wrong, but a lot could go right, too.”
“Okay. I think we’ll just leave the convo at that. I’m going to text Celeste really quick to fill her in and see what she thinks.”
“She’ll tell you to move in.” She nodded. “I already know.”
I chuckled and nodded, realizing she was right.
But I still sent a quick text to my daughter, who immediately wrote back that she couldn’t wait to visit since she hadn’t been able to go there either.
The thought brought a smile to my lips.
And I realized I knew where we’d be spending Thanksgiving.
I wrote to her about possibly having a job at the tea shop, and she wrote back a heart and a few words that made me beam.
I’m proud of you.
It was like that was all I needed in the world, and now I was off to Stonewick.
Chapter Twelve
The B&B was already bought and paid for, so I kept it in the back of my mind that if things went south in Stonewick, I could flee to a peaceful refuge and forget I ever fell for the trappings of this quaint tourist town.
As I thought about Frank, I couldn’t imagine what could possibly go wrong.
I followed the GPS and turned left down a dirt road right before I would have entered the village of Stonewick.
As I bumped along the road, the gravel crunching beneath the tires, I couldn't help but laugh at myself.
The towering pines lined the lane like ancient sentinels. Their lanky, tall, and naked trunks stretched high above the land. A plume of branches at the top, laden with needles, created a canopy that swayed in the breeze. If I were outside, I could imagine hearing the timber clank against one another like it did at my old house.
My stomach instantly knotted at the realization that I no longer owned our family home. I didn’t own anything except the wheels under me.
Fresh start.
Fresh start.
I’d gotten good at talking to myself lately and turned my attention back to my surroundings.
The trees were spaced apart just enough to let slivers of sunlight filter through, casting golden beams down onto the forest floor riddled with pine needles and oak leaves.
I took a deep breath the moment a stone cottage came into view.
The mix of pines and deciduous trees felt like an embrace between the steadfastness of the evergreens and the seasonal dance of color and change below, making the forest feel both timeless and alive. The carpet of dried leaves lent itself to the setting perfectly.
I tightened my grip on the wheel, chuckling as I spotted a pair of stone gargoyles perched on the roof’s edge of the cottage. Tiny faces stared down at me with their grim expressions.
The stone cottage was covered in ivy. A few odd wind chimes hung from the nearby trees. And if I let myself trulygo there, I could have sworn I saw a sprite bounding from limb to limb.
I smiled to myself at the notion. If nothing else, maybe I’d become a writer because this place unleashed my imagination.
