Her lips curl into a smile that can only be described as mischievous. There’s something about the way her eyes sparkle, a little too innocently, that immediately puts me on high alert.
“Lucy MacKenzie,” she says, drawing out the last name. “She owns the place. Makes the most divine scones you’ve ever tasted. Little bits of heaven.”
I slow my pace along the cobblestone sidewalk, watching as she pretends not to notice my hesitation.
“MacKenzie,” I repeat carefully. “As in...”
“Knox and Callan’s sister,” she confirms. “The youngest of the bunch. Sweet as honey and twice as warm.”
AnotherMacKenzie establishment? Interesting.
The café comes into view just as the first raindrops begin to fall. It’s barely enough to be considered a drizzle. When we step inside, it all hits me at once—sweet vanilla and butter, the bite of fresh coffee, followed by a wave of conversation and laughter. The café is bustling but not crowded, filled with mismatched furniture that works perfectly together.
“Rose!” A woman’s voice calls out, and I turn to see someone weaving between tables and making their way over to us.
I know right off the bat she’s Knox’s sister by her unmistakable green eyes. She has the same auburn hair, though hers falls in loose waves above her shoulders.
“I was hoping you’d stop by today!” She embraces my aunt with genuine affection, then turns those striking eyes toward me. “I’m Lucy, and you must be Juliette. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“You have?”
Her smile is kind. “All good things, I promise. Rose sings your praises.”
My shoulders relax a little, soothed by her bubbly energy. “Well then,” I say with a small laugh, “I guess I’ll try to live up to the hype.”
“I’ve got a good feeling you will. Come, let me show you to my favorite table.”
She leads us to a cozy corner by the front window with overstuffed armchairs and a small round table. “This is the best spot for watching the rain.”
I settle in, shrugging off my jacket as the cinnamon-laced air wraps around me. Lucy grabs our drink orders and heads back behind the counter.
She returns a few minutes later with them, carrying a tray with expert balance. “Here we are. A latte for you, Juliette. I added a hint of vanilla, hope that’s okay. And Rose’s usual. Earl Grey with a splash of milk.”
Between us, she arranges a small plate of scones that look as divine as promised.
“Fresh from the oven,” she says with a hint of pride. “Blackberry and white chocolate today. We’re experimenting in the kitchen, but I think we’ve got a winner.”
She hovers for a moment, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “So, I’m actually doing something new next week that I’ve been meaning to tell you about, Rose. We’re hosting our first local author night.”
Aunt Rose perks up immediately, setting down her cup with a soft clink. “Ooh, that sounds like so much fun. What’s the plan?”
Lucy leans against the edge of a nearby shelf, her excitement sparking beneath the surface. “We’re keeping it casual. Just a few authors reading excerpts from their work, maybe a Q&A. I’m trying to make the café feel even more like a community space, you know?”
“That sounds incredible,” I say before I can stop myself. “Exactly the kind of thing that makes a town feel like home.”
Her eyes light up. “Right? That’s exactly what I’m going for.”
“If you need help with anything, let me know. I’ve found myself with quite a bit of time on my hands.”
The truth is, Iloveto write. I always have. Not professionally or anything, but in the margins of notebooks, on napkins, in the notes app on my phone at two in the morning when I can’t sleep. It’s the one thing that’s always been mine, especially when everything else felt like it belonged to someone else.
So, helping out at an event like this? With authors and cozylighting and people who care about words the way I do? It sounds like heaven.
“Really? Oh, that would be amazing. I need all the help I can get. I won’t take up any of your time now, but stop by any day, and we’ll chat, aye?”
And just like that, I volunteer myself for a community event in a town I barely know, surrounded by people I’ve only just met. It doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feelsright.
The next fewdays fly by in a blur of exploration. My aunt’s busy with work, leaving me to wander on my own now that I’ve gotten the lay of the land. I’ve learned the twists and turns of the village well enough now to no longer feel like a tourist, though its charm still sneaks up on me when I least expect it.
