Page 11 of Magic Blooms
“Joshua, huh? That boy will be fine. He always is.”
“He wasn’t fine. That building collapsed on him. I saw it. I thought something would be broken.”
“He’s harder to break than you might think.” Lorraine’s brows furrowed. “Believe me, I know.”
“How do you know him?” As far as I’d been able to discern, he’d just shown up with the storm last night.
“Don’t worry about it, dear. He’s just another Peach Plains refugee. Sometimes when the magical folk can’t cut it in the real world, they end up here. He does odd jobs for me and anyone else who needs it.”
“So he’s magical, too?” Was that why he’d been so suspicious of me? Because he was keeping the exact same secret himself?
“What is he?” I blurted out even though it was impolite. “How many people here are magic? I thought you said magic was supposed to be a secret.”
“Oh, those are some hard questions. Magic in our world is all kept very hush hush. We’re severely outnumbered by those who have no magic at all and refuse to hear that such a thing even exists. As for Joshua, yes, I do know what he is, but it’s also a very personal thing. That would be a secret for him to reveal. Not me.”
Of course, that just made me want to know more. “So I shouldn’t tell anyone how I got here?” I summed up, trying to bring us back around to the main topic of concern.
“You should use the utmost discretion when it comes to discussing your powers.”
“Even with you?”
Lorraine smiled at me. “Especially with me,” she said with another exaggerated wink.
“But I’ll try to tell you who you can trust and who you can’t. Joshua is a good boy, if a bit rough around the edges. Assume that any guests here don’t know a thing about the magical realms. Oh, but if you happen across a certain Gerry Carpenter, watch out. Magic or not, he’s a dirty warlock. Don’t trust him as far as you can throw him.”
She thought about that for a moment, then laughed sarcastically. “I’m assuming you don’t have a lot of strength. Just don’t trust him.”
“Gerry? That’s the other innkeeper, right?”
“He runs the Pinecrest, seven miles down the road. I’ve run Fox’s End for twenty years, yet he thinks he can just roll on in and open up a brand-new place? Not on my watch, buddy.”
I had a feeling this rivalry went deeper than my hostess was prepared to let on. “I’ll make sure to avoid him as much as possible,” I promised with a firm nod.
“You do that, dear heart. All right now. I’m going to check on the Yanks, and then we can head into town.”
I eyed the cookware she’d used to make the grits, wondering if now might be a good time to scrape the edges of the pan and savor every last drop of the good stuff.
Lorraine went to a large white box and opened a door, pulling out a package of something labeled Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, then turned back to me with a knowing grin. “Why don’t you get started on a new batch of cookies? Nothing guests like more than freshly baked homemade cookies.”
“But—” I began before Lorraine cut me off again.
“Stop worrying so much, Princess, and start living,” she said before dumping our plates in the sink and making a hasty exit.
Princess, she’d said. But how did she know so much about me when I knew so little about her?
five
As I watched the cookies rise in Lorraine’s oven, I couldn’t help but think of what I would be doing back home, had I not landed here. The engagement party would have already ended, and Dante and I would probably be making our first public outing as a betrothed couple. My outfit would, no doubt, be fabulous, and some younger children may even ask us to sign autographs.
Instead, I was here learning how to prepare chemically enhanced pre-packaged food—and honestly, kind of loving it. I only hoped that my people back home were having an equally relaxing day rather than the panic, fear, and possibly war I feared would occur, given my sudden disappearance.
Lorraine gave me just enough time to pull the cookies out of the oven and set them to cool before she yanked me out of the house and out into public. Shame I hadn’t even gotten a chance to try one of the sweet-smelling snacks before we left.
Now it was true that while I needed to return home quite desperately, I was also beginning to enjoy my adventure, just like the heroes in the fairytales I’d grown up with. I could easily spend days here in this cute little place exploring all the people and customs. The main street of Elyria, Georgia, was utterly adorable. The buildings were built with a mixture of red, brown, and gray bricks. Aged trees had been planted in even increments along the paved walkway, adding a nice touch of nature.
The types of stores we passed varied greatly. I studied the signs carefully. Something called a coffee shop that smelled wonderful, a bookstore, a bakery, and an antiques dealer that appealed to me even more than the rest. If I lived in this place long-term, I would no doubt spend my days cooking and eating, cooking and eating. Then shopping and shopping.
No wonder there were so many larger people around.
