Page 14 of Ella and the Enchanted Bookshop

“It’s never been offered to me,” she said as she started to stack the cups on the counter beside the espresso machine. “But I can tell you that almost everyone who does borrow it comes back more than a little mystified.”

After glancing around to make sure we were alone, I went up to her. “Why do you think that is?” I whispered. “What’s happening in this book… It’s impossible!” I shook my head. “And even if it weren’t, the book’s not even complete!”

Belle laughed ruefully. “Like I said, she’s never offered it to me, so I don’t know exactly what you’re talking about, but life with Margaret…” She paused and gave me a strange smile. “It’s often that way. Things just go… very well sometimes. And sometimes, they go very well for her. At least, whatever she wants to happen has a way of working out.”

She looked around us before lowering her voice. “I’ve never once seen her decorate or clean, but the place is always spotless, minus the little jobs she has me do here or there. And just before the beginning of the next season, I wake up one day, and the shop is simply… transformed into whatever season is coming next. I don’t see her decorating, and I certainly don’t decorate. It just isn’t, and then it is.”

I stared at her. If anyone would know these things, it would be Belle. Not only did she work at the bookshop, she also lived in the little apartment above the store.

Belle leaned forward. “I’ve never even seen her tea grow cold. Once, I watched her for a whole hour while she read a book. And it stayed steaming hot the entire time!”

I stared at her in disbelief. But before I could ask any more questions, another voice sounded from the back of the store.

“Ah, I see you’re here to ask about the book.” Margaret made her way to the front and began rearranging things behind the register. “I told you, I lend it to people who need it. Now, what took you so long to ask about it?”

I stared at her. “Margaret… the book…” It felt crazy to even say it out loud–especially in front of Belle. In fact, I might not have said anything except for all the things she had just confided to me.

“It writes itself!” I finally finished in a whisper. “And only as things happen to me. Which are all oddly… specific.” I shook my head again. “I don’t know what’s going on or how this book works, but–”

“Ella,” Margaret interrupted with an amused smile. “Are you suggesting that I gave you a magical book?” Then she took a sip of tea.

I would have absolutely denied her ridiculous question if she hadn’t been watching me with sparkling eyes from behind her cup.

“Well… did you?” I finally asked, at a loss for words.

“Belle, make her a pumpkin spice London Fog, will you?” Margaret asked. Then she turned back to me. “I gave you the book that you need right now. And all I ask is that you read it every night before bed.” She gave me a mischievous smile. “It will help you sleep.”

“Actually, it’s doing exactly the opposite right now,” I said as the sound of the mini frother started buzzing from Belle’s coffee station in the corner. “I’m not used to having books that… write themselves according to my life in my room when I sleep.” The more I said it aloud, the crazier it sounded.

“Now, Ella.” Margaret put her hands on her hips. “You’ve been buying books in my store since you were old enough to walk. When have I ever given you the wrong one?”

“Well, never, but–”

“Then that’s all there is to it,” Margaret said, making her way behind Belle’s counter. “Now, try one of these pumpkin bars. They’re a new recipe.”

So with a pumpkin bar in a paper bag, a steaming pumpkin spice London Fog, and the book still tucked under my arm, I left the shop even more confused than when I’d come.

8

Smelling of Spices

The rest of the week was full to bursting. Not only did we get new riders, but we got new boarding horses too–even more than Casey had warned me were coming. Harper, of course, used her community college classes as an excuse not to do any work. Jaelyne… tried. As usual, though, she was never at a single task for more than ten minutes before something else became far more important than finishing whatever she was doing.

Which meant that if Derrick and Brianna hadn’t shown up for their part-time hours, I would have been all on my own. But for some reason, in spite of all the work I rushed around to complete, time dragged by. And rather than feeling accomplished, every time I finished one item on my to-do list, three more seemed to pop up.

It might have also seemed slow because Asher wasn’t texting as much as he had that first day. He had some important work briefing he had to prepare for, apparently, which meant he could text first thing in the morning and last thing at night. They were always simple texts, telling me good morning or asking me how my day had been, but nothing deep. And though I tried to play it cool, I found quickly that I was hanging on his every word. Which made it all the more aggravating when instead of his words, I would open my phone to find a new text from Casey telling me what to do and where to be. And I found myself wishing more than ever that he were nearby, where we could really talk about each day together.

I hated to admit it, but I was in exceptional danger of falling for this guy. And if I had any semblance of sense, I would hold my horses and slow down. Jumping into an emotional relationship–even if it was only one by phone with a few text messages a day–was the last thing I needed to rush into.

“But why?” my cousin asked when I met her in the coffee shop that Saturday. Casey was off at another equine conference in California, which meant I finally got lunch to myself. So I’d called up my cousin, Amanda, and invited her to lunch at a local coffee shop. We got our hot drinks and bowls of pumpkin soup and made our way to the outside dining area, where we could enjoy the mid-September breeze while feeling cozy in our sweaters.

“Amanda, I’ve only known him for two weeks, and I’ve seen him all of two times in person,” I pointed out. “Hardly the ideal time to be falling head over heels.” I took a sip of my latte, letting out a long sigh of contentment as the warm cinnamon milk slid down my throat and warmed me from the inside. It really did feel like fall.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Ella, he’s a man with a successful career who is obviously interested in you. You’re an adult. He’s an adult. It’s not like Casey gets a say in this.”

“Ew,” I gagged. “I never implied that she did.”

But Amanda ignored me and went on. “Besides, if what you’re telling me is true, Margaret adores him. And I’d say she’s a pretty good judge of character.” She gave me a challenging look as she took a sip from her own cup.