Page 37 of Mated to the Monster Under my Bed
“This is amazing,” I said out loud, glancing toward the rafters, “but do you think I could have some eggs to go with it?”
There was no reply—I hadn’t really expected one. Besides, this was just a little experiment.
I opened the fridge. Nothing had changed. There was the butter, milk, American cheese, and the homemade, strawberry jam. No eggs, though.
I opened the cupboards and saw more cans of Tomato soup and some Ritz crackers—my favorite when I was a kid. Still no eggs—not that I’d really expected to find them in the cupboard, but I’d wanted to be sure.
“Hmm.” I leaned against the counter, thinking. The cottage seemed to be supplying me with my favorite foods from when I was a child—the things that Grandma had made for me. But it appeared that I couldn’t just wish out loud for something and expect for it to appear.
It made sense, in a weird way. This place was full of childhood comforts. But maybe there were limits to its magic.
Still, I wasn’t about to complain. I sliced up the bread and slid it into the old toaster—one of those chrome ones with a big lever and chunky buttons. I used to love playing with the one at Grandma’s, pretending I was a 1950s housewife from one of those old black and white TV shows she loved to have me watch with her. Leave it to Beaver and My Three Sons were her favorites.
The toast popped up perfectly golden, and I buttered it, then added a generous scoop of strawberry jam. I sat at the kitchen table and wrapped my hands around the steaming cup of chamomile tea. It tasted just like I remembered…warm, sweet, and comforting.
But as I ate, reality crept back in.
I didn’t have any money.
Not here and not back in the real world. Back home the mortgage was due and I couldn’t pay it. I could move here, I supposed—the cottage was mine. But I couldn’t live indefinitely on magically replenishing bread and childhood memories. Even in a magical town, I needed a way to make a living.
“This isn’t sustainable,” I said to the empty kitchen. “Not unless I find a way to earn some money.”
But how? What could I even do?
My eyes wandered to the knitting basket sitting by the couch in the living room. The half-finished shawl I’d started over three years ago was draped invitingly over the arm of the couch as though the cottage wanted me to finish it. Maybe…
The half-formed thought was interrupted by a knock at the front door.
Startled, I glanced at the clock on the stove—it was nearly ten in the morning—time for Harmony’s knitting lesson.
I decided to put the worry on pause and enjoy some time with my new friend. I stood and brushed crumbs from my sweater. Whatever happened later, at least this morning, I had something to look forward to.
Walking through the living room, I opened the front door with a smile.
22
DANNI
When I opened the front door, I expected to see Harmony’s smiling face on my porch. What I didn’t expect was Sarah standing right beside her, bundled in a cinnamon-colored coat and smiling as well.
“I hope you don't mind—Madam Healer gave me the morning off, and Sarah has the day off from the bakery and she really wants to learn to knit too,” Harmony said brightly, her cheeks pink from the crisp morning air.
“Oh! Of course, I don't mind—come in! The more the merrier,” I said, stepping back to let them in.
I couldn’t help the little flutter in my chest as I ushered them inside. I was still getting used to the idea of having friends again—women who wanted to spend time with me and just hang out.
They stepped inside, stamping their boots on the hand-braided rug in the entryway. I took their coats, brushing away a few stray leaves, and hung them on the hooks in the narrow front hall closet. The familiar scent of lavender—Grandma’s favorite—still lingered inside. For a moment, I imagined her beside me, smiling approvingly.
Then I froze.
I turned back to them, panic fluttering low in my belly as a realization hit me.
“I'm so sorry,” I blurted. “I know I promised you a knitting lesson, but I just realized I don't have anything to teach you with. I mean, I don't have any knitting needles or yarn!” If only I had some of the supplies from my crafting room back home!
Sarah was already in the living room, looking around curiously.
“What about that stuff?” she asked, pointing at one of the previously empty built-in bookshelves that lined the walls.
