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Grumbling at me impatiently, Hot Dog hops onto my chest and begins walking up and down my torso, making little grunting noises. Impatient little creature. He comes back up to my face and tips his head, giving me the patented dachshund side-eye.
“Okay, okay. You want to go outside?” His long tongue darts out, slurping along my nose one last time before leaping from the bed and taking off toward the back of our house. Extricating myself from my sheets, which seem to have woven around me like a python, I follow and open the door, stepping outside onto the porch.
Hot Dog scampers over to the grass, running happily until he reaches the trees. Dropping his nose, he sniffs and darts in and out of the woods playfully.
My leg continues to throb, but as I take in the deep forest and mountain air, I feel rejuvenated. The view from my porch soothes me as I watch the birds fly through the tall spruce trees, their calls echoing. Enormous mountains jut toward the sky and, if I look just right, I can see the tiniest sliver of the magical cerulean waters of Lustre Lake. No one else is out here, no homes for miles, just perfect solitude. As the peace of my surroundings helps push the memories back, Hot Dog approaches me.
It’s been about two years since I found the little guy starving to death in the woods. I still have no idea how he made it out there on his own. He was so skinny when I found him, but even then I could see his indomitable will as he growled at me, snipping and telling me to back off. I had rushed into the house to gather some food so I could get close enough to grab him and, of course, the first thing I laid my hands on was a pack of hot dogs. Huddled against a tree, trying to make myself look smaller, I sat out there for hours hoping he would come over to me; but he finally did, scarfing down every last one. My plan had been to fix him up and then pass him off to a loving family with kids, but he turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.
Hot Dog winds himself around my feet, before plopping down directly on my toes. He looks up at me expectantly, making little whining noises.
“What do you want, buddy?” He continues to stare at me, tongue sticking out, with a little doggie smile on his face. I know what he wants; In fact, I am fairly certain we are both craving the same exact thing.
“You wanna go get some breakfast from Tilly?” I ask, and his ears perk right up. “Go see Tilly?” Yup, that’s the key. Amusement rolls through me as he bounces around, doing the butt wiggle.
“Arf, woof,” he trills. As I open the door, he disappears inside. Combing a hand through my hair I toss on some clothes as he determinedly hops back to me; dragging my boot that weighs almost as much as he does.
“You fluffing nutter,” I say, shaking my head. I take it from him and get its partner, slipping them on before reaching down to pick up my red dachshund. I quickly slide him under my shirt and grab the keys off the counter.
Time to go see my dream woman.
Chapter Two
Tilly
If it is true love you seek,
Search before the new moon’s peak.
Climb the mountain, standing tall,
Until you find the path so small.
This will take you to fates lake,
Now the chance is yours to take.
And if Destiny smiles on your endeavor,
Then you shall live,Happily Ever, Forever.
No matter how much I try to focus on making these chocolate croissants, my eyes just keep drifting up the wall to that poem. That stupid, magical, wonderful poem.
No, Tilly. Pay attention before you burn your fingers off.I usually find baking relaxing, although today my heart just isn’t in it. Taking over New Moon Bakery from my grandparents has been one of the most amazing adventures. I love the baking; I love the coffee; I love the customers, especially the big burly one who runs our local Search and Rescue Team—but today the black moon is taunting me.
Our whole town is steeped in the lore of Lustre Lake. Tourists come from all over to try their hand at meeting a soul mate on the night of a new moon. They hike up to the scenic mountainside lake, hoping to meet their one true love, and the thing is… it does happen. Not always. Not for everyone—but it happens.
Some people say that a good witch performed a love spell that went awry, while others maintain that a goddess blessed the lake. Truly, I don’t know, and—while I am not one for superstitions—I am a believer in the power of Lustre Lake. I mean, how can I not be? My grandmother met my grandfather under the stars on the night of a rare black moon, and they fell instantly in love.
They had never even met before but, with only one look, they knew they had found their soulmate. Within a month they got married, then opened the bakery, and a few years later had my mom. My grandparents have the happiest marriage of anyone I know and now, in their eighties, they still stare at one another with absolute devotion.
My eyes stray to the poem again and I sigh.
The tinkle of the door opening breaks me out of my musings.
“I’ll be right with you,” I call out, quickly turning to place the chocolate croissants in the oven and set the timer. I wash my hands, then head to the front to serve my customer.
As I walk through the doorway, the scent of crisp mountain air and forest hits my nose. I can feel his presence instantly; Drew is here. Nerves flutter in my stomach, and I wish I had taken a moment to clean up before I came out. My hair is tangled in a knot on my head, and I’m still wearing my flour-coated apron.
