November 26, Tuesday

"No extra eggs this week?" Coleman's weathered hands carefully counted out my payment, each bill smoothed with practiced care.

"I'm hosting Thanksgiving," I said, still slightly amazed by the words. "Kelly's helping me cook, and Sawyer promised to carve the turkey."

Coleman's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Hosting, eh? That's a big step for someone who barely knew where Irving was six months ago."

"I know." I laughed, tucking the money into my wallet. "Would you like to come? We're doing it potluck style, around two o'clock."

He looked up, genuine surprise softening his features. "Me?"

"Of course." I gestured at my basket of items. "You've been feeding me since I got here. Seems only fair to return the favor."

"Well, I..." He cleared his throat, clearly touched. "I make a mean sweet potato casserole. Family recipe."

"Perfect." I grinned. "Though fair warning—Kelly's claimed the kitchen from dawn till dusk tomorrow. She takes holiday cooking very seriously."

"That girl could make cardboard taste good." He began bagging my groceries with careful precision. "Who else is coming?"

"I'm not sure, but I asked Tilda and Frannie and their girls… Reverend Abernathy. Kelly's Uncle Pete. Muriel, if she's feeling up to it."

"Muriel? How'd you manage that?"

I shrugged. "I asked."

"Quite a gathering."

"I know." How had that happened?

Coleman handed me my bags. "That's Irving for you. Town has a way of collecting strays. The people who think they want to be alone are the ones who need family most."

"Maybe so," I murmured. "I hope you can come."

"I'll be there, if only to keep an eye on Reverend Abernathy around the wine. Man can't hold his communion, if you know what I mean."

I laughed, gathering my bags. As I turned to leave, a thought struck me. "Coleman? Will you be alone tomorrow morning? Before the dinner?"

"Store's closed, so just me and Bing Crosby on the hi-fi."

"Come early then. Help us cook." I smiled. "Or at least help us taste-test."

Something flickered in his eyes—gratitude, maybe, or a memory. "I'd like that."

Outside, the late autumn sun painted Irving's main street in golds and browns. Holiday decorations overflowed shop windows, and the air smelled of eucalyptus and pumpkin spice.

My phone buzzed—a text from Kelly: Don't forget the sage! Can't stuff a turkey without sage!!!

I smiled, turning back toward the store. Through the window, I could see Coleman straightening items on shelves, humming along to his radio. Just one of the many people who had somehow become part of my life here.

He looked all around, then removed something from his apron pocket—the black scrying mirror. I gasped and watched as he set it on a shelf and… began talking to it?

As if it was alive.

I retreated slowly, deciding I didn't need sage after all.