Pumpkin Spice and All Things Nice Read online

  Pumpkin Spice And All Things Nice

  Cauldron Coffee Shop #1

  Laura Greenwood

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Author Note

  Also by Laura Greenwood

  About the Author

  © 2022 Laura Greenwood

  * * *

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise – without prior written permission of the published, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address; [email protected].

  Visit Laura Greenwood’s website at:

  www.authorlauragreenwood.co.uk

  Cover by DESIGNER

  BOOK TITLE is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  If you find an error, you can report it via my website. Please note that my books are written in British English: https://www.authorlauragreenwood.co.uk/p/report-error.html

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  Blurb

  When coffee shop owner, Willow, receives a mysterious teapot from her best friend, her charmed life is turned upside down.

  * * *

  Between the cursed warlock who thinks he's still in Ancient times, the cat who insists on coming through her window and making herself at home, and a new employee, Willow has her hands full.

  * * *

  Can she unravel the mess she's found herself in? And can she do it without losing her heart?

  -

  Pumpkin Spice and All Things Nice is book one of the Cauldron Coffee Shop Series, a witchy modern fantasy series with a romantic sub-plot, a mysterious teapot, and a cat who might be up to no good.

  One

  I sing to myself as I switch on the coffee maker and get ready for the day. There's plenty to do around here before the rush of customers who want to grab their morning perk up, and that keeps me on my toes for at least the first hour of the day. At least my new barista is starting this week. I was reluctant to bring anyone else into my business at first, but even with a good dose of magic, I can't keep up with the demand all the time.

  The familiar gurgle of the water boiler soothes me in a weird way most people don't get. For me, it just reminds me that I'm safe in my own space.

  The bell rings, and I glance in the direction of the door to see the local postman smiling and waving with a package in his hands.

  Hmm, how odd. I'm not expecting anything. Maybe Sabine has sent me something from all the way around the world where she's studying some ancient ruins, a thousand-year-old dead witch, or something equally as weird and kind of interesting. I don't really understand half the things she says when she talks about her job. I just know there are a lot of graves and long-lost treasures involved.

  Not my thing at all. But she's my best friend and it keeps her busy, even if her room in the flat remains empty as a result.

  I pull my wand out of my pocket and fire off a quick spell at the door, unlatching the lock and making it swing open for the man.

  "I'm never going to get used to you doing that," the postie says with a wide grin.

  "Sorry. Want a latte to take with you?" I need to remember that he's one of the humans that freaks out around spells. Not that I truly understand why, supernaturals have been out in the open for nearly two hundred years, which is much longer than he's been alive. A witch running a coffee shop is perfectly normal.

  "You know I can't, but thanks for the offer." He sets down the package on the counter. "You need to sign."

  I'm disappointed, but I know he's right. He's not allowed to accept it in case it's some kind of bribe. "All right."

  He passes me the machine and I do a vague imitation of my signature. I don't understand why those things are used at all, my name never looks right on them, how can they possibly prove it's me who has signed it?

  "I wonder what it is?" I muse, inspecting the package but not seeing anything useful on it other than a lot of stamps. Sabine may be the culprit after all.

  He shrugs. "I'm just the messenger."

  "Better get out of here so I don't shoot you if it's bad then," I quip.

  He chuckles nervously and runs off pretty quickly. Huh, maybe someone has shot him for delivering bad post before. I bet it was a tax bill. No wonder they email them now.

  I shake my head and turn my attention back to the package in front of me. I pick it up, and something rattles inside.

  Hmm. That doesn't answer anything about it.

  The coffee machine beeps, pulling my attention away. I can't let a package ruin the routine I've made for myself. I stick a mug under the spurt and press the next button. The first coffee of the day starts pouring out, filling the air with a familiar sharp and sweet scent. I take a deep breath, enjoying the familiar smell. The allure of good quality coffee never gets old.

  I pick up the mug and grab the package, taking them both over to the small table next to the counter. I'll be able to look at it properly here while keeping an eye on the rest of the shop in case anyone comes in.

  It doesn't look like anything special from the outside, but that doesn't mean anything, especially when it comes to Sabine. Maybe I shouldn't just assume it's from her, but she's the most likely candidate for sending me unidentifiable mail. I just wish we had return address labels like they do in most other countries, but the Royal Mail doesn't seem to have caught on to their appeal.

  I carefully unwrap it, scrunching up the paper. With a flick of my wand, I send it sailing towards the recycling bin.

  "Yes," I cheer to myself as it goes in. Even if I used magic to do it, there's still something satisfying about getting it in.

  A dull brown box sits in front of me. This has to be the worst pass-the-parcel game I've ever played, hasn't Sabine heard of fun wrapping paper?

  The lid pops off with ease, and I look down into the box. Something silver shines out from its depths. My eyebrows knit together in a frown as I reach in and pull out a battered bronze looking kettle.

  I set it down next to the box and pull off the tag tied around the handle, already recognising the handwriting.

  I thought you might like this.

  I blink a couple of times, not completely sure what Sabine is thinking. It's a pretty teapot, with metal that probably once shone, and engravings that can only have been made by magic. It's got the dull look that metal gets when it's not been polished in too long, but that's nothing that a bit of cleaner won't be able to fix.

  What I don't understand is why she thought I'd want this. It's old, but it can't be too old. She comes across interesting ancient artefacts all the time, but she can't just send them home to me. Which means it’s probably a five-year-old teapot and nothing more.

  But the mystery of the teapot is going to have to wait. My first customers will arrive soon and I need to be ready for them or I'll lose the money it takes to keep this place running and myself fed. I live a comfortable life, but a few bad weeks could change that. I don't want to get a normal job, though I suppose my cousins will give me a job at their bakery if things go really bad for me.

  As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, the bell rings and the first set of people walk through the door. It's easy to tell the morning people from the night owls. They're bright and cheery, full of polite small talk, whereas the others are more surly and make me think they might turn into murderers if they don't get their coffee.

  I smile and pass takeaway cups over at a maddening pace, every now and again using my wand to reset something or make things go a little quicker. It's going to be much better once the new barista starts, it'll mean I finally get the time to do some of the jobs I've been putting off.

  Coffee sloshes over my hand as I pull one of the cups away too quickly and I wince as the skin turns red. I pull a mug down from the shelf and stick it under the coffee spout while grabbing the healing syrup from the shelf. A spell would be better, but I don't really have time to stop and do one. I put a couple of squirts into my mug, and then focus back on my customer while the coffee machine does its thing.

  I paste a winning smile on my face and hand the travel mug back to the wolf shifter waiting on the other side of the counter. Not many people take advantage of the discount I offer for using their own travel mug, and it makes me happy when they do. It's one less cup that'll be left on the side of a road, or end up in a landfill.

  "Two-sixty please," I ask.

  He holds a card up to the machine and it beeps, telling me his money is now in my account.

  "Have a good day," I sing-song.

  "You too," he replies. He's a nice enough guy, though not very talkative. I wonder if it's something to do with
the stigma about wolf shifters and werewolves. Not many people are accepting of the differences between the two, and I imagine for the shifters, it can get very annoying.

  I turn to the next customer, a human who glances about nervously.

  "Hi, what can I get you?" I ask.

  He flinches, almost as if he didn't expect me to speak. Such an odd one.

  "Is everyone here like him?" he whispers and gestures to the door.

  "I doubt it, not everyone is a morning person," I respond, keeping my smile in place only with a lot of effort on my part. I know what he's really trying to ask, and so do the rest of the supernatural customers in the line. "What can I get you?" I ask again, refusing to fall for it.

  "Do you have pumpkin spice latte?" His eyes dart back and forth. He's very nervous, I have to wonder what that's all about.

  "Of course." I take great pleasure in picking up my wand from behind the counter and using it to summon the pumpkin spice mix from the shelves at the back. Normally, I would go get it, but if this man is going to be funny about supernaturals being in the same place as he is, then I'm going to make a show of it. "I've been told I make the best pumpkin spice in town," I say conversationally. Technically, it's my cousin Hazel who says it, but I'm still going to count it.

  "Uh-huh."

  My smile turns genuine. Good. He's on the back foot now. I've caught him being prejudiced and he doesn't like it. That's always the case with people like him. It's almost as if they think we don't know about the faction of purists who think we shouldn't be allowed to live in society with them. It truly is ridiculous. Especially as I'm sure they'd hate it if they knew we were all hiding amongst them. But there's nothing that can be done about them except continue as if they don't exist.

  I set the coffee machine to produce a shot, before turning to the milky portion of his drink. I grab one of the empty metal jugs and dump a portion of pumpkin spice mix in before topping up with milk. Going through the motions of making a latte soothes the annoyance building within me.

  The harsh sound of the machine making bubbles in the milk takes even more of my anger away. It'd be easier if I hadn't lost a friend to the propaganda. Not that she's dead, last I heard, she's living somewhere in Scotland with her husband and three children. But she's been disowned from her family and won't keep in contact with anyone after giving up on her magic and going the human route. I don't even understand how it's possible to do that. My wand is a part of me, and I wouldn't be giving it up for anyone. Not even for someone I loved.

  I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the memories of Rita's betrayal. It still stings, even now, but I have to ignore it.

  The machine beeps, telling me it's done with the coffee. I knock off the milk frother and add the two together. A sprinkle of nutmeg on top and the man's pumpkin spice is ready to go.

  "Three sixty-five, please," I say, handing it over to him.

  "But his was only two sixty," he protests.

  I keep my smile in place, but it's getting harder by the second with this idiot.

  "That's because he ordered an americano with a dash of milk, and got the discount for using his own mug." I point at my price list.

  The man looks like he's going to argue more, but then shoves a fiver over the counter to me. It doesn't escape my notice that he makes sure not to touch my hand. I click the buttons on my till and pull out the change to hand to him.

  He mutters something under his breath, but I don't catch it. That's probably for the best.

  "I hope you don't have to see him again," the next man in line says.

  "I'm always happy to see all of my customers," I lie, while looking him up and down. He's smartly dressed, classically handsome, and human all the way.

  He chuckles. "I worked my way through university in the service industry, I know how to recognise a fake smile."

  I laugh lightly, a little bit of panic brewing inside me. I don't want him to be able to tell I'm lying. That makes me all kinds of uncomfortable. "What can I get you?"

  "Just an Earl Grey tea, please?"

  "Coming right up." I'm glad to get away from him. His piercing gaze is almost as unsettling as the other man's supernaturalphobia.

  Once I've handed the man his tea, the rest of the morning rush goes by without a hitch. People don't talk to me more than they have to, meaning all I have to say are the necessary pleasantries that make the world go around. Even so, the strange events of the morning confuse me. It's going to be an odd day, I can feel it in my bones.

  Two

  I blow across the top of my coffee before taking a sip. I used to be a tea drinker, but then Grandpa opened my eyes to the wonders of coffee. He used to travel a lot and always brought me back a bag of the best coffee he could find from wherever he'd been. Once I was old enough, he'd take me with him.

  I glance at the photo of him hanging behind the coffee shop counter, a familiar combination of bittersweet happiness spreading through me. I wish he'd been alive to see me open Cauldron Coffee Shop, he'd have loved it.

  At least I can rest while the coffee shop is quiet. There are a couple of students from the nearby academy settled into one of the corner booths, and the odd person will pop in for a drink and maybe a slice of cake, but this is the quiet time and I know better than to waste it. There's always an ebb and flow to running a coffee shop. It'll get busy again around four, and then again when the vampires surface to start their days after sundown.

  I only stay open late for them. I tried doing early mornings too, but they seem to be more focused on getting home than anything else. Which makes sense to me. If the sun could burn me to a crisp, I'd want to be home with the blackout blinds drawn well in advance of sunrise.

  I shudder at the thought, relieved to be a witch and not a vampire. Not for the first time either, I heard enough horror stories from the vampires studying at Grimalkin Academy while I was there. I'm not sure how they manage to get through their days. Most of them are used to it, I'm sure, especially with turning being illegal in all but a few cases. If it doesn't save someone's life, and the person hasn't consented, then the vamps can't turn them.

  Luckily for me, the witch laws are a lot less strict. Not that I have the ability to turn a human into a magical being anyway.

  The shrill ring of the phone makes me jump and I scramble to answer it. At least the students in the corner aren't paying much attention and don't see me make a fool out of myself. But it's important that I pick up. Not many people have this line, and most of them are suppliers, I can't miss a call.

  "Good Afternoon, how can I help you?" I say, sounding as cheery and polished as I can and not like I've just almost ended up flat on my face.

  "Willow is that you?"

  "Sabine?" Why is she calling the landline instead of my mobile?

  "Yes, of course it's me, don't you recognise my voice?" She chuckles, taking any sting there is out of her words.

  "You just called my coffee shop and were surprised I answered," I point out.

  "You might have finally done what I suggested and gotten yourself a member of staff," she counters. "You haven't though, have you?"

  "Actually, I have."

  She gasps dramatically. "Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?"

  I let out a low chuckle, knowing she's only jesting. "I haven't done anything. I just realised that maybe you were right and I should listen to you."

  "Now I think you've been possessed. Do I need to get one of the local reapers to come visit and check for ghosts?"

  I shake my head in bemusement even though she can't see me. "You realise I'd be able to see the ghost too, right?"

  "Hmm. Maybe you banged your head and lost the ability."

  "Everyone has the ability." Supernaturals more than humans, which explains how reapers were able to keep ghosts a secret until recently.