Page 22 of Sing Sweet Nightingale

“Night, Hunter.”

Lottie’s smile wavers as she watches me walk away, then is replaced with a confused frown.

“Did you walk here?” she calls out to me, now a good twenty feet from the cabin.

“Yeah. My house is just about a mile that way.” I point in the general direction of my house. “My brother and I live there. I own all the surrounding acres, nearly five hundred altogether.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of land.”

“Yes, it is. Feel free to roam as you like. Most of the forest is safe, and if you need anything, well, I’m not far away. Or you could always call Ginger. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to help,” I add, assuring her and myself that I don’t have to be the one to help her.

“Thank you, Hunter.”

“You’re welcome, Lottie.”

I like the way she says my name way too much. Which is why I’m going to be keeping my distance from Lottie Pickle. She’s a human who obviously doesn’t know anything about non-humans with sparkling ocean-blue eyes that want to suck me in and drown me.

There will be no sucking of any sort with Lottie. Sadly. But it’s for the best. No matter how she smells or how my body reacts to her.

Chapter 7 -Lottie

Today is my third day living in Snowberry, and I’ve decided I want to take a look around. When Ginger gave me her tour, I saw a few stores that looked appealing, especially the secondhand/antique store. I’m ninety-five percent sure I saw instruments in there, and I would pay anything for a guitar right now. Strumming fingers are good in a pinch, but nothing can replace the sound of an acoustic guitar.

After burning my coffeeandtoast and settling for a cold bowl of cereal, I decided my first task would be to hunt down real coffee in the local coffee shop,The Ugly Mug. The bakery across the street also has coffee but focuses on baked goods like pastries, cakes, and cookies. It serves only basic brewed coffee but a wider variety of teas, or so Ginger told me. whereasThe Ugly Mugapparently makes all and more than a Starbucks.

Parking in the lot next to Dottie’s, I take off on my adventure to discover more of the town and find the heavenly bliss that is espresso. I really need coffee; I don’t feel like myself without it. With my trusty Polaroid hanging on my shoulder, I straighten my spine and, with my head held high, walk confidently toward the smell of roasting coffee beans.

The Ugly Mugis the coolest coffee house I’ve ever been in. Nothing matches—at all—and I love it. The chairs don’t matchthe tables, and the tiles lining the half wall surrounding the brewing area are different from each other, creating a chaotic but somehow cohesive design.

At least a hundred mismatched mugs hang on racks along the wall leading to the order counter. Above the first rack are painted instructions reading:Pick a mug and a bean, then take a seat and let it steam.

I suppose a good portion of them would be considered “ugly” by normal standards. Even though I think they’re all rather amazing. There’s one shaped like a donut with a hole in the center. One with tentacle legs that look like the mug would balance on them when sitting on a tabletop. One that has to be hand-painted by a toddler of what looks like people. Then I spot the one I’ll be using today, a pink dinosaur with gold stars for spots on its spikey body. I think it’s a T-Rex, but like a squatty chunky one. It’s molded so the body of the dino is the majority of the cup. If I set it down on a table, it would look like it's sitting on its butt, the tail curling around to form the handle and a cute, rounded head protruding from the opposite side of the rim. It’s perfect.

Picking my perfect “ugly” mug, I walk up to the order counter and slide my pink dino over to the guy behind the register. He picks it up and inspects it with a soft smile.

“This is a good one. If I remember correctly, it’s from the Natural History Museum in London.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” The man looks at me, and his grin grows into a wide beaming smile. “You’re the new girl in town. Lottie, right?”

Wow. Ginger was right. Word spreads fast here.

“Yup, that would be me.”

“Well, welcome to Snowberry and theUgly Mug, where every mug is an adventure. Each mug we have is unique andwas collected from all over the world by the owner. When his collection grew too large, he decided to put them to good use by creating a coffee shop. Because no mug should go unused.”

The boyishly handsome barista, who looks to be around my age, gives a flourishing wave of his arm to the coffee shop around us with a megawatt smile that should be on a toothpaste ad. The white apron looped around his neck is painted across the front with his name in a very colorful and intricate pattern spelling out Tobias. It looks hand-painted, and when I glance at the other employees behind him, theirs are different and specific to them as well.

“That’s pretty amazing. I’ve never seen such a place like this before. And if your coffee tastes as good as it smells, I’ll probably be here every single day.”

“Well, we look forward to seeing you every day. My name is Tobias, and I’m pretty much always here or at my husband’s family greenhouse. If you’re in need of the most beautiful flowers you’ve ever seen, you should check outDaisy’s. Or if you just want to take a stroll through the gardens, you’re welcome to do that as well.”

Is this a normal small-town thing to be so friendly and open, or is it just a Snowberry thing?Either way, I am loving Luna more and more with every moment I spend here.

“A nursery with gardens? Wow. I didn’t know this town had something like that.”

“Absolutely. Daisy, my sister-in-law, runs the greenhouse and nursery. She has a literal green thumb. If you ever have a free afternoon, swing by and check it out.”

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