It didn’t feel like a guess. But I was too tired and too grateful for the silence to push.
“I’m Diane,” I said. “Diane Martinez. I work at the winery up on Hillcrest. The big one with the aggressive geese.”
“I know the geese.” His mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close. “They chased my delivery driver into the parking lot last month.”
“Yeah, those geese have a vendetta. Valentina—my boss—she thinks they add ‘character’ to the property. I think they add lawsuits waiting to happen.”
“Marcus,” he said. “Marcus Chen.” He didn’t offer more than that. Didn’t seem to think more was necessary.
“Marcus.” I wrapped my hands around the warm cup. “Thank you. For the tea. And for… whatever this is.” I gestured vaguely at my silent phone. “The quiet.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Something’s doing something. And right now, you’re the only thing that’s different.”
He didn’t respond to that. Just sipped his own tea—black, no sugar, like a man who’d given up on small pleasures—and watched me with those unreadable eyes.
The silence stretched between us. Not uncomfortable, exactly. More like… waiting. The shop around us creaked softly, settling into itself. From the main room, I heard the music box start playing—a tinkling melody I almost recognized—even though no one had touched it.
“Your shop is weird,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Like, genuinely weird. Not just old-stuff weird. The radio that isn’t plugged in. The music box with the ballerina that watches you and apparently plays itself. That owl that I swear moved when I wasn’t looking.”
“The owl doesn’t move.” He paused. “Usually.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
I laughed—a real laugh, surprised out of me. He looked almost startled by the sound, like he’d forgotten laughter was something that happened in this space.
“This shop,” I said, “how long have you had it?”
“Long time.” He didn’t elaborate.
“And before that?”
“San Francisco.” His voice made it clear that San Francisco was not up for discussion.
Fair enough. I had plenty of things that weren’t up for discussion too.
We sat in silence for a while. I drank my tea. He drank his. The music box in the other room finished its song and went quiet. Somewhere, a clock I couldn’t see ticked steadily—strange, since the grandfather clock in the main room was definitely broken.
“So,” he said finally. “Men following you around.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
I looked at him—this grumpy stranger with his sad eyes and his haunted shop and his tea that was somehow exactly right.
“Would you believe me if I said magic?”
“Yes.”
I blinked. “Just like that?”
