Chapter One
The Wheel of Fortune
—cycles completing; karma;
positive change
Sunlight
spilled over a navy sky, unraveling the day between frosty branches. Cole
wasn’t used to the restless quiet. His footsteps echoed through the sleepy
streets. Smoke billowed from chimneys and blinds rustled behind dark windows.
It’d been a long time since he saw Jewel for what it was—a town too small to be
cared for by those who left, but small enough to be loved by those who stayed.
Trees
lined the two-lane road. Crisp air nipped his cheeks and the thrum of something
not quite lost but not quite found stirred inside him. He adjusted the leather
strap curled over his shoulder, messenger bag snug on his hip. Open signs
blinked awake and locks clicked. The theater, an old, timely thing, was topped
with a vintage light box where black letters sat crooked, spelling out film
names and show times. The ice cream shop where his aunt used to work was still
there, tucked between a Mexican restaurant and an art supply store.
These
streets were watermarked by his childhood, the cage he’d been shipped to when
he bared his teeth too often or clenched his fists too hard. An academic
household like his, filled with diplomas and success, hadn’t made room for a
wild card. Ten years later, his family still didn’t know what to do with him.
“Still
here, huh?” Cole paused at the corner of Oakheart and Foxborough, trailing his
eyes over the rickety sign above the window. The Crow’s Nest had been around for longer than Cole
had been alive, a quaint coffee shop known for its lattes and pastries.
A bell
jingled when he stepped inside. Tables filled the open space, different than he
remembered but just as cozy. Across the room, a barista eyed him from behind
the counter, her lips quirked into a friendly smile. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, I…”
Cole cleared his throat. He stepped around a table and set his hands on the
counter, head tipped back to read the chalkboard menu on the wall. He noticed
the way she postured, glancing at the ink peeking over his wrists. There was
something about her, a familiarity he couldn’t shake. “I’ll take a matcha latte
with coconut milk, please. To go.”
“Anything
to eat? I just made honey cakes. They’re delicious, I…” She lifted a thick,
blond brow. Her eyes narrowed as she leaned closer, gaze drifting from his face
to his chest. “Cole?
Are you, I mean, I’m pretty sure I know you. You’re—”
“Cole
Morrison.” Caution looped through each syllable. He looked at her, really
looked, tracing her soft, round cheeks and petite chin. “Tara?”
Abrupt
laughter tumbled over her lips. “It’s been—God, how long has it been?”
“Almost
ten years, I think.” Ten years and two months, to be exact.
Minutes
ago, Cole could’ve passed the familiarity between them off as a trick of the
light. But now the woman in front of him was attached to the girl from his
memories. There was no mistaking her for someone else. He met her cool, gray
eyes and remembered who’d she’d been, wandering apple orchards with him on
sunny autumn days, scooping toads off river rocks and hiding them in his shoes.
Her blond hair was longer now, whisked into a bun atop her head.
They’d
stumbled through adolescence hand in hand, exploring Jewel and friendship, lost
to the world but found to each other.
“Wow,” she
whispered. A wide smile dimpled her cheeks. “You look different. How’s life?
Still pissing everyone off on the coast?”
Cole
masked a cringe, smirking awkwardly at the counter. “Pretty much, yeah. How
`bout you? You’re still in Jewel, obviously.”
“It’s
home.” Tara tapped on a touch screen register. He handed her his credit card.
She flicked it back to him. “It’s on me—don’t look at me like that, it’s fine.
How long are you in town for?”
“Lila’s in
Cambodia until Christmas Eve, so I’m staying at her place until then.” He
nudged her hand with his credit card.
She shook
her head and pushed the card away. “Wasn’t she, like, just in Peru?”
“Yeah, you
know her. Can’t sit still for very long. Seriously, Tara, let me—”
“It’s fine!” She slid a
plate across the counter. A plump piece of cake crowned with golden honeycomb
sat atop it. “You said coconut milk, right?”
“Yeah, if
you have it. So, what’s new? Are you in school? Married? Kids?” Cole didn’t
have the courage to ask what he wanted to. The real stuff, boxed away with the
rest of their childhood, long forgotten. Did you ever kiss Monica Owens like you
told me you would? Do you remember stealing Jeb’s car from the drive-in lot?
How much has changed since then?
“School,
no. Married, no. Kids, hell no.” Tara flashed a fanged grin. Steam scented like
green tea and cloves billowed from the barista station. “I’m a hair stylist
Monday through Wednesday at the little salon off Pine Street. I’m here most
mornings, sometimes swing a few nights at Ricky’s.”
“Ricky’s?
That place is still around?”
“Dive bars
never die,” Tara said. She handed him a beautifully crafted latte topped with a
rippled leaf. The bell sounded, followed by creaky hinges and shoes shuffling
across the floor. Cole thought of the promises they’d made to each other. One day, I’ll be… Someday, we’ll run to…
Tara stood on her tiptoes and glanced over Cole’s shoulder. “We’ll catch up,
right? Like, we’ll get drinks or something?”
“Sure,
yeah, we can do that. I might hang out for a bit, actually. If that’s okay.” He
gestured to his messenger bag. “Any outlets next to the window?”
“Yeah,
take the booth in the corner. It’s…” She shook her head, eyes roaming his face.
“It’s really good to see you, Cole. Seriously.”
“I… Yeah,
it’s good to see you too, Tara. Thanks for the latte.”
She
winked. “And the cake.”
Wet shoes
squeaked on the floorboards behind him.
“And the
cake.” Cole smiled again, a foreign expression after three days spent forcing
niceties to cousins and uncles and grandparents who had flinched whenever he’d
moved too quickly.
He thought
back to Thanksgiving. They’ll
run a background check, son. They’ll find out regardless.
The moment his father had asked if he was being truthful on his job
applications, Cole had stopped pretending to be approachable. Before he could
bite back, his aunt, the only other oddity on the Morrison family tree, put
herself between them, hands firm on Cole’s chest, and said, “Baby, take the
keys to the cabin and go. Stay through the holidays, feed the birds, keep
everything safe. I’ll pay you before I leave.”
Cole had
left before the tea was served. His sister followed him to his car, shouting
about helping himself, how they all loved him regardless, that he could get
back on his feet if he actually tried. Stop running and stand still for once!
Running
was all he knew, but he never thought he’d run into Tara Foster.
What would
she think of him now? Life at a crossroads. The word felony clasped
tightly around his neck like a choke chain. He scrubbed a hand under the back
of his black beanie and opened his laptop, attempting to focus on the unread
e-mail bolded on the screen.
From: Lila
Morrison
Subject: Cabin Stuff
Hey Honey,
Family is the only thing harder than
love. Sometimes they know best and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes it’s easy to
love them and sometimes it’s not. Don’t turn off your phone, okay? My brother
will kill us both if Claire can’t get a hold of you.
The number for the hostel I’m
staying at is below. Same with the emergency vet in case something happens to
the birds. My favorite Thai place (they deliver) is on the fridge next to the
pizza coupons.
Watch for raccoons. They get in
the trash.
Maybe try sending your dad a
message. An olive branch, you know?
Keep your chin up.
Love,
Lila
“An olive
branch,” Cole mumbled. He rolled his eyes and logged out of his e-mail.
Lila was
the only person who remotely understood how he felt about their family. But
sometimes he thought his aunt had forgotten just how ruined things were. How
the awkward rift between him and his sister had cracked and shifted, as if
being unable to fix Cole’s brokenness invalidated Ginger’s psychology degree.
How his grandmother had only called to ask if he’d spoken to his father, even
though his father refused or write or visit.
Three
years in a cell was a lonely thing, but his family made the outside lonelier.
The soft acoustic music inside the café was a nice change. Same with the sweet
cake he forked into his mouth, the twinge of hope in his chest at the sight of
Tara’s smile, and the white trees outside.
Cole
curled his fingers around the steaming cup, lifting it carefully to his mouth.
As the
morning stretched, people came and went, dipping into the café for pastries and
warm drinks. Hushed chatter drifted from occupied tables and fingertips tapped
on keyboards. He sipped his latte and scrolled through Facebook, clicking on
names he barely knew anymore. Friends from high school. Extended family. Sandra
went to grad school. Grayson was still in Venice, dating someone new. Figures. He browsed
through Ginger’s albums, pausing over photos from her wedding, and wondered if
one of the Morrison seats had been left empty on purpose.
Reserved for Cole: The Family Fuck
Up.
He closed
his laptop and slouched in the seat, eyes tracking cars as they rolled through
downtown. How would he frame the last decade of his life when Tara inevitably
asked about it?
I’ll come back. We’ll get on a
bus. Head away from San Diego, north toward San
Francisco. We’ll run forever.
Loud
laughter sparked near the counter. “…we just didn’t click, that’s all. No,
Tara, c’mon, he’s your little brother, I wouldn’t lie to you. He was nice,
dinner was nice, but…” A customer barked out another laugh and Tara responded
in kind, letting her head fall back, shoulders shaking and eyes squeezed shut.
Cole
looked closely, searching for another hint of familiarity, and came away with
none. Finely sculpted bones pressed against the stranger’s skin, carving a
sharp jaw into a heart-shaped face. Dark hair was swept back, sheared close to
the skin on the sides and kept longer on top. A high-necked sweater clung to
his lean frame, the sleeves bundled in his palms. Cole hadn’t realized he’d
been staring until he met wide eyes looking back at him from behind silver
reading glasses.
“Jesse, do
you want soy or almond milk?” Tara said.
Once Jesse
turned his gaze to the floor, Cole cleared his throat.
“Who’s
that?” Jesse’s voice came out hushed, but the Crow’s Nest was too small for privacy.
“Oh,
that’s Cole.” Tara swiveled around the glass case to look at him. “Hey!” Cole
immediately whipped toward the window, pretending to busy himself with birds or
trees, something, anything
else. “Cole, come on, don’t be like that.”
Fucking hell. He turned to face them
and forced a pained smile. “Yeah, hi. It’s—I’m Cole.” He braved a longer look
at Jesse, whose freckled cheeks were tinged pink.
Tara
pointed at him with her pen. Her grin widened again. “He’s an out-of-towner.
Old friend of mine; we used to hang out when we were kids.”
“Oh.”
Jesse’s throat bobbed when he swallowed. “That’s—”
“It’s been
a while, ten years, honestly. He could be a serial killer for all I know.”
Cole
rolled his eyes, but a laugh snorted out of him anyway. “Tara.”
“Great,
awesome, thank you for making this interaction entirely too awkward to deal
with,” Jesse hissed, bashful smile masked by a nervous adjustment of his
glasses. He grabbed the travel mug from the counter and darted out the door.
“See you around!”
Cole watched
him through the window, how he walked with his shoulders back, his profile
crisp and pronounced. Jesse tipped his chin and met Cole’s eyes for a fleeting
moment, mouth twisted into a crooked smile, before he stepped past the window
and was gone.
“Wait,
Jesse!” Tara held a paper bag in one hand, craning over the desk. A group of
customers arrived and she paused, biting her lip before she narrowed her eyes
at Cole. “C’mere.”
Cole
frowned. “No.”
“Come on,
I need a favor!” She flashed a smile at the customers. Hi, yes, oh are you visiting? Welcome
to Jewel. What can I get for you today? Another pointed
glare at Cole. Her lips formed silent words. Please, come on.
Cole shook
his head.
Once Tara
finished taking orders, she shook the bag at him. “You’ve ghosted me for a
decade. You owe me.”
“So, you are mad.”
Reluctantly, Cole walked to the counter.
“Of
course, I’m mad. Are you kidding me? Ten years, asshole?” She chuckled under
her breath. “Not, like, mad mad.”
“Mad
enough to extort me for it.”
“Emotional
extortion.” She gestured to the bag. “Can you take this to Jesse? He runs the
apothecary next door.”
“The guy
you just royally embarrassed me in front of? No, Tara, come on—”
“Excuse
me, but my best friend vanished into thin air ten years ago and I still bought him
breakfast,” Tara said matter-of-factly. She rushed around the barista station,
steaming this and pouring that. “He’s real sweet, okay? Just a little
skittish.”
“And he
runs an…an apothecary? He’s—”
“Cute?
Yeah, I know. He makes wreathes, candles, lotions, potions, all of it. Local
witch, local sweetheart, local bachelor.” She set her palms on the
counter and tilted her head, blowing a strand of hair off her brow. “In case
you were wondering.”
Cole
didn’t know what to say to something like that. He blinked, surprised, and
scoffed. “Still playing matchmaker, Foster?”
Tara
scoffed back at him. “Maybe. You scared of a cute guy, Morrison?”
Cole
rolled his eyes.
“I’ll
sweeten the deal. I’m making almond muffins tomorrow.”
“Another
free breakfast?” He shook his head, trying and failing to suppress a grin. Some
things never changed, and Tara, thank fucking god, was who she’d always been.
Haughty and confident and strong in every way Cole could never be.
But this
tasted like forgiveness. Like beginnings, maybe. An olive branch he could
actually hold on to.
Tara
balanced mugs on a black tray. “Free breakfast and a free latte.
Deal?”
Cole
snatched the paper bag off the counter. “Deal.”
*
Breath
fogged the air in front of his mouth. He adjusted his beanie, tugged at his
jeans, smoothed his palms down the front of his jacket. Cute people existed. He
used to interact with them daily. Smiled. Didn’t trip over himself. Spoke,
even. But for some reason, the idea of walking into the apothecary next door
made his chest tight and his throat dry. Maybe it was the witch stuff. Maybe it
was being on his own for the first time in years, able to make his own
decisions, forge his own path. Maybe it was being back in Jewel, directionless
and alone.
Whatever
it was, Cole had to figure it out. Quickly. Immediately.
Because
Jesse stood on a metal ladder, struggling to drape garland across the brick
face of the shopfront. His handsome brown shoes arched, tiptoes clinging to the
second-to-last step. A curse fluttered from him and he wobbled just enough to
tip backward.
Cole
caught the small of Jesse’s back. “I’ve got you—I’m sorry,” he blurted, trying
his best to lift all five fingers away from Jesse’s sweater while steadying him
at the same time. “You okay?”
“I’d be
better if I had an extra set of hands,” Jesse said. He glanced over his
shoulder, cheeks blotched red from exertion. “Can you hold the ladder steady
for a minute? I’m almost done.”
“Yeah,
sure, I’m—”
“Cole. I
remember.”
Cole set
his cup and the bag down, and gripped the ladder with both hands. He swallowed,
watching Jesse’s shoulders roll as he tucked the garland over long, rusty
nails. Like this, with Jesse’s heels at eye level and Cole’s head tipped back,
he could appreciate the way Jesse’s jeans wrapped around his calves and thighs
and—
“There,”
Jesse said. After the garland was situated properly, Jesse climbed down and
Cole took a quick step back. The ladder squeaked. Jesse sighed and smacked his
hands together, brushing dust and glitter from his palms. “Think it needs anything
else? More pinecones, maybe?”
Cole
chewed on the inside of his cheek, eyes darting from Jesse to the garland.
Pinecones clustered in the corners, bundled with red ribbon and brushed with
gold foil. Tiny bells hung from green stems and delicate lace curled into bows
at each end. “It’s pretty,” he said, and grabbed his drink from the ground.
“But I’m not very festive, so.”
“Not
festive, huh?” Jesse opened the apothecary’s wooden door and spoke over his
shoulder. “Anyone who comes to Jewel on purpose during the holidays has to be a
little festive.”
“Yeah,
well, guess I’ll break the mold on that one. Do witches even celebrate
Christmas?”
Jesse
snared him in a hard look. Muted sunlight caught the gold in his chestnut eyes.
“Do you even believe in witches?” His mouth lifted into a small smile, voice
rasped and dismissive. Before Cole could answer, the door closed.
Shit. Cole squeezed the top of the bag. He wasn’t good at this—not the
talking part or the making friends part or the being in Jewel part. All he had
to do was deliver Jesse’s bagel, start over with Tara, and be on his way.
Cole
shouldered the door open. The space was smaller than he expected. A sign above
the register read Carroway
Apothecary. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with vials and
jars filled with powders and herbs. Bundled lavender hung upside down from a
rope strung across the ceiling. Light beamed through the windows, creeping over
hanging caladiums, giant ferns and potted plants.
It was
unmistakably beautiful. Mysterious and quirky, and warm in a way Cole couldn’t
place.
Candles
were everywhere, tucked on the windowsills, displayed on a long, rustic table,
and perched on shelves where old books slouched together. Some were violet,
accented by dried flowers, others were mint green, flecked with herbs and tea
leaves. He set the bag down and plucked a candle from the table. Dried pieces
of rosemary were folded into the wax. Rose petals. Pine needles. He dragged his
finger over the wick, touched the glitter brushed across the top.
Jesse
cleared his throat. “Oh…you followed me. Is… Can I help you with something?”
Cole
glanced around the apothecary. “Tara mentioned you were artsy. What is all this
stuff?”
“The thing
you’re holding is a ritual candle.” Jesse turned, eyes flicking from the candle
to Cole’s face. “Organic, made with soy wax, essential oils and dried herbs,
then consecrated under a full moon. The color, flowers and scents all do
different things, so each individual batch has a unique purpose.”
“Ritual
candles, like, for witchcraft?”
“Not
necessarily.” Jesse pulled long-stemmed dandelions from a drawer behind the
register, laying them out in a line across the desk. “Lots of people have their
own day-to-day rituals. Baths are rituals, exercise is a ritual, cooking can be
a ritual. Those candles,” he squinted, “specifically the one in your hand, is
for cutting cords. It encourages self-care, redirection, and helps with radical
change.”
Heat
rushed into Cole’s cheeks. He immediately set the candle back down. “Tara
wanted me to bring you this.” He held the bag out and walked toward him. “I
think it’s a bagel, maybe. Whatever you ordered. She told me you’re a witch and
I didn’t really know what to make of it, especially since I haven’t seen her
in… It’s just, it’s been a while since I’ve been back here, but… That
doesn’t—yeah, that doesn’t matter. Anyway, sorry if I offended you with the
Christmas stuff, I just—”
“Watch for
wha—”
A small, beige
blob darted from beneath the table and ran through Cole’s legs. He sidestepped
to avoid it, but a basket full of bath bombs got in his way. He stumbled, latte
in one hand, bag in the other, and crashed into a display.
Not crashed as in bumped into or fell against.
Cole’s back hit the shelves and they caved in, jostling the jars above his head
until they fell. Pain throbbed between his shoulders. His boot slipped through
splattered lotion and he tumbled to the floor, smacking his elbow as he went.
Something heavy hit his knee, sending a hot jolt through his shin and into his
foot. Products and mason jars and candles spilled around him, shattering and
cracking.
Jesse
stood with both hands clasped over his mouth, wide-eyed and perfectly still.
From the
floor,
“Holy
shit, are you…” Jesse stepped over the mess and offered Cole his hand. “Are you
okay?”
“I’m
fine,” Cole grumbled. He let Jesse help him to his feet and looked from broken
jars to ruined merchandise. Anxiety crawled into the base of his throat. “I…I’m
so sorry, I’ll pay—I mean, I don’t have the money right now, but I’ll pay for
all of this, everything, I just need some time to get it figured out.”
Jesse
shook his head but stayed silent.
This was a
disaster. A fucking catastrophe. The only money he had was the money Lila had
given him to watch the birds, and that certainly wasn’t enough to replace all
this. Cole grabbed whatever looked intact: a couple candles, a jar filled with
flowers, some bars of soap. Jesse still hadn’t moved and Cole couldn’t get his
thoughts straight. Panic fluttered in his chest, a reminder that he wasn’t
free—not completely—and an accident like this could cost him the little room he
had in the world.
“Look,
this is gonna sound weird, but can we… I know people file reports for stuff
like this, damages, insurance, lability, but…” He rubbed his palm over the
stubble on his cheek. “I’ll fix this. Will you take my word for it?”
“Why would
I do that?” Jesse’s brows knitted.
Cole’s
heart thundered. His lashes fluttered, shame and uncertainty blooming deep in
his stomach. “Because my parole officer will kill me if he finds out,” he said
softly.
Jesse’s
mouth clamped shut with an audible click. He gave Cole a slow once-over. “Oh,”
was all he said, a quick, small thing, before he stepped backward and scooped
Waffles into his arms. There was a pause, as if the gentle trance music in the
background went quiet, and flames popped curiously on their wicks. Everything
in the shop leaned closer, waiting for the inevitable. Anger or tears or
something worse. “This is… This is weeks’ worth of work. I don’t think
you understand what exactly goes into creating…” He toed at some broken glass
and the spices scattered around it. “Products like these.”
Something
terrible lodged in his throat. Even in Jewel, he thought. Even here,
in this tiny mountain town, Cole couldn’t go a single day without ruining
something. Tara would surely find out about this. Which meant the whole town
would know about it sooner or later. Cole’s back, they’d say. Lila’s nephew. The one with all that
anger inside him. Jesse’s eyes searched the floor, mouth
pinched. He looked far away, somehow. Not entirely disappointed, but hurt,
almost. As if those candles and shampoos and potions could never be replaced.
Cole licked his lips, breath stunted and heavy. “Jesse, seriously, I’m good for
it, I swear—”
“You’re
Tara’s friend, right?”
Cole
chewed on his bottom lip. “I was. But that was a long time ago.”
“She
trusts you?”
“You’d
have to ask her that.”
Jesse’s
lips hovered apart. He tracked Cole with slow glances, shoes to face, face to
shoes, over and over. “I need an assistant,” he said. His pale cheeks were pink
again, freckles dark where the heat hadn’t yet reached. “Help me make new
products, run the shop, gift wrap, assist customers and clean. You’ll be free
after Yule. Deal?”
A long,
relieved breath flowed over Cole’s lips. “Yes, yeah, deal.”
“Good,”
Jesse whispered. He cleared his throat and scratched behind Waffles’ ears. “You
start today. Let’s get this cleaned up.”
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