Page 9 of Magical Melee
Nothing more.
“Granted, it only works on the gifted.” She grinned at me. “And the gifted generally are the only ones who choose it.”
My brows raised in surprise. “Gifted?”
“You know, the magical folk.”
I smiled and nodded. “Oh, right. The magical folk.”
“What colors did your tea turn, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Unease crept through me as my gaze fell to my maiden name.
“More like, what colors didn’t it turn?” I laughed nervously. “Orange, crimson, turquoise…”
Stella grinned and let out a little chortle. “Whewee. That’s quite a combination.”
“Are you trying to say that those colors actually mean something?”
Stella frowned. “Of course, they mean something. There isn’t one thing about life and living that doesn’t mean something. We live in a world full of wonder and magic if you’re willing to open your eyes to it and, better yet, your heart.”
I sat confused and, oddly, calm. The steady rhythm of my heart matched Frank’s snorts, and I suddenly craved more of this.
More of Stella and her lipstick teeth.
Frank, the winking bulldog.
A cozy tea shop that filled people with the idea of magic.
And, more importantly, hope…
Because I’d lost that somewhere along the way. My divorce stole everything I’d held close and believed in.
No, it wasn’t the divorce. It was my ex-husband. The divorce was my freedom.
Yet something about this quaint little shop spun my mind into overdrive, imagining a new way to exist.
I suppose it was what my dad called the magic of the moment. He also always told me to be the magic rather than wait for the magic. It was usually when I clutched my Barbie asa little girl, willing the doll to move by herself and being sorely disappointed.
But there were a couple of times I swore she walked to the dollhouse herself.
Creepy now? Yes.
Magical at the time? Absolutely.
Had it been my dad moving her when I didn’t notice? Probably.
As I got older, I realized I had the power to shift my mood without waiting for anyone else. If that meant imagining my ex in precarious situations, so be it. That was my magic at this particular time.
A little ache buried in my chest at the thought of my dad not being here. He’d passed away so long ago, but I remembered every little thing about him, even the way he winked at me when I stumbled because he knew I’d get back up again.
All on my own.
But this morning had felt like more than a stumble. When I stared at the sea of boxes in the home I’d raised my daughter in, I wanted nothing more than to give up. Just hang out in the bedroom, sheets over my head, and potato chips next to me. It felt like, at any moment, I was about to fall off a cliff or be clobbered by an avalanche. I hadn’t picked which one I preferred yet.
Coming into this shop changed that. Even if it were for only an hour, I let myself believe in something out of my control.
“Your tea tells me that you’ve been through one hell of a year, Maeve. The crimson and orange are fighting with theturquoise. Passion, fire, and anger are pitting against a sea of calm and beauty within your soul. Be the magic, Maeve.”
