Chapter One
(aka false chapter one)
This is not the first chapter, but I had to format it like this so I didn't run the risk of you not seeing it.
I just really feel the need to warn you that you're going to cringe while reading this book.
THIS IS INTENTIONAL.
I repeat, THIS IS INTENTIONAL.
I hardly ever take myself too seriously, and you shouldn't either. There are moments in this book where you'll be tempted to trash it because you'll think to yourself, 'Gee, really? That's the word choice we're going with? Gross.'
Lean into that feeling.
You're reading about a cocoa shifter for fuck's sake. Don't let a mention of perky breasts turn you away.
Things will get weird. That's also okay.
Also, there *might* be some loose ends when you get to the end of the story. For that, I'm going to say...
Let's see what's coming in this series in the future, shall we?
Prologue
In my defense, I didn't know the mug was enchanted. Or is it the cocoa itself that's enchanted? If I have no business knowing that, then clearly I have no business being under its spell.
Unfortunately, the cocoa and the mug think differently.
Chapter 1
Devon
I wake up and stretch, my toes tingling and my whole body blissed out from the dreams I had. The really dirty kind I blush to even think about, let alone talk about.
I don't remember all the details, but it had something to do with hot chocolate. As a lot of things do these days.
Sometimes it feels like I don't even remember how I ended up in this strange little town. I was supposed to be vacationing in Somerville, a couple hours south, but I took a wrong turn somewhere, and I was so intrigued by first the scenery and then the sign that said ‘Welcome to Trash Haven’that I decided to just keep driving instead of turning around to head to my intended destination.
There's only one motel in town, and it only has four rooms to let, but somehow all but one of them were empty when I pulledinto town last month. I've been busking on the sidewalks to try and make my money last, and so far I haven't gotten in trouble for doing so without any sort of permit, but every time I've asked about getting one, people just laugh at me. I'm assuming it's because they don't deal with bureaucratic crap like that here.
“Honey, if you wanna sing, then sing. You don't need our permission.” That's what the owner of the motel told me anyway, when I asked. Then she started going on about the spell shop her sister owns, so I just nodded and smiled, not wanting the crazy person to take a special interest in me.
Although now, after being in this town for a month, I'm beginning to think maybe she wasn't crazy. There's something going on in this town that makes it feel unlike anywhere I've ever been. Almost like there’s something alive in the air that gives me a drive to live that I haven't felt in so long. It's what I've been chasing, and I'm terrified to let it go.
I just don't know if I can make a town this size my forever home. I swear to you everybody knows each other, and in my experience, towns like this aren't real welcoming to outsiders; for some reason, they've all been perfectly nice to me. Not that I've interacted with them much. I tend to spend most of my time writing music or singing on the streets, and I haven't really made any friends yet.
So, when the motel owner said she had a gift for me from her sister, a welcome to town gift that she hoped I'd enjoy, I was excited. I'm used to traveling around a lot, so I don't usually acquire stuff because everything I own has to fit in my van. It's not large, so I'm picky about what I keep.
The longer I stay in Trash Haven, the more it feels like it’s where I want to be.
The gift that was so beautifully wrapped was a handcrafted mug, a slightly misshapen one with a beautiful red-orange glaze and yellow undertones peeking through. It’s got a nice, sturdy base that wouldn't break if you set it down too hard or tip over if your elbow bumped into it. It also came with a pack of gourmet hot chocolate to go with it packaged beautifully with a velvet green ribbon.
It was such a kind gesture, that upon returning to my temporary room, I immediately set about mixing some water into it and heating it up in the microwave. I know, the best hot chocolate is made with milk on a stove, but I'm not exactly dripping with extra kitchens right now.
That was about a week ago. Every morning since I made that first cup, I've woken up craving more.
I've been scooping the chocolate out into the mug, and I swear to you the bag is not any less full than it was when I got it.
