18. Natalie

18

NATALIE

I wrap my hands around the steaming mug of lavender honey latte, inhaling the soothing aroma as I stare into its depths. The Enchanted Bean bustles with activity around me, the air filled with the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee and the gentle chatter of patrons.

Across from me, Ecco leans forward, her violet eyes filled with concern. “Okay, spill. You’ve been staring into that mug for the past five minutes. What’s going on?”

I hesitate, my teeth worrying at my bottom lip. I’m not usually one to share details about my personal life with anyone from work, even with clients who’ve become close friends, like Ecco.

But I remind myself of the training with Velda and how it felt to try something new; of how it felt good to open up to my pen pal—even if it was Rian all along.

With the weight of his confession and the tumult of my emotions proving too much to bear alone, I begin to unburden myself.

“It’s Rian. Yesterday, we… we kissed.”

Ecco’s eyes widen. “Ooh, do tell! How was it?”

“It was amazing, at first. But then he pulled away and told me… ugh, I think I have to start at the beginning here. When I first took over Myrtle’s property, I discovered an enchanted journal amongst her things and I’ve been, well, secretly communicating with an anonymous pen pal through it.”

It’s incredible that Ecco does not spit out her sip of tea. She coughs around it and swallows it hard, then says, “Excuse me, you have been what ? Natalie, I know you’re new to this world but I thought even people from the human lands understood the basics. You do not ever communicate with something magical unless you know the source. That’s how people get possessed!”

Waving her away, I press on. “I know, I know. Look, it was very clear to me that my pen pal was someone in town, and I asked them to stay anonymous because stuff between us got personal very quickly. But the writer knew who I was from the beginning, it was obvious that I’d taken over Myrtle’s belongings so I told them.”

“What did you talk about with them?” Ecco asks, brow furrowing.

“Everything,” I tell her. “At first, it was just about Myrtle and about the town, but over the past few weeks our messages have become more intimate. The person on the other end of the journal became, weirdly, my closest confidant. The best part of my day was seeing that there was a new message waiting from them. And now I’ve come to find out…”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I try to figure out my own feelings about this. I still haven’t landed on it, so maybe saying this out loud to Ecco will help.

“Rian told me that he was my pen pal. And that he took up communicating with me in the first place because he wanted to convince me not to sell to Munchin’ Morsels.”

Ecco listens intently, her reaction shifting to sympathetic concern as she reaches across the table to place a comforting hand on my arm.

“Oh, Nat. I can only imagine how blindsided you must feel.”

“It’s more than that,” I tell her. “Honestly, some part of me wondered if it was him, or maybe hoped it was. But it hurts to know that he started to communicate with me because he wanted to manipulate my sale. Maybe I deserved that, I don’t know. But now I can’t untangle my feelings about my pen pal from my feelings about Rian and I’m not sure where he stands, or where I do.”

Ecco pauses, considering her next words carefully. “I’ve known Rian for years and he is a truly good guy. I would bet there’s always been more to this than just a simple business strategy on his part.”

Frowning, I turn Ecco’s words over in my mind.

I’ve found myself reflexively reaching for the journal several times over the past twenty-four hours, wanting to talk to someone about the crazy feelings swirling around inside me—each time forgetting for just a split second that the person on the other end is Rian.

“I just don’t know what to think,” I admit, staring down into my latte. “I feel like I don’t even know who he is anymore. My hot neighbor that I have a crush on? Someone who screwed over my plans, and messed with my head using the journals? The amazing and sweet dad to Jessa? The compassionate person who wrote back to me daily these past few weeks? Which one is the real Rian?”

Ecco gives my arm a sympathetic squeeze. “Maybe they’re all part of who he is. People are complex, Nat. We’re not just one thing.”

I sigh, knowing she’s right, but still wrestling with my conflicted feelings. I take a long sip of my latte, trying to calm down and enjoy the sweet honey and soothing lavender.

Ecco is obviously struggling not to say something, her fingers fidgety and her knees jostling.

“What?” I know her too well at this point—we were practically glued to each others’ sides for weeks on end during Ecco’s recent tours and press tours. “What’s that look about?”

“Well, about that kiss... I need details, woman! Don’t leave me hanging!”

I can’t help but laugh. A blush creeps up my neck as memories of Rian’s firm lips and strong arms flood my senses.

“It was... intense,” I admit, trying to hold back a smile. “But I don’t know if I’m ready to go there yet. I need time to process everything.”

Ecco nods, understanding softening her features. “Of course, Nat. Think about hearing him out, though.”

I mull over her words as we finish our lattes, our conversation turning to the music she’s been working on for her next release. It feels good to refocus on work for a while, to push my storm of confusion to the side.

In the back of my mind, though, I’m still considering her words. Should I give Rian the chance that he asked for? Am I being unfair in my anger and surprise?

Later that day, I find myself back in the storefront, poring over a new offer for the property that Barnabus has brought for my review.

The proposal comes from Asper, a local gnome entrepreneur with grand plans for a magical apothecary and tea shop. Delving into the financial details, my enthusiasm dampens. Asper’s offer, while fair, comes with a longer financing timeline than the deal with Munchin’ Morsels.

Asper is only able to put ten percent down, which will get me fifty-thousand dollars immediately with the rest coming in financing. If I use up my entire savings, I’ll have just enough to make it work by the date Maxwell gave me.

Leaning back in my chair, I rub my temples and I consider the implications. If the closing date gets pushed back, it could jeopardize my partnership at the firm. My boss already extended the timeline for me; but he gave me three months to buy in, and said after that they’d start looking at other candidates.

I groan, the weight of the decision pressing down on my shoulders.

My gaze drifts to the shelves lining the storefront, the remaining jars of herbs and spices glinting in the afternoon light. I can smell the faint scent of rosemary and lavender and other herbs I can’t name, and for a moment, I can almost feel Myrtle’s presence, as if she’s guiding me towards the right path.

I wish I had known her. I wish she were here, so I could ask her opinion. Because, what is the right path? The one that leads me back to the human lands and the partner position I’ve worked so hard for, all these years?

Or maybe one that keeps me here, in this enchanting town full of magic and unexpected connections?

Rising from my desk, I wander through the storefront, my fingers trailing along the worn wooden shelves. The colorful spice jars sparkle in the sunlight slanting through the big front windows. On a whim, I select a few jars and carry them to the counter, along with a charming ceramic bowl that Myrtle must have used for blending together different herbs and spices. I think about the countless hours Myrtle must have spent crafting her unique blends.

How did she do it? I close my eyes and let my sense of smell take over.

What was it like, living here, getting to know each spice and herb, and infusing each one with her own brand of magic?

As if guided by someone I can’t see or hear, I begin to measure out pinches of various spices, my hands moving as if by instinct. The outside world fades away as I focus on the interplay of scents and textures, losing myself in the process.

When I finish, I hold up the resulting blend, marveling at the complex aroma wafting from the bowl. Somehow, I know with absolute certainty that this blend would be perfect for Rian’s baking—a complement to his hearty, wholesome creations.

Maybe I’ve been wrong to ignore my connection to Myrtle, and to want my powers to lie dormant, controlled. Unused.

I stand there, the jar cradled in my hands, and feel a shift within myself.

“What am I doing?” I whisper to the empty store, my voice echoing off the shelves.