The clatter behind her was loud and sharp, breaking the silence of the little shop like a firecracker going off in the middle of the night. Jane jumped, nearly dropping the teetering pile of teacups and their saucers she was carrying back to the kitchen. She carefully set the delicate dishes down on the nearest table and went to investigate the source of the noise, heart hammering, wondering if she was going to like what she found.

At first glance, the front room of the tea shop was unchanged, a perfect still life of seasonal tranquility. Snow piled in soft drifts on the windowsills and frost spread its white fingers across the glass panes, but the two wood-burning iron stoves she had installed on opposite walls kept the evening’s encroaching chill at bay. The fairy lights on her Christmas tree and strung through the garlands of ivy, holly, and evergreen sparkled off the multitudes of bottles and jars that lined the shelves and the now-empty pastry case, and the air was warmed by the lingering scent of vanilla, cardamom, and cinnamon. The tablecloths on each of the half-dozen tables were freshly laundered and ironed and crowned with a centerpiece of fir clippings, pinecones, and small gold baubles ringing a pillar candle. The cluster of iron bells hanging from the front door’s handle were still and quiet. Everything was as it should be, and Jane was just about to relax when she caught sight of something long and thin lying on the hardwood floor, its end pointing at the door. Jane went over to the fallen broom and picked it up, feeling a prickle of apprehension run down her spine.

Someone’s coming, she thought with a shiver.

She wasn’t sure why the otherwise innocuous omen unsettled her. The shop was still technically open for another hour, but the arrival of a customer never warranted an announcement before. There were certainly worse signs that could have come in its place: a bird flying through her front door, for instance, or hearing a dog howling beneath her bedroom window. She was always mindful about not sweeping the floors after nightfall in order to avoid unwanted company; it was a habit she always had, but it felt especially important now since her shop and, incidentally, her home, was the only inhabited building for a mile in any direction.

Jane’s mind whirled as she weighed her options. She could set up a quick ward to keep anyone from coming in… or she could simply lock the door and turn off the “open” sign. Things hadn’t exactly been going her way as of late and she didn’t want to take any chances.

However…

What if her luck was finally about the take a turn for the better, and her approaching visitor was the one to bring it? She hated how pessimistic she’d become over the past few months and immediately jumping to worse case scenarios. It was entirely possible to be optimistic and cautious at the same time.

Jane retrieved the teacups she set down and hurried back to the kitchen at the back of the shop. She placed them carefully in the enamel sink, then went over to the cupboards lining the wall. One of them was secured by an old brass padlock that Jane deftly opened with a key on a chain hanging around her neck.

Unlike the jars and bottles in the shop’s main room, which were crystal clear and neatly labeled to detail their names, ingredients, and uses, the jars in her cupboard were clouded from years of use and re-use. Most were identified by a scrawl of sharpie pen across a single strip of masking tape: others weren’t labeled at all. Jane sifted through them quickly, listening intently for the sound of bells in case her visitor arrived before she was ready for them. She had meant to move her private stock of ingredients and potions upstairs once she was settled—she had a number of items she didn’t want to risk customers getting into, no matter how small the chance of that happening was—but the less than warm welcome she received from the locals made her feel that it might not be a bad idea to keep them where they’d be closer at hand, especially since she’d be spending most of her time downstairs. Once again, following her instinct proved to be the right thing to do.

Jane finally found what she was looking for: a medium-sized bottle with a long, tapering neck filled with a deep gold liquid and capped with a red wax seal. The words “Four Thieves’ Vinegar” was written on a strip of tape in Jane’s loopy handwriting. When he was alive, Jane’s grandfather had sworn by this concoction, and it had been among the first he taught her how to brew. He loved to boast of how their recipe was passed down through their family since the middle ages and that it had protected them from every major epidemic, from the bubonic plague to cholera to the Spanish flu. When it wasn’t being used to ward off deadly diseases, the vinegar provided a powerful kick to banishing spells and cleansing rituals. It also made a tasty salad dressing.

But tonight, Jane was using the Four Thieves’ Vinegar for a simpler purpose: a quick sprinkle across the threshold of the shop, and if the mystery visitor was an unsavory one, the magic in the vinegar would compel them to turn around and leave. If they were a friend, they would be unaffected. It was the perfect solution to her dilemma.

Feeling more confident than she had a few moments before, Jane closed and re-locked the cabinet. She headed back to the tea shop’s main room, working the wax seal loose with her thumbnail. Then she looked up and saw a man standing in the middle of the room.

Jane gasped out loud. The bottle of Four Thieves’ Vinegar slipped from her hands and shattered into a hundred shards on the floor.

~*~

Nathaniel Gilman was in a bad mood. Or, more accurately, he was in an even worse mood than normal.

Nathaniel hated the holiday season, but not for the typical reasons. It wasn’t because of the overly peppy music that blasted endlessly over the radio and in every store, or the constant barrage of forced goodwill and cheer, or even the obligation of having to play nice with detested family members over Christmas dinner. This time of year did not mark the anniversary of a tragic event in his life that made people nod with sympathy and leave him alone to his sorrow. The women in town (particularly the ones who were single or had unwed daughters close to his age) liked to tease him by calling his Scrooge or the Grinch, which was a little closer to the mark than he cared to admit. No, Nathaniel hated it for another reason altogether. As soon as the Thanksgiving leftovers were put away and the fine China washed and returned to its display cabinets, a sort of sick dread settled in Nathaniel’s stomach that would not dissipate until December 26. That time marked the beginning of the Tri-County Winter Festival and Most Merry Town Contest and all the preparation that came with it.

He snorted to himself. “Preparation” was not exactly the right word to use in this context. “Preparation” implied organized planning and rational thought, but not when it came to Cedar Pitch. As soon as the first holiday displays started going up in the shop windows and wreaths hung on the residents’ front doors, the women of the Cedar Pitch Homeowners Association went into a frenzy, like sharks in heavily chummed water. Within the first few days of December, every home and business inside the city limits was issued a pamphlet roughly the size of a small electronic instruction manual outlining the festival committee’s contest rules and guidelines, what was expected of the citizens of Cedar Pitch to maximize the town’s merriment level, and a list of where they lost points the previous year (complete with the names of the offenders) and the solutions of how to fix them for this year. Then the Special Christmas Counsel was elected, and it was their job to patrol the town and surrounding suburban neighborhoods with an efficiency and ruthlessness that would put the KGB to shame, seeking out anyone jeopardizing Cedar Pitch’s chance at winning the Most Merry first place trophy. Most of the time the sight of the SCC’s plastic smiles and cold eyes were enough to set people straight. Repeat offenders and those who were just plain belligerent, however, needed some heavier-handed persuasion. As the town’s lawyer and the compliance officer of the municipality of Cedar Pitch, that was where Nathaniel came in.

That was the reason why he was driving down a dark country road to the outskirts of town; to deliver a cease-and-desist letter to the woman who ran the new shop out there. He didn’t know what kind of shop it was, nor did he really care. It was easier not to care; it helped alleviate the guilt. He had been the instrument in shutting down many would-be establishments that did not fit the mayor’s or the HOA’s wholesome small-town aesthetic, including a tattoo parlor, a comic book shop, and an indie music store. He would bet money that the only offense this new shop committed was having the audacity to exist in the first place.

Nathaniel’s GPS chirped, notifying him that he was arriving at his destination. The beams of his headlights sliced through the winter gloom and flurry of snow, revealing a large log cabin a stone’s throw from the road, tucked amongst a thicket of towering trees. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised upon realizing exactly where he was. Once the hunting lodge of a reclusive bachelor, the two-story structure had stood empty for years, slowly falling into disrepair under the wear of hot, humid summers and frigid winter temperatures and the ever-encroaching hand of nature. Every few years someone would come into his office requesting legal approval to tear it down, but due to a bizarre string of loopholes in the zoning laws around Cedar Pitch the cabin remained untouched. He supposed the county zoning committee could do something about it, but the fact that the cabin was still standing after all this time had him assuming that it was too far removed from the town—and, more important, too far off the beaten tourist path—for the HOA to put that much time and energy into. Nathaniel couldn’t possibly imagine what was there now to have the panties of the HOA twisted up so tight. He’d probably have some kind of idea if he ever listened to their malicious gossip, but for the sake of his sanity, he learned to tune it out a long time ago.

Nathaniel parked his car in the repurposed driveway and got out. The cold evening air pounced on him immediately, gnawing on his ears and the tip of his nose. As a man who was typically unimpressed as a rule, even he was struck by the cabin’s transformation. The windows, which had been dark and boarded up for years, now glowed with warm, golden light, gilding the drifts of snow on the flower boxes and along the edges of the swept walkway. The shutters and front door were freshly painted, the shingles on the roof straightened or replaced. In fact, not one hint remained of the dilapidated ruin the cabin had once been. Now it looked like an iced gingerbread house from a child’s bedtime story. Nathaniel could swear he could smell cinnamon and nutmeg in the air.

The thought of gingerbread houses also brought to mind images of hideous old hags who lured children into their homes to fatten up and devour. It was an unpleasant visual to carry with him as he approached the front door. It was only when he stepped into the circle of lights on the porch that he saw his first indication of why the women of the HOA took such offense to the place. The front window was adorned with a large decal of a teacup in silhouette with a trail of steam rising from the rim. The steam curled into the sinuous form of a cat, the end of its tail creating a circle that enclosed a five-point star. Written above the image in elegant script were the words “The Cat and Craft Tea Shop.”

Nathaniel almost left right then and there. It had been too long a day to put up with whatever New Age nonsense lay on the other side of that door. But it was a long drive, and the weatherman said it was going to snow all night, and he really hated getting stuck behind the snowplows that would inevitably be out clearing the roads tomorrow morning. He stopped being stupid and entered the tea shop.

The bells on the handle didn’t even have the chance to ring before Nathaniel felt himself seized by a pair of ethereal arms that reached out from the veil of time to pull him back into the childhood he hadn’t thought of in years. A deluge of memories ignited all his senses with scents, sounds, and tastes he thought were long forgotten: the warm glow of the menorah against the dark, frosty front window and the spicy aroma of his uncle’s wassail simmering in its ancient crockpot; how the only time he wasn’t afraid of the dark was when the Christmas tree glowed through the night; his mother’s throaty voice reciting the Haneirot Hallalu and the wind’s cold bite on his face as he and his father trudged through the house near their home to hang up their homemade bird feeders for the winter birds, the smell of pine resin sharp in his nose.

Gradually the onslaught of memories subsided, leaving Nathaniel with a pounding heart, shaking hands, and most unsettlingly, a burning in the backs of his eyes. He took a deep breath, embarrassed at the unexpected slow of emotions even though there was no one around to witness it. More than anything he wanted to find the tea shop’s proprietor, complete his task, and get home.

There was a sudden gasp somewhere in front of him, followed by an ear-splitting crash. Nathaniel nearly jumped out of his skin; all the unearthed memories of his childhood driven back to the recesses of his mind where they belonged.

While he was lost in thought a young woman had emerged from the back of the shop and was taken by surprise by his sudden appearance just as much as he was by hers. Whatever it was she was carrying was now shattered at her feet, the glass shards refracting the candlelight as some kind of liquid seeped across the hardwood floor. The sharp tang of vinegar hit Nathaniel’s nose, but he hardly noticed. All of the previous assumptions he had about the shop’s owner—if that was indeed who she was—had been smashed much like the jar at her feet. She could not have been much different in age than he was (whether she was older or younger, he couldn’t be sure, he was terrible at judging someone’s actual age). Ringlets of copper hair framed a heart-shaped face set with deep chocolate eyes. Her lips, touched with a blush-pink hue, were slightly parted in surprise, her breath emerging in short pants. Nathaniel was struck dumb by how attractive she was.

That realization was immediately followed by another thought, dredged up from the depths of his lizard brain: pretty girl, need to run now!

She came to first, shaking her head as if she was coming out of some kind of trance. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, dropping to her knees and beginning to pick up the largest of the shards from the pungent-smelling puddle of mystery liquid. “I wasn’t expecting someone to show up so soon.”

Nathaniel wasn’t sure if he heard the last part right, but he did know he needed to do something that wasn’t standing there like an idiot. His eyes fell on a small garbage can near the front door. At a loss of what else to do, Nathaniel set his briefcase on the nearest table and picked up the garbage can to help clean up the mess he indirectly helped make. He knelt across from the woman and began to help her pick up the broken glass, careful to not put his knees in the vinegar-like liquid. He was even more careful to not look her in the eye.

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” he said at last, feeling like the apology came several minutes too late. He didn’t seem capable of raising his voice over a mumble. “I should have checked your hours to see if you were even open.” Then he winced, remembering the neon “open” sign illuminating the frosted parking lot in shades of pink and purple. To his relief, she didn’t mention that obvious fact.

There was a quick exchange of attempted deferrals—“It’s okay, I got this” and “let me help, I insist”—before they lapsed into a silent agreement of cleaning up the mess together. Once the largest of the shards had been deftly and carefully thrown away the young woman momentarily disappeared in the back for a dustpan, brush, and some towels. She passed one of the towels off to him when she returned, their fingers brushing together as the exchange was made. The touch was fleeting, but Nathaniel felt a shock race across his spine, raising the small hairs on his neck and arms. She gasped, the barest sharp intake of breath, and he felt another shiver run through his body for an entirely different reason.

“You’re freezing!” the woman exclaimed.

Nathaniel shrugged, struggling to appear nonchalant so she wouldn’t suspect the effect her touch had on him. “That happens when it’s snowing.” He winced again, immediately regretting his words. A more charismatic man would have made them sound smooth and maybe even a little flirtatious. Coming from him, they just made him sound like an asshole. He braced himself for a retort or at the very least a hard glare. Her next words threw him off even more.

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

For the first time, Nathaniel caught the British lilt in her voice. Had he been standing, his knees would have gone weak. “N-no thank you. I’m alright.”

“Please. I insist.”

“Really, I don’t want you to have to go out of your way. I just helped make a mess and I’m sure the owner is ready to close up for the night.”

“Well, seeing how I am the owner and all I can promise it’s not an issue. It’s not your fault I’m jumpy tonight. Besides, look, it’s practically cleaned up now thanks to you, and I always have a kettle on.”

Nathaniel finally looked up from the pile of soaked, reeking towels, fully intent on politely but firmly declining once and for all, to give her the order requested by the HOA and signed by the mayor and getting the hell out of there. Instead, he found himself looking into her large, dark eyes and all those intentions scattered like snowflakes on the wind.

“Okay. I mean, if it’s not too much trouble.”

She smiled. It wasn’t an overly large toothy smile like the ones the HOA slapped on when they scored a victory against someone. It was just the slightest upturn of the corners of her mouth, but her eyes lit up like sparklers on the Fourth of July, as though him accepting her invitation was the best thing to happen to her today.

I’m a dead man.

“Wonderful!” she exclaimed, her smile growing until she was practically beaming. “Why don’t you have a seat at one of the tables while I finish cleaning this up. Is there a particular type of tea you prefer? I can bring you a menu if you’d like.”

“I’m not really a tea drinker, so whatever you recommend, I guess.” It had to be better than the black sludge Sally tried to pass off as coffee every morning in the office. Thinking about work, he quickly amended, “something decaf, if you have it.”

The young woman finished gathering up the sopping wet towels and carried them to the back. Nathaniel got to his feet and went back to the table his briefcase rested on. He flopped into one of the chairs in a sort of daze, wondering how he managed to screw up so badly without doing anything at all. He should have been halfway home by now, not getting ready to have tea at the establishment he was assisting in shutting down.

As he waited for his hostess to return, Nathaniel took a moment to properly observe the tea shop’s interior for the first time. Like all the other kids who grew up in Cedar Pitch, he spent a good portion of his childhood wondering what the inside of the old cabin at the end of town looked like. Some of the kids from school claimed it looked like the house from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. When someone finally ventured inside a few years later in an attempt to clean it up all they found were some moldering hunting trophies and moth-eaten furniture, and the interest in the cabin vanished instantaneously.

Now, like the outside, the cabin’s interior had been transformed to the point that it was completely unrecognizable from the ruin it was before. Most of the large front room was occupied by round tables of various sizes. Ranks of shelves stood like soldiers at the far end of the room before a counter that was bisected by an empty glass display case. An old-fashioned cash register was pushed to one corner on the counter. The light was too low for Nathaniel to make out the details of the merchandise that lined the shelves, but nothing looked especially dubious. With the way the women of the HOA went about it, one would expect to find an altar complete with goat-headed devil effigy and human skulls lining the walls. Other than the decal on the window, the only issue Nathaniel could see them having with the place was the obvious lack of nativity scenes and rosy-cheeked Santa Clauses perched on every available surface. He was really going to feel like a special kind of jerk if the letter said the shop didn’t fit Cedar Pitch’s overly commercialized Christmas aesthetic.

A moment later the woman appeared again from the back, carrying a tray. What he had been expecting was a mug with the tag of a tea bag hanging over the rim; what he got was an entire tea service laid out in front of him, complete with porcelain teapot with matching cup and saucer, a small sugar bowl and pitcher of milk, a silver spoon and an assortment of artificial sweeteners. Nathaniel was hit with another wave of awkwardness, unsure of what to do or even say as she arranged everything in front of him. It was strange and a little awkward to be waited on in such a manner; one of the side effects of bachelorhood, he supposed. He ate most of his meals at home, and when he did occasionally venture out to his favorite diner none of the servers had to take his order because he always got the same thing.

“This will help warm you up for sure,” she said, picking up the teapot with a potholder and pouring a stream into a cup painted with a twill of ivy. A coil of steam wafted towards him, carrying the warm, heady scent of cinnamon. “Black tea flavored with cinnamon, oranges, cloves, and a touch of honey. It’s essentially fire in a cup. I’d offer you something to eat, but I didn’t think I’d be getting any more customers tonight, so I cleaned up the kitchen early. I might have some leftover pastries, if you’d like me to check.”

“No, thank you, miss…”

“Jane. No ‘Miss,’ just Jane.”

“Jane. This is more than enough already, especially when considering I’m the one who barged in while you were in the middle of something.” He raised the teacup to his lips, hesitated, then set it down again a little harder than he meant to, wincing as the cup and saucer clattered together. It felt wrong for him to be holding something so delicate, like he could break it in half just by looking at it the wrong way. And speaking of breaking…

“I’ll pay for whatever it was you dropped.” The smell of it still lingered in the air. He thought he could detect an underlying scent of garlic and rosemary.

Jane waved her hand dismissively. “It’s nothing I can’t replace. I’ll start making a new batch tomorrow.”

“A marinade?” he asked before he realized what he was doing. What had come over him? He never made small talk.

One side of Jane’s mouth quirked, the subtle gesture that betrayed someone when they were debating telling the truth or fabricating a lie. In his years as Cedar Pitch’s city attorney, Nathaniel credited himself at being pretty good at decoding that look in other people, but he could already tell that would not be the case with Jane. There was something about her, particularly her eyes, that played tricks on his mind, making him see one thing but then think another. Then she seemed to make up her mind, and Nathaniel suddenly wasn’t sure which answer he’d prefer.

“If you must know, it’s a potion called Four Thieves Vinegar. The recipe’s been in my family since the middle ages. It helps keep illness and unwanted guests out of your home.” A gleam appeared in her dark eyes, reminding Nathaniel of a cat that just spotted a fat bird in the yard. “I had a feeling I was getting one more customer tonight, and it never hurts to be careful, especially since I’m out here by myself.”

She was making fun of him; she had to be. A pettier man would have paid for the tea, served her the papers, and left without a backwards glance. But this woman managed to piss off every member of the Homeowner’s Association like nothing else ever had, and Nathaniel had the uncharacteristic urge to discover why. “So am I the unwanted guest you wanted to chase off?”

“Hmm. I’m not sure yet,” Jane said, sliding into the chair opposite him and propping her chin on her hand. “I guess that depends on what you came all the way out here for.”

Nathaniel’s mind suddenly went completely blank. Was she flirting with him? Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Why did the simplest tasks always have to turn out to be so complicated for him? The cease-and-desist letter was still in his briefcase, ready to go off like a bomb. He was certain that if he looked down at it, he would see smoke pushing out from between the seams.

At a loss of what else to do, Nathaniel took a sip of his now-cooled tea. The instant the liquid touched his tongue the most wonderful sensation spread through him. The cinnamon was strong but not overpowering, chased by the flavor of orange and sweet cloves. It bloomed inside him like a flower made of embers, banishing the cold that continued to linger in his hands and feet that he didn’t realize was still there. A sigh escaped him involuntarily, taking all the pent-up frustration and stress of the evening with it. Jane watched him with that contented cat smile, saying nothing even though he had the feeling she knew exactly what he was experiencing.

He finished the tea, but before he could set the cup back down Jane extended her hand towards him. “May I see?”

Nathaniel came back to himself with a jarring bump. “I can pour my own tea; you don’t have to…”

“I want to read your leaves.”

“My…”

“Your tea leaves.”

“I don’t believe in that kind of stuff,” he automatically responded, like a reflex. He was surprised by how defensive he sounded, and he wouldn’t blame Jane for being offended in turn. But she didn’t even flinch at his retort, her hand still held out to him, palm up.

“But I do.”

Nathaniel handed his teacup over without another word, as though his actions were controlled by an unseen force. As Jane took the cup from him her fingers brushed briefly over his again, sending the same electrifying shock down his arm as before. Nathaniel managed not to jump, but he did rub his hand furiously on his pant-leg after, trying to rid himself of the sensation tingling along his skin. Jane didn’t seem to notice; she was too invested in studying the sludgy mess on the bottom of his cup he hadn’t even noticed before. Nathaniel found himself unable to do anything but sit and wait until she found whatever she was looking for. Save for the wood occasionally shifting and settling in the iron stoves on either side of the room, the tea shop was completely silent. Nathaniel wished he could find it relaxing, but he was so far out of his element it was impossible.

Finally, she frowned, her brow furrowing as she uttered a single word. “Oof.”

For all his bravado about “not believing in that kind of stuff,” Nathaniel felt a stab of dread. “‘Oof?’ ‘Oof’ isn’t exactly a reassuring word.

“No, but it’s not necessarily bad, either. You just have a lot coming at you at once. A broom means you can expect some major changes in your life, but there’s a cat and a pitchfork near it, so it’ll happen through someone going behind your back. Probably a person you won’t suspect, so keep an eye out for any sudden out-of-character behavior from anyone you know.”

“So the usual Christmas drama. I could have saved you five minutes and told you that myself.”

“You must be a blast at parties,” Jane said, but she was smiling and there was no bite in her voice. “However, the leaves are also showing that there’s going to be a lot of positives in your life once you get past the hardships. A rabbit for a change for the better. A dog for faithful friends. An oak leaf for long life and happiness.” She offered the cup back to him. “See? The broom, pitchfork, and cat are near the bottom of the cup, meaning that they’re closer to the present. The other symbols are at the top of the cup so they’re further out in the future.”

Nathaniel peered into the cup but the only thing he saw were amorphous black blobs dotted all over the inside of it. Which one was supposed to be the pitchfork and which was the broom? “Maybe I’ll just plan on staying home for the rest of the season.” He meant to keep the thought to himself but it came out as a grumbled murmur.

Jane shrugged, a quick lift and drop of one shoulder. “You could do that. But the leaves represent possible outcomes for events already set in motion by your own thoughts and actions and can’t be hidden from easily. Things rarely happen without a reason, including coming across a witch’s tea shop in a forest on a dark night.”

Nathaniel was saved from having to respond by the chiming of a clock somewhere deep in the shop. He released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. It felt like a shroud had come down to cover them as they spoke, obscuring them from the rest of the world, but he hadn’t noticed it until it lifted away. The tea shop came back in sharp detail, and the veil of mysticism Jane had wrapped around them dispersed like morning mist. He suddenly wasn’t even sure how much of their conversation had actually taken place when Jane suddenly got to her feet.

“You don’t have to rush, but the shop’s closed for the night and there are some things I need to take care of before it gets too late.” Then she left him alone, disappearing so swiftly and silently into the back he couldn’t help but wonder if she was even real to begin with. It was only the lingering scent of cinnamon and nutmeg in the air that convinced him otherwise.

Nathaniel considered pouring himself more tea just so the whole pot wouldn’t go to waste, but their conversation turned his stomach sour. With a sigh, he pushed the cup and saucer to one side and laid his briefcase on the tabletop. Popping open the tabs, he lifted the lid and was immediately greeted with the unwelcomed sight of the cease-and-desist letter. Guilt and self-loathing rose in his throat like bile. Did he wait for her to come back and hand it to her like he was supposed to from the start, capping off the evening with the world’s biggest asshole move? Or did he leave it on the table with his payment for the tea and leave before she came back like a coward?

A loud pop made Nathaniel jump, but he calmed down immediately when he realized it had only been a log in one of the wood-burning stoves. His eyes fell on the nearest one and he found himself overtaken by a sudden wild impulse. Before he could stop himself, Nathaniel snatched up the letter and was out of his chair, crossing the room towards the stove in a handful of long-legged strides. The heat radiating off it was incredible. A thick potholder hung from a hook in the wall behind it. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure Jane was nowhere in sight, Nathaniel seized the potholder, jammed his hand into it, and yanked the iron door open, feeding the HOA’s cease and desist letter to the hungry flames within. Then he slammed the door shut and stepped back, his brain finally catching up with what he’d just done.

For a solid minute, Nathaniel could only stand there, panting and heart racing and sweat trickling down his temples and the back of his neck as if he’d just run a mile. He braced himself for the wave of regret and desperate wishing that he could undo his rash decision, but it never came. Instead, he felt good. Better than good, even.

No, scratch that; he felt great, better than he had in a long time. He never realized how tight the yolk put on him by the mayor and the HOA had gotten over the years until now, when he at last made a stand against them, even if it was in an act as simple as burning a letter that had the ultimate intention of shutting down Jane’s business and running her out of town. There was no doubt they would still try; they just wouldn’t have him to do their dirty work for them anymore.

He thought of the symbols Jane saw in his teacup. According to her, the broom, pitchfork, and cat meant approaching change and confrontation. But the other symbols, the rabbit, the oak leaf, and the dog, meant good things to follow. All his life, Nathaniel had tried to do right by what was expected of him—by his parents, his school, and by his employer—and for what? A lonely apartment and the loathing of the entire town. There was undoubtedly magic inside the Cat and Craft Tea Shop; that much was evident as soon as he walked through the door and instantly recalled a time in his life that was good and pure. Maybe putting his fate into some soggy tea leaves forming abstract shapes wasn’t as insane as he previously thought.

There was movement out of the corner of his eye. Nathaniel turned to see Jane standing at the threshold to the back of the shop, haloed in the candlelight and soft, twinkling glow of the Christmas lights strung through the stair banister rising over her head. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Well, Nathaniel. Did you accomplish what you came here for?”

Nathaniel straightened, loosening his tie. He didn’t even care that he didn’t know how she knew his name. “Yes. Yes, I think I have.”

“The snow’s coming down harder, now. Are you sure you want to drive home in it?”

“Are you offering me a couch to sleep on?”

Jane said nothing. She only crossed the room to lock the front door and turn off the neon “open” sign. She returned to him, sliding one of her small hands into his larger, slightly sweaty one. “If you insist on sleeping on the couch, I won’t stop you.”

She tugged on his hand and led him towards the stairs and the rest of his life.