4. Natalie

4

NATALIE

A week later, I’m standing in the middle of Myrtle’s cramped apartment, surveying the haphazard piles of her belongings with a critical eye. I’ve tried to organize things a little, but even after hours of work, I’ve barely made a dent.

Mismatched chairs are shoved against one wall, while a battered wooden table stands sentinel, buried beneath stacks of leather-bound books, piles gathered from all over the apartment where they filled every nook and cranny.

Meanwhile, shelves line every available inch of wall space, but there’s no space for any books. Every shelf is overflowing with glass jars full of dried herbs, crystals, and other magical trinkets I can’t even begin to identify.

I asked Velda if there was anything else here she’d wanted to take, but assured me she had everything she wanted or needed, and that I could do whatever I saw fit with the contents of the store and the apartment.

Great.

I sigh, stepping gingerly over a stack of tarnished cauldrons. Gods, what a mess. And everything here is just a reminder of a vibrant woman whose presence was stolen from me by my narcissistic father. It physically hurts me to be here.

I need to get this place cleared out so I can sell it and be done with Elderberry Falls for good.

Snatching an empty box, I start sifting through the nearest shelf of herbs and tinctures, tossing items in as I go.

“Newt eyes, ew. Dragon scales, no thanks. Oh hello, what’s this?” My hand closes around a beautifully bound leather notebook wedged behind several dusty green bottles.

I pull it free, admiring the buttery soft cover, well-worn and supple with age. Intricate designs are etched into the rich brown leather—swirling vines, crescent moons, and stars. It looks ancient and luxurious.

Curious, I flip it open, expecting to find Myrtle’s spidery handwriting detailing magic spells and potion recipes, like I’ve seen in so many of the books I’ve found around the place.

But the thick, cream-colored pages are completely blank. Huh.

I’m a total sucker for good stationery. I trail my fingers over the smooth pages, the sweet, musty smell of old paper rising up. I can never resist a beautiful journal.

A smile tugs at my lips as I set the notebook aside carefully. I guess I’ll be keeping one thing from Myrtle’s chaos, after all.

Surveying the cluttered space, I roll up my sleeves and methodically start sorting through the piles I’ve made, creating designated areas for items to donate or toss. Old books, half-melted candles, jars of mysterious dried herbs are tossed into the “donate” pile. Broken trinkets, stained linens, rusty cauldrons get chucked straight into the rapidly filling “discard” pile.

Hours pass and it feels like I’ve made no progress at all. Frustration mounts as I unearth yet another box overflowing with who-knows-what. She must’ve kept every single thing she ever owned!

How could I ever be related to someone so chaotic?

As I sift through a stack of old photographs that I’ve set aside to show Velda just in case, I study the faces, admitting to myself that I do bear a resemblance to the young Myrtle.

A sudden pang hits me. I wonder if there are any mementos of my father mixed in with all this junk. Maybe some family heirlooms, or pieces of our history hidden away...

I shake my head sharply.

Nope, not going there. There’s no point. Myrtle is gone. My dad is gone. I was perfectly happy with my life before this massive family secret got dumped on me. I don’t need to know anything else, or let my emotions get entangled with this place.

I can’t get sidetracked by sentimentality. I have a job to do, and I need to get it done fast if this plan is going to work.

Refocusing, I picture the empty, clutter-free space this will become. And the fat check I’ll earn once I sell it to Munchin’ Morsels. My mind races ahead, already planning how I’ll tell Maxwell that I’m ready to buy in.

I pull out my phone and shoot off an email to a local charity, asking when is the earliest they can come haul away all these donations. The sooner I can get this space cleared out, the sooner I can get my hands on that cash and lock in my partnership.

Squaring my shoulders, I turn back to the task at hand. These dust bunnies don’t stand a chance against Natalie Russo.

Later that afternoon, I’m standing outside the storefront with Dan from Munchin’ Morsels. He looks every inch the corporate dealmaker in his tailored suit and expensive watch. Not a hair out of place on his perfectly gelled head.

“So this is it, huh?” Dan appraises the faded, peeling exterior, his eyes narrowed.

I paste on my most persuasive smile. Time to sell this place—literally. I motion to the bustling town square, the other businesses busy with customers.

“Just look at that prime location! You’ll have foot traffic galore here.” I point out the large, slightly grimy windows. “Imagine your displays of muffins and scones in those enchanted windows! All they need is a good cleaning, and they’ll be the perfect place for seasonal displays. Munchin’ Morsels could totally establish a foothold in the magical community with this spot.”

Dan looks thoughtful as I lead him inside. The store itself isn’t much to look at right now. I cleaned out all the obvious trash and undiscernable piles of clutter, although I left a couple of plants out. The shelves still have jars of Myrtle’s spice blends, as well as some tools and bowls—things that seemed too precious to throw away but I hadn’t found a home for yet. Even with my elbow grease, a few stubborn cobwebs still clinging to the corners.

“I know it needs some sprucing up, but that’s just cosmetic. I’ve only been working on it for a day or so, and it won’t take much time to make it sparkle.” I spread my arms wide. “A little renovation and this place will shine. But what you can’t manufacture is location, location, location!”

I press my lips together, worried that I’ve laid it on too thick.

But Dan nods slowly, and I can practically see the dollar signs flashing in his eyes as he envisions the possibilities.

My heart speeds up. I think I’ve got him...

We step back outside to take one more look. The faded sign with “Myrtle’s Magical Miscellany” hangs crookedly above the door. I make a mental note to get that taken down ASAP.

Crossing my arms, I meet Dan’s gaze directly. “So, shall we discuss terms?”

Just as Dan opens his mouth to reply, a booming voice calls out from behind us. “Natalie! Fancy seeing you here, back so soon!”

I whirl around to see Rian emerging from The Hungry Minotaur next door, a broad grin on his lightly furred face. My stomach does a little flip at the sight of him.

Probably just nerves that he’s about to say something to mess up my pitch.

He heads over, apparently oblivious to the fact that I’m clearly in the middle of something. Typical small-town mentality.

Dan’s eyes widen as Rian nears, taking in his imposing figure, the light glinting off his curved horns.

“Hey, Rian,” I say, trying to keep my tone breezy. The last thing I need is Dan getting scared off by some of the more… imposing local residents. But Rian was so friendly the other day—I’m sure there’s nothing to be worried about. “I’m just here meeting with a potential buyer for the property.”

Rian’s smile falters. “Oh. Selling already, huh?” He sounds a bit dejected, and I feel a twinge of… something. Annoyance? It’s none of his business what I do with the store.

Remembering my manners, I gesture to Dan. “This is Dan, from Munchin’ Morsels. Dan, meet Rian Kincaid. He owns the business next door.”

Rian extends a massive hand, engulfing Dan’s in a handshake. “Munchin’ Morsels?” His brow furrows. “The big chain bakery?”

I see the moment it clicks for Rian, and I connect the dots at the same time he does. Crap. I hadn’t considered how he might feel about a corporate competitor moving in right next door… I guess that’s not the best news for Rian and his bakery.

And then there’s Munchin’ Morsels. Could having local competition so close deter them from buying the property?

“Rian, I—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“Can I talk to you, Natalie? Privately?”

He cuts a look at Dan, who holds up his hands with a pleasant smile and excused himself back into the store. The second the door closes behind him, Rian’s gaze snaps back to mine.

“You’re letting some soulless corporation come in?” Rian’s voice rises, his words sharp as knives. “Myrtle would be so disappointed. And what about the local businesses here?” He doesn’t mention his bakery, but I feel a flare of guilt, knowing that Munchin’ Morsels might steal some of his business.

But, no. Myrtle left the property to me. If she cared that much about it, she wouldn’t have left it to a stranger—family or not. And I need this deal. I need the money.

“Last I checked, it’s my property,” I say, keeping a smile on, but drawing myself up to my full height. Which is still a good foot and a half shorter than Rian, but whatever. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but I have to do what’s best for….” For me and my mom , I think. “For the space.”

We glare at each other, the air crackling with tension. I can sense Dan watching us, but clearly trying not to make it obvious, through the storefront windows.

I can’t let this little spat make things uncomfortable for Dan. I need this sale if I’m going to make partner. Munchin’ Morsels is my ticket back to my real life—and the career goal I’ve been working toward for a decade.

I open my mouth to try to smooth things over, when Rian jumps back in.

“You’re not one of us, Natalie. You don’t understand this community,” Rian growls, his words hitting me like physical blows. “Myrtle’s legacy was about more than just this building. It was about preserving the heart of Elderberry Falls.”

I try not to show how his accusations sting. What does he know about legacies? If Myrtle wanted this shop to stay for the community, she would have left it to someone from Elderberry Falls. Not me. An…an outsider.

“I may be new here, but that doesn’t make my opinion irrelevant. Myrtle left the store to me. This is my decision.”

Rian’s jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring. “We’ll see about that,” he bites out. Then he whirls around, storming back into The Hungry Minotaur.

The door slams shut behind him with a resounding thud that echoes through the square. Several passersby stop to gaze curiously at us before continuing on.

I take a shaky breath, trying to compose myself before heading back into my own storefront and to Dan.

“I apologize for that... display,” I say, pasting on a bright smile. “Rest assured, our plans will proceed smoothly. Shall we discuss the terms of the sale?”

Dan nods, though he still looks a bit shell-shocked from the confrontation. As we iron out the details, I force myself to focus on the future—my partnership and my career, and the safety and security it’ll bring, after so many years of financial stress and worry.

But even as I shake Dan’s hand and promise to follow up in writing with my terms, I can’t quite ignore the unsettled feeling churning in my stomach.