The rain picks up, betraying my fear, but I nod as though I believe him.
And I do. I’m just tired. Why do all the bad things have to hit at once?
The elf walks back to the bakery, and I roll the bike onto the street and head home, hoping Rowan might be there when I arrive.
A half-hour later, I walk through the front door, wet, weary, and splattered with mud.
“Are you guys home?” I call, but I can already feel my parents’ magic, and it’s exactly the balm my heart needs.
“In the kitchen, Kit,” Mom calls.
But then I hear another voice, and it belongs to someone I don’t want to deal with right now.
Warily, I kick off my soggy, muddy flip-flops and walk across the living room, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance and trying not to grimace when I see the visitor.
“Hello, Kit,” Mr. Eastwilden says from my table, casually drinking coffee with my parents like they’re fast friends.
Chapter 19
A Leprechaun in the Cottage
“Mr. Eastwilden,” I say, positive I don’t have the energy for this. “What a surprise.”
“I dropped by the tea shop, and Nadine said you’d gone home,” the leprechaun says sympathetically. “I stopped by because I heard you had a visit from the Fae Preservation Society. I do hope you’re all right.”
How could he possibly know that already?
“Mr. Eastwilden said you’re thinking about selling him the tea shop,” Dad says, concerned. “He said finances have been difficult, and you can’t afford the roof and attic repairs.”
I turn my attention to the leprechaun. He should be glad I’m not a mage with a passion for metamorphosis, because if I were, I would turn him into a slithering salamander. No more hotelier lording over the town. Just an amphibian in a dapper suit.
“Mr. Eastwilden generously made an unsolicited offer,” I say. “But I’m not interested in selling the tea shop. And I have money to fix the roof and attic.”
At least the roof. Maybe.
“It might be worth considering his offer,” my mom says, meeting my eyes, her face full ofhope. “You could come home to Washington.”
Oh no.
I look to my dad for backup, but I see the shine in his eyes, too.
Everything could return to normal. I could go home. We could live in the house I grew up in. My mother wouldn’t have to transplant her highly rooted self all the way across the country.
No more Moss Hollow council telling me what to plant in my window boxes or how to decorate my store for holidays. No more business ledger informing me I’m failing. No more gnomes, no more sticky heat, no more greedy leprechauns, and no more…
Visits from new friends. Or pleasant days in the tea shop, chatting with customers about their tea experiences. No more cute cottage.
No moreRowan.
“We’ll talk about it this evening,” I tell her, refusing to dive into an uncomfortable conversation in front of our unwanted guest. Then I gesture to my wet clothes. “I need to change. Thanks for dropping by, Mr. Eastwilden.”
“Wait, Kit,” Dad says urgently. “What happened with the representative from the society?”
“Ash is dealing with it. He’s going to request a relocation.”
I can tell Dad wants to ask if Elias noticed our unofficial, borderline-illegal relocation efforts, but he doesn’t dare ask in front of Mr. Eastwilden.
Thankfully for all of us, Elias didn’t mention it, which hopefully means he didn’t notice that we’ve been tampering with things.
