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Synopsis
In this spellbinding romantic comedy from a series about a family of witches, a lovelorn small-town witch helps a handsome prince break free from a curse—all while trying not to let their feelings for each other bubble to the surface.
A witch without a spell
All Ursula Caraway wished for was to live happily ever after in her hometown of Freya Grove. The self-proclaimed Jersey Shore Witch Princess was set to begin her perfect life—until a twist of fate changed everything. Now, she's telling fortunes to the lovelorn, selling crystals at the local psychic shop, and reclaiming her missing magic. Ursula desperately wishes to shake up her life—so much so, that she’ll do just about anything. Including befriending a very cute, very enchanted prince.
A prince in search of a kiss
Prince Xavier Alder needs to find The One, but his lack of social skills has made that a challenge—and being cursed by the Faerie Queen isn’t helping either. So when Ursula, eager to believe in magic again, agrees to help Xavier find a perfect, curse-breaking kiss before Midsummer, it’s the ideal opportunity for them to get what they want. So long as they don’t let their mutual (and inconvenient) attraction get in the way.
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Print pages: 352
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Kiss and Spell
Celestine Martin
Today had the potential to be a stressful adventure.
First, Ursula slept through both her alarms. Somehow, she set her phone to silent and then forgot to turn the sound back on.
Second, as she rushed to finish breakfast, she spilled her peanut butter and chia oats all over her work clothes. Then, Ursula ended up splashing coffee mixed with flavored creamer on her backup outfit.
“Why?” she squeaked.
No one wanted to have their future read by someone who smelled of dried coffee and holiday cookies. But the only clean clothes she had available were her pajamas or the special events costume. Ursula shuddered. It was reserved for Renaissance fairs or moon markets when she was hired to read fortunes during the summer. No matter how many times she stuffed the pockets with cleansing parsley and lavender, it still had this odd vibe attached.
Like a pack a duffel bag and run away with a traveling carnival type of vibe.
She checked the time on her phone and groaned. The shop opened in less than five minutes. It was either wear the costume and be a little late or take the day off and wash all her dirty clothes, and she needed money to hit her checking account, like yesterday. She had plants to feed and weekly groceries to buy. There was only one choice. Ursula dug out the costume from her closet and changed quickly. It smelled of stale roses and was covered in chunky glitter. She gave the outfit a quick, generous spray of homemade fabric freshener in the bathroom. Now, it smelled like old flowers with a hint of lemon and eucalyptus. Fantastic.
She popped in her contacts and left her glasses by her bedside table. Ursula gave her reflection in the mirror one last look and let out a huff. All she saw was a hot, yet cute mess draped in a paisley print headband, too-tight peasant blouse, and floral print maxi skirt.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the foxiest of them all?” she muttered.
Ursula fought the urge to yank off the outfit and get back into bed.
Instead, she went all the way and completed the look with a faux leather brown bootie.
Boho vibes all day.
Even though she was in a hurry, Ursula couldn’t forget about tending to her plants. She went out the bedroom and over to the window that looked out on the street. Sunshine flittered down upon the row of overgrown plants and raw crystals that were set up on the sill.
Ursula quickly watered them and did a quick twirl. “How do I look, y’all?”
The plants’ leaves seemed to swivel away from her general direction.
“Well, at least I think I look cute,” she said with a smirk.
She grabbed her keys, purse, and phone and ran out of the apartment. Thankfully, Ursula only had to report downstairs for work since she lived right above the shop. Despite the convenient location, she found herself running late at least once a week. Maybe it was time for a career change. Ursula wouldn’t mind being stuck in an office making copies or typing in data if it meant she’d be left alone to wallow in her grumpiness.
She quit her consultancy job last fall because she couldn’t trust herself to make good choices anymore. The nonwedding didn’t merely damage her confidence; it crushed it into fine dust. During one memorable office lunch, Ursula’s co-worker had innocently asked her whether she wanted guacamole or salsa on her taco salad. Unable to pick a topping after five minutes, Ursula quietly took her salad, went to her desk, and wrote a letter of resignation.
She had messed up her own life; she didn’t want to hurt her clients with her indecision.
It was ridiculously difficult to get a new job, especially after future employers could search her name and discover the entire wedding drama. She had an online footprint the size of an asteroid crater. The Freya Grove Press article was the first thing that popped up when anyone searched her online. Search the phrases big-hearted bride or bad luck bride and a picture of her frowning in that bohemian antique lace dress popped up like a relentless horror movie villain haunting her. Jobs dried up faster than cotton underwear in a hot dryer once people learned the whole story.
So, for six to eight hours a day, Ursula sat in the front window of Mama’s psychic shop perched over Great-Aunt Lulu’s rediscovered crystal ball. She was on full display for the entire town and felt like a circus sideshow, a carnival barker’s brassy, drawling voice ringing in her brain. Step right up, step right up! Come view the psychic who couldn’t predict her own future! Her groom jilted her with a text! Marvel at her gullibility! Bring your funnel cake!
At this point, Ursula just existed in a constant state of embarrassment that kept her off balance, like she was wearing her shoes on the wrong feet. She thought about leaving town and starting over, but she only ever got as far as Toms River before she turned and went back.
Caraways didn’t run. Ever. The Grove was home, and she wasn’t going to leave in shame.
Enough with the past. Her present waited for her to show up and work.
The door chime jangled as Ursula entered Light as a Feather. Deep purple curtains hung from the high ceiling to the floor, giving the shop the intended mystic vibes. Bone-white shelves were filled with various items—large books, sparkly amethyst geodes, and tall pillar candles—used to aid customers in tapping into their natural intuition. There were wooden bowls filled with different types of tumbled crystals from amazonite to rose quartz in the glass display. A reading table tucked under the front window was decorated with a printed cloth and artfully set divination tools. A purple beaded curtain led to a storage space/back room and office. The music that played overhead was a blend of lyrical humming and bouncing flutes. Cone incense burned on the wood counter, filling the space with the distinctive smell of fresh earth. One sniff instantly eased any frantic energy Ursula felt from this morning’s chaos.
Mama, the one and only Ms. Niesha Caraway, former soap opera star and current shop owner, stood at the counter ready to sell orange blossom soap to forthcoming customers. She wore her usual ensemble, a dark blue and white star-covered belted kaftan that displayed her buxom shape. Turquoise jewelry and silver statement rings adorned her body and stood out against her tawny skin. Her gray hair was clipped close to her head, showing off the elegant curve of her scalp.
Ursula approached the counter. “Morning, Mama. Sorry I’m late again. I overslept.”
Mama’s wide brown eyes brightened. “No worries. Good morning, my darling.”
She embraced Ursula in a tight hug, smothering her in lavender oil and affection. Mama always wore this special oil to open her mind and body to the universe, and the scent lingered on Ursula’s clothes for hours after they’d worked together.
She leaned back and gave Ursula a long scan. “You look very… festive today. What happened to your work shirt?”
Ursula placed her purse behind the counter in a small alcove. She went to the back room, clocked in on her timecard, then rejoined Mama out front. “It’s a long story.”
For once, she wanted to have a short and sweet tale for her life, not an epic poem of woe.
“It’s been a rough morning,” Mama offered.
Ursula groaned. “It’s been a rough year. I feel like Lady Luck took me out for drinks, stole my wallet, and stopped answering my texts.”
“Lady Luck can be raggedy like that,” Mama said. “You said you overslept. Did you try putting an amethyst stone under your pillow? It helps with dreams and rest.”
Lately, Ursula was wary of using any enchantments to solve any of her issues. Last year, she fooled around with magic and quickly found out how a single spell could mess up her whole life. If she was having trouble sleeping, she’d drink chamomile and watch reruns of Living Single and Bob’s Burgers on her laptop until she fell asleep. No magic needed.
“No thank you, Mama. Not everyone wants to sleep on rocks,” Ursula said drily.
“Try it tonight and see what happens,” Mama said with a smile. “I do have good news.”
“What? Has NASA perfected time travel?” If they had, Ursula wanted a one-way ticket to her childhood, so she could knock the fairy tale book from her little sticky hands. She’d wipe the stardust from her young eyes and just… stop believing in happily-ever-after. Save herself the future heartache. Ursula refocused on Mama, who bounced with excitement.
She could hold a secret as well as a pasta strainer held water.
“No, it’s something better.” Mama shook her head. “The Chamber of Commerce just dropped a new poster for our window.”
“Are we having a spring ghost crawl?” Ursula cringed. She didn’t do haunted houses or buildings, having watched enough paranormal reality shows to know better than to deal with that drama. Not all ghosts were friendly. Ursula held her breath, waiting to see what scheme the town had come up with. The Chamber of Commerce of Freya Grove was always dreaming up creative and odd events and activities to help boost interest in local businesses. They were always trying to repeat the success of the Historical Society’s Founders’ Day Festival, which was one of the most popular events at the Jersey Shore.
“Nope, it’s better than that!” Mama reached underneath the counter and pulled out a poster with a show woman’s flourish. Oh no. Ursula read the delicate, cutesy font on the poster.
Smitten By the Shore
Music-Food-Fun
Find your fairy tale in Freya Grove this spring!
March 20–June 23
“Look what’s coming back this year!” Mama did a little shimmy. “Smitten is back, baby girl!”
Ursula studied the poster with a critical squint. The graphic designer went ham with the artwork and used their imagination to fill up the entire 11 x 17 sheet. A cartoon couple with matching goofy smiles steered a hot-air balloon over a town landscape while sprinkling huge hearts to the waiting crowd. A website address and social media icons were included underneath the illustration.
What were the odds that a lovey-dovey festival was coming back at the same moment she was ridiculously, hopelessly single?
Ursula folded her arms. No way. Her witchy senses were on high alert.
“I thought it was on indefinite hiatus,” Ursula said slowly. “How can our town suddenly afford this festival after all this time?”
She remembered the final email from the organizers announcing that the festival was taking a break. Everyone in the Grove knew indefinite hiatus was code for “we don’t have the funds to host this event.” Smitten hadn’t been held in three years and she assumed it wasn’t coming back. Ursula wasn’t going to celebrate until she knew if her once cherished event was back for good.
“That’s a good question,” Mama said. “I heard from my hairdresser’s sister that an anonymous donor decided to bring back the festival. They provided enough money to fund Smitten for the next five years.”
“We already have Founders’ Day,” Ursula said. “We don’t need another party.”
“So what? There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun,” Mama countered. “If you have enough confetti, life can be a party.”
Ursula sighed. “That sentence should be our town motto.”
Mama affixed tape to the poster’s four corners. “Hang that up for me.”
Ursula took the poster and placed it in the corner of the front window.
She watched the morning light filter through the paper hearts, making them sparkle through the poster. Was she seeing things? Of course. Magic, love, and high pollen count were in the air this spring. Years ago, Freya Grove went completely gaga over Smitten by the Shore and all the romantic lore connected to the event. Shops made specialty items, eateries created limited-edition treats, and romantic comedy movies were played at the local theater for a discounted price. Massive flower chains, balloon arches, and public proposals would be shared and reshared all over social media. There was even the Smitten Sweetheart Contest in which the town nominated locals looking for love and had a fancy ball to celebrate the end of the spring season.
“I thought it was gone for good,” Ursula said over her shoulder to Mama.
“So did I. I guess we were mistaken,” Mama said. “You know Grampa James used to say, ‘Anything can happen during Smitten Season, baby doll.’ He had his first leap and met your nana all in the same week.”
“I didn’t know that.” Ursula faced Mama. Those family members who had the gift of second sight sometimes were able to leap or project themselves into the future and experience it firsthand. She’d heard about the leap but had yet to have one yet. It was probably like jumping to the end of a book or fast-forwarding through a movie. Ursula often yearned for a remote to skip to the good parts of her life.
Mama gave a wistful sigh. “You knew your grandparents met at Smitten by the Shore.”
“Really, you’ve never told me,” Ursula said in an I’ve heard this story five hundred times tone.
“Don’t sass me.” Mama clucked. “Your grampa knew they were soul mates from the moment they kissed on the dance floor. They just clicked.”
Ah, yes. Here was yet another piece of family lore. The mystical click that every Caraway experienced when they met their soul mate. Since she was tiny, Ursula had loved the story of how James and Ruth Caraway found each other. They, according to family legend, fell in love over the course of an unforgettable evening at a Hopeful Heart Dance Marathon. Once upon a time, Ursula imagined she would feel the same way when she finally met her soul mate. But when she didn’t click with Lincoln, she convinced herself she’d feel it once she got to know him. In retrospect, she didn’t know him as well as she thought she did. Ugh. Lincoln hadn’t spoken or even texted Ursula since he sent her that final message in the hotel ballroom. She never learned why he ditched her; all texts and emails went unanswered. It was too early in the day to think about her ex.
Mama squinted. “I thought you’d be happier to hear the news. You used to love Smitten.”
Ursula shrugged. “I used to… before.”
Neither of them talked, and the sound of emotional panpipes playing on the overhead speaker filled the tense silence. Ursula studied the tops of her scuffed boots so she wouldn’t have to see Mama’s face crease with worry. She didn’t like bringing up the past, so she did her best to forget what it was like when she believed in true love and fairy tales. There was a time when all she dreamed about was being surrounded by faithful woodland creatures, put under a powerful spell, and rescued from a hundred-year curse with an enchanted kiss. Ursula once yearned for a love that would be told and shared by her descendants to come. It would be a love that would be legendary. That time was long gone. She’d gotten a rude awakening once her supposed Prince Charming ditched her at the altar and left her to deal with returning wedding gifts and huge catering bills.
It was time to wake up and deal with real life.
Mama’s warm voice broke into her reverie. “You’ll find a reason to love it again.”
It was the note of optimism that made Ursula lift her eyes and look at Mama. There was a little worry on her face, but a glimmer of knowledge that eased the tension in her heart. Say something, Sula. Make her feel better.
“Stranger things have happened,” Ursula said. She mentally put this conversation in the For Later folder in her mind. Change the subject.
She pointed to the crystal clock on the wall. “Look at the time. We should get started.”
Mama nodded. It was showtime.
Ursula took her place at the reading table. It was outfitted with a handful of divination tools that she used during the day. She favored raw crystals and stones whenever she had to work. Touching those items made her feel grounded. Once in this seat, she transformed into Madame Caraway, the premiere psychic consultant to the Grove. Head witch in charge. Confident in life and love. Ursula pulled the crystal ball closer to the edge of the table. Her mere presence would beckon people from the sidewalk to come in and seek advice.
Ursula put up a placard sign in the window next to the poster. It read, Free reading with any store purchase. If a customer paid for any item, they were offered a reading at no extra charge. This policy had kept them in business for years and kept a roof over their heads during the lean times, when Mama was between acting jobs.
Ursula sat perched in the chair, watching the foot traffic. With every passing minute without a client, her confidence ebbed as the entire world passed by. No one gave her even a first glance. For a moment, Ursula yearned for everything she had wished away—her old life, her friendships, her reputation. She could divine everyone else’s future, but she couldn’t see her path forward. Ursula willed herself to stay in the mystical zone. Be Madame. Be still.
Eventually, customers wandered in, bought an item or two, and came over to her table for a reading. Many times, people wanted someone to share their secrets with, so Ursula gratefully obliged. She wiggled her hands over the crystal ball, read the images that appeared to her, then offered guidance. Ursula was in the zone, and clients sat up straighter and gained a twinkle of happiness in their eyes once their readings ended. During a brief lull, Ursula texted Gwen, her half-sister, to let her know that she was working through lunch and wouldn’t be by the bistro today. Six hours of wind chimes and ethereal lyrics playing overhead left Ursula feeling loose and calm.
Today was actually turning out to be a good shift.
It was a few minutes after five when he appeared in the front window. She knew that midnight-black designer peacoat, pressed khaki pants, and fresh sneakers anywhere. An odd blend of surprise and irritation spun through her, causing her to ache.
Lincoln Walker was back in the Grove.
He looked slimmer, lighter from when she’d last seen him in August. A small part of her wanted to know why he ghosted her, but the larger part wanted to throw his smartphone into the Atlantic. Questions popped up in her brain like phone notifications.
When did he get back in town? Does Marcus know? Should I say something to him?
Then Ursula noticed the pink cloud of a lady by his side. Her head was covered by a bubblegum-colored crocheted hat, a puffy jacket fitted over her solid curves. Her face was done up with flawless makeup. He gave her ass a tender squeeze, and she leaned back and chortled. Lincoln brightened and… blushed. He never blushed with Ursula. Something dreadful and painful twisted inside of her at this sight of domestic bliss.
Well, at least he got his happy ending.
Ursula let out a noisy, sharp breath—that somehow in this universe, Lincoln must’ve heard through the glass. He turned toward the window and stiffened when he recognized her.
Shame rushed through her and heated every inch of her skin. She jerked back, and her arm connected with the crystal ball, knocking it off its base. Customers shouted as it tumbled over the table’s edge, and Ursula dove from her seat, barely saving the precious item from shattering on the floor. Panic raced through her, and she sat immobile on the floor until her heart rate settled down. The crystal ball had belonged to Great-Aunt Lulu, and it had been passed to Ursula. She cradled the heirloom against her chest. Lately, all she seemed to be talented at was breaking things. When will you stop being so careless?
“Sula, beloved,” Mama said. Ursula glanced up. Mama’s eyes were gentle as she approached. “Take a break. Get something to eat. I’ll watch the table.”
Mama carefully took the crystal ball from Ursula’s hands and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. The shop was eerily silent. Ursula nodded. She stood, grabbed her purse from behind the counter, and left the shop, avoiding their customers’ worried stares.
A quick glance down the street confirmed that Lincoln had hurried away from the shop with his boo-thang. Ursula walked in the opposite direction. A few people gave her curious looks as they passed her on the sidewalk. She was, for lack of a better phrase, internet famous and there wasn’t a ghoul, ghost, or enchanter in the Grove who didn’t know her cautionary tale. Ursula knew what question everyone asked themselves when they saw her around town.
How much of a psychic could she be if she didn’t know? She must’ve had a feeling!
Of course, she had a feeling. Everyone had feelings, but she couldn’t just follow them because things felt off between her and Lincoln. On paper they were the storybook couple, the town prince falling in love with the local witch. How sweet! But when it came to her magic, Lincoln had questioned whether she needed it. He had raised a silent brow whenever Ursula dabbed her honeysuckle and sunflower oil perfume on her wrists. He had given her an earful when she’d suggested growing an herb garden in the kitchen, claiming that she was being held back by outdated superstition. Ursula bit her lip until it ached. His words reminded her of the conversations she overheard between her parents. Dad’s urgent words echoed in her memory: Niesha, if you love me, don’t do your witchy thing with my family. Leave the crystal beads at home. Don’t wear all that lavender. You’ve got to love me more. Be stronger than the magic.
Rather than be forced to choose between her craft or their relationship, Ursula chose Lincoln before he even asked her to make a choice. However, the magic still called to her, and the very last spell she cast was the one that ruined her life.
In the end, Ursula learned the hard way that happy endings were never meant for witches.
People were coming home to the Grove. Downtown, with its antique lampposts and bare trees, was filled with the early evening traffic. Shoppers cradled crocheted totes heavy with fresh produce and foodstuffs. Commuters ambled from the transportation center, their clothes wrinkled from their travels. By this time, the golden hour was on its way, giving buildings a shiny metallic glow that filled Ursula with a muted feeling of anticipation—it was time to treat herself to something cheesy and delicious. Ursula went to Mimi’s Diner and ordered the Shore Nachos, avoiding eye contact with curious diners and trying to ignore their not-so-hushed conversations.
“Is the Ren fair in town?”
“No, that’s Ms. Niesha’s daughter who works down at that feather shop.”
“Oh, that is her. Tsk. It’s terrible what happened to her…”
Ursula tuned out the rest of their talk, but fatigue had already settled in. I don’t want to be the main attraction in this spooky town anymore. Once her order was called and her to-go bag arrived, Ursula hustled out of the diner.
She walked until she reached the waterfront. Gulls squawked and coasted overhead. The sand was bare, absent of colorful towels and beach chairs. It was the off-season, so the Grove’s boardwalk was sparsely populated with a few people walking around bundled up in their light spring coats. A few storefronts were closed with blue and white SEE YOU IN THE SUMMER! signs dangling above their doors. A chilly breeze came over Ursula and gave her goose bumps.
The wood bench was cold underneath her when she sat down.
She’d once hated going to the beach, haunted by the memories of carefree days, but now this place comforted her. Nana Ruth, rest her soul, always called Ursula her beach baby when she was small. While the cousins splashed and played in the waves, Ursula scooped up sand in her purple bucket and pail. She made sandcastles, decorating them with broken seashells and driftwood. On those summer days, she imagined that she ruled a kingdom where witches could become queens of the night. As she grew older, Ursula lied to everyone and said that she couldn’t be bothered with the beach. The sand had once given shape to her childhood dreams that intimately crumbled under the weight of adult responsibility. Now the sand reminded her of the innate magic that flowed in her veins, the same magic that she ignored in an effort to be someone normal. Someone who could be loved by a man like Lincoln.
She shook off those melancholy thoughts. It was time for Jersey-style nachos.
Ursula ate her dinner while watching the waves crash against the sand. The spring equinox was upon them. The earth was waking up from its slumber, but Ursula felt confined in a dreamless sleep. She worked so hard at her job and maintaining her life that she didn’t even have the energy to dream anymore. It was time to wake up and make plans. Every time she went to make a new life list, Ursula froze, the cold dread of indecision keeping her from doing anything meaningful.
But this time that same dreadful feeling had lessened greatly, and she felt eager.
A voice inside asked the million-dollar question, So, what’s different this time?
Seeing Lincoln outside her window living free of their past made her feel angry and a little jealous. Why couldn’t she just move on? The memory of her not-wedding day lay heavy around her neck like a massive statement necklace made with uncut ruby crystals. She couldn’t take it off, and it was on display for the world to see. For years, Ursula molded herself into the woman she thought was perfect. Flawless. Respectable. She’d transformed herself into the partner she figured Lincoln needed by his side.
He still left.
Ursula cringed at the woman she had been last summer. She couldn’t forget the worst version of herself, the pastels and pearl-wearing mena. . .
First, Ursula slept through both her alarms. Somehow, she set her phone to silent and then forgot to turn the sound back on.
Second, as she rushed to finish breakfast, she spilled her peanut butter and chia oats all over her work clothes. Then, Ursula ended up splashing coffee mixed with flavored creamer on her backup outfit.
“Why?” she squeaked.
No one wanted to have their future read by someone who smelled of dried coffee and holiday cookies. But the only clean clothes she had available were her pajamas or the special events costume. Ursula shuddered. It was reserved for Renaissance fairs or moon markets when she was hired to read fortunes during the summer. No matter how many times she stuffed the pockets with cleansing parsley and lavender, it still had this odd vibe attached.
Like a pack a duffel bag and run away with a traveling carnival type of vibe.
She checked the time on her phone and groaned. The shop opened in less than five minutes. It was either wear the costume and be a little late or take the day off and wash all her dirty clothes, and she needed money to hit her checking account, like yesterday. She had plants to feed and weekly groceries to buy. There was only one choice. Ursula dug out the costume from her closet and changed quickly. It smelled of stale roses and was covered in chunky glitter. She gave the outfit a quick, generous spray of homemade fabric freshener in the bathroom. Now, it smelled like old flowers with a hint of lemon and eucalyptus. Fantastic.
She popped in her contacts and left her glasses by her bedside table. Ursula gave her reflection in the mirror one last look and let out a huff. All she saw was a hot, yet cute mess draped in a paisley print headband, too-tight peasant blouse, and floral print maxi skirt.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the foxiest of them all?” she muttered.
Ursula fought the urge to yank off the outfit and get back into bed.
Instead, she went all the way and completed the look with a faux leather brown bootie.
Boho vibes all day.
Even though she was in a hurry, Ursula couldn’t forget about tending to her plants. She went out the bedroom and over to the window that looked out on the street. Sunshine flittered down upon the row of overgrown plants and raw crystals that were set up on the sill.
Ursula quickly watered them and did a quick twirl. “How do I look, y’all?”
The plants’ leaves seemed to swivel away from her general direction.
“Well, at least I think I look cute,” she said with a smirk.
She grabbed her keys, purse, and phone and ran out of the apartment. Thankfully, Ursula only had to report downstairs for work since she lived right above the shop. Despite the convenient location, she found herself running late at least once a week. Maybe it was time for a career change. Ursula wouldn’t mind being stuck in an office making copies or typing in data if it meant she’d be left alone to wallow in her grumpiness.
She quit her consultancy job last fall because she couldn’t trust herself to make good choices anymore. The nonwedding didn’t merely damage her confidence; it crushed it into fine dust. During one memorable office lunch, Ursula’s co-worker had innocently asked her whether she wanted guacamole or salsa on her taco salad. Unable to pick a topping after five minutes, Ursula quietly took her salad, went to her desk, and wrote a letter of resignation.
She had messed up her own life; she didn’t want to hurt her clients with her indecision.
It was ridiculously difficult to get a new job, especially after future employers could search her name and discover the entire wedding drama. She had an online footprint the size of an asteroid crater. The Freya Grove Press article was the first thing that popped up when anyone searched her online. Search the phrases big-hearted bride or bad luck bride and a picture of her frowning in that bohemian antique lace dress popped up like a relentless horror movie villain haunting her. Jobs dried up faster than cotton underwear in a hot dryer once people learned the whole story.
So, for six to eight hours a day, Ursula sat in the front window of Mama’s psychic shop perched over Great-Aunt Lulu’s rediscovered crystal ball. She was on full display for the entire town and felt like a circus sideshow, a carnival barker’s brassy, drawling voice ringing in her brain. Step right up, step right up! Come view the psychic who couldn’t predict her own future! Her groom jilted her with a text! Marvel at her gullibility! Bring your funnel cake!
At this point, Ursula just existed in a constant state of embarrassment that kept her off balance, like she was wearing her shoes on the wrong feet. She thought about leaving town and starting over, but she only ever got as far as Toms River before she turned and went back.
Caraways didn’t run. Ever. The Grove was home, and she wasn’t going to leave in shame.
Enough with the past. Her present waited for her to show up and work.
The door chime jangled as Ursula entered Light as a Feather. Deep purple curtains hung from the high ceiling to the floor, giving the shop the intended mystic vibes. Bone-white shelves were filled with various items—large books, sparkly amethyst geodes, and tall pillar candles—used to aid customers in tapping into their natural intuition. There were wooden bowls filled with different types of tumbled crystals from amazonite to rose quartz in the glass display. A reading table tucked under the front window was decorated with a printed cloth and artfully set divination tools. A purple beaded curtain led to a storage space/back room and office. The music that played overhead was a blend of lyrical humming and bouncing flutes. Cone incense burned on the wood counter, filling the space with the distinctive smell of fresh earth. One sniff instantly eased any frantic energy Ursula felt from this morning’s chaos.
Mama, the one and only Ms. Niesha Caraway, former soap opera star and current shop owner, stood at the counter ready to sell orange blossom soap to forthcoming customers. She wore her usual ensemble, a dark blue and white star-covered belted kaftan that displayed her buxom shape. Turquoise jewelry and silver statement rings adorned her body and stood out against her tawny skin. Her gray hair was clipped close to her head, showing off the elegant curve of her scalp.
Ursula approached the counter. “Morning, Mama. Sorry I’m late again. I overslept.”
Mama’s wide brown eyes brightened. “No worries. Good morning, my darling.”
She embraced Ursula in a tight hug, smothering her in lavender oil and affection. Mama always wore this special oil to open her mind and body to the universe, and the scent lingered on Ursula’s clothes for hours after they’d worked together.
She leaned back and gave Ursula a long scan. “You look very… festive today. What happened to your work shirt?”
Ursula placed her purse behind the counter in a small alcove. She went to the back room, clocked in on her timecard, then rejoined Mama out front. “It’s a long story.”
For once, she wanted to have a short and sweet tale for her life, not an epic poem of woe.
“It’s been a rough morning,” Mama offered.
Ursula groaned. “It’s been a rough year. I feel like Lady Luck took me out for drinks, stole my wallet, and stopped answering my texts.”
“Lady Luck can be raggedy like that,” Mama said. “You said you overslept. Did you try putting an amethyst stone under your pillow? It helps with dreams and rest.”
Lately, Ursula was wary of using any enchantments to solve any of her issues. Last year, she fooled around with magic and quickly found out how a single spell could mess up her whole life. If she was having trouble sleeping, she’d drink chamomile and watch reruns of Living Single and Bob’s Burgers on her laptop until she fell asleep. No magic needed.
“No thank you, Mama. Not everyone wants to sleep on rocks,” Ursula said drily.
“Try it tonight and see what happens,” Mama said with a smile. “I do have good news.”
“What? Has NASA perfected time travel?” If they had, Ursula wanted a one-way ticket to her childhood, so she could knock the fairy tale book from her little sticky hands. She’d wipe the stardust from her young eyes and just… stop believing in happily-ever-after. Save herself the future heartache. Ursula refocused on Mama, who bounced with excitement.
She could hold a secret as well as a pasta strainer held water.
“No, it’s something better.” Mama shook her head. “The Chamber of Commerce just dropped a new poster for our window.”
“Are we having a spring ghost crawl?” Ursula cringed. She didn’t do haunted houses or buildings, having watched enough paranormal reality shows to know better than to deal with that drama. Not all ghosts were friendly. Ursula held her breath, waiting to see what scheme the town had come up with. The Chamber of Commerce of Freya Grove was always dreaming up creative and odd events and activities to help boost interest in local businesses. They were always trying to repeat the success of the Historical Society’s Founders’ Day Festival, which was one of the most popular events at the Jersey Shore.
“Nope, it’s better than that!” Mama reached underneath the counter and pulled out a poster with a show woman’s flourish. Oh no. Ursula read the delicate, cutesy font on the poster.
Smitten By the Shore
Music-Food-Fun
Find your fairy tale in Freya Grove this spring!
March 20–June 23
“Look what’s coming back this year!” Mama did a little shimmy. “Smitten is back, baby girl!”
Ursula studied the poster with a critical squint. The graphic designer went ham with the artwork and used their imagination to fill up the entire 11 x 17 sheet. A cartoon couple with matching goofy smiles steered a hot-air balloon over a town landscape while sprinkling huge hearts to the waiting crowd. A website address and social media icons were included underneath the illustration.
What were the odds that a lovey-dovey festival was coming back at the same moment she was ridiculously, hopelessly single?
Ursula folded her arms. No way. Her witchy senses were on high alert.
“I thought it was on indefinite hiatus,” Ursula said slowly. “How can our town suddenly afford this festival after all this time?”
She remembered the final email from the organizers announcing that the festival was taking a break. Everyone in the Grove knew indefinite hiatus was code for “we don’t have the funds to host this event.” Smitten hadn’t been held in three years and she assumed it wasn’t coming back. Ursula wasn’t going to celebrate until she knew if her once cherished event was back for good.
“That’s a good question,” Mama said. “I heard from my hairdresser’s sister that an anonymous donor decided to bring back the festival. They provided enough money to fund Smitten for the next five years.”
“We already have Founders’ Day,” Ursula said. “We don’t need another party.”
“So what? There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun,” Mama countered. “If you have enough confetti, life can be a party.”
Ursula sighed. “That sentence should be our town motto.”
Mama affixed tape to the poster’s four corners. “Hang that up for me.”
Ursula took the poster and placed it in the corner of the front window.
She watched the morning light filter through the paper hearts, making them sparkle through the poster. Was she seeing things? Of course. Magic, love, and high pollen count were in the air this spring. Years ago, Freya Grove went completely gaga over Smitten by the Shore and all the romantic lore connected to the event. Shops made specialty items, eateries created limited-edition treats, and romantic comedy movies were played at the local theater for a discounted price. Massive flower chains, balloon arches, and public proposals would be shared and reshared all over social media. There was even the Smitten Sweetheart Contest in which the town nominated locals looking for love and had a fancy ball to celebrate the end of the spring season.
“I thought it was gone for good,” Ursula said over her shoulder to Mama.
“So did I. I guess we were mistaken,” Mama said. “You know Grampa James used to say, ‘Anything can happen during Smitten Season, baby doll.’ He had his first leap and met your nana all in the same week.”
“I didn’t know that.” Ursula faced Mama. Those family members who had the gift of second sight sometimes were able to leap or project themselves into the future and experience it firsthand. She’d heard about the leap but had yet to have one yet. It was probably like jumping to the end of a book or fast-forwarding through a movie. Ursula often yearned for a remote to skip to the good parts of her life.
Mama gave a wistful sigh. “You knew your grandparents met at Smitten by the Shore.”
“Really, you’ve never told me,” Ursula said in an I’ve heard this story five hundred times tone.
“Don’t sass me.” Mama clucked. “Your grampa knew they were soul mates from the moment they kissed on the dance floor. They just clicked.”
Ah, yes. Here was yet another piece of family lore. The mystical click that every Caraway experienced when they met their soul mate. Since she was tiny, Ursula had loved the story of how James and Ruth Caraway found each other. They, according to family legend, fell in love over the course of an unforgettable evening at a Hopeful Heart Dance Marathon. Once upon a time, Ursula imagined she would feel the same way when she finally met her soul mate. But when she didn’t click with Lincoln, she convinced herself she’d feel it once she got to know him. In retrospect, she didn’t know him as well as she thought she did. Ugh. Lincoln hadn’t spoken or even texted Ursula since he sent her that final message in the hotel ballroom. She never learned why he ditched her; all texts and emails went unanswered. It was too early in the day to think about her ex.
Mama squinted. “I thought you’d be happier to hear the news. You used to love Smitten.”
Ursula shrugged. “I used to… before.”
Neither of them talked, and the sound of emotional panpipes playing on the overhead speaker filled the tense silence. Ursula studied the tops of her scuffed boots so she wouldn’t have to see Mama’s face crease with worry. She didn’t like bringing up the past, so she did her best to forget what it was like when she believed in true love and fairy tales. There was a time when all she dreamed about was being surrounded by faithful woodland creatures, put under a powerful spell, and rescued from a hundred-year curse with an enchanted kiss. Ursula once yearned for a love that would be told and shared by her descendants to come. It would be a love that would be legendary. That time was long gone. She’d gotten a rude awakening once her supposed Prince Charming ditched her at the altar and left her to deal with returning wedding gifts and huge catering bills.
It was time to wake up and deal with real life.
Mama’s warm voice broke into her reverie. “You’ll find a reason to love it again.”
It was the note of optimism that made Ursula lift her eyes and look at Mama. There was a little worry on her face, but a glimmer of knowledge that eased the tension in her heart. Say something, Sula. Make her feel better.
“Stranger things have happened,” Ursula said. She mentally put this conversation in the For Later folder in her mind. Change the subject.
She pointed to the crystal clock on the wall. “Look at the time. We should get started.”
Mama nodded. It was showtime.
Ursula took her place at the reading table. It was outfitted with a handful of divination tools that she used during the day. She favored raw crystals and stones whenever she had to work. Touching those items made her feel grounded. Once in this seat, she transformed into Madame Caraway, the premiere psychic consultant to the Grove. Head witch in charge. Confident in life and love. Ursula pulled the crystal ball closer to the edge of the table. Her mere presence would beckon people from the sidewalk to come in and seek advice.
Ursula put up a placard sign in the window next to the poster. It read, Free reading with any store purchase. If a customer paid for any item, they were offered a reading at no extra charge. This policy had kept them in business for years and kept a roof over their heads during the lean times, when Mama was between acting jobs.
Ursula sat perched in the chair, watching the foot traffic. With every passing minute without a client, her confidence ebbed as the entire world passed by. No one gave her even a first glance. For a moment, Ursula yearned for everything she had wished away—her old life, her friendships, her reputation. She could divine everyone else’s future, but she couldn’t see her path forward. Ursula willed herself to stay in the mystical zone. Be Madame. Be still.
Eventually, customers wandered in, bought an item or two, and came over to her table for a reading. Many times, people wanted someone to share their secrets with, so Ursula gratefully obliged. She wiggled her hands over the crystal ball, read the images that appeared to her, then offered guidance. Ursula was in the zone, and clients sat up straighter and gained a twinkle of happiness in their eyes once their readings ended. During a brief lull, Ursula texted Gwen, her half-sister, to let her know that she was working through lunch and wouldn’t be by the bistro today. Six hours of wind chimes and ethereal lyrics playing overhead left Ursula feeling loose and calm.
Today was actually turning out to be a good shift.
It was a few minutes after five when he appeared in the front window. She knew that midnight-black designer peacoat, pressed khaki pants, and fresh sneakers anywhere. An odd blend of surprise and irritation spun through her, causing her to ache.
Lincoln Walker was back in the Grove.
He looked slimmer, lighter from when she’d last seen him in August. A small part of her wanted to know why he ghosted her, but the larger part wanted to throw his smartphone into the Atlantic. Questions popped up in her brain like phone notifications.
When did he get back in town? Does Marcus know? Should I say something to him?
Then Ursula noticed the pink cloud of a lady by his side. Her head was covered by a bubblegum-colored crocheted hat, a puffy jacket fitted over her solid curves. Her face was done up with flawless makeup. He gave her ass a tender squeeze, and she leaned back and chortled. Lincoln brightened and… blushed. He never blushed with Ursula. Something dreadful and painful twisted inside of her at this sight of domestic bliss.
Well, at least he got his happy ending.
Ursula let out a noisy, sharp breath—that somehow in this universe, Lincoln must’ve heard through the glass. He turned toward the window and stiffened when he recognized her.
Shame rushed through her and heated every inch of her skin. She jerked back, and her arm connected with the crystal ball, knocking it off its base. Customers shouted as it tumbled over the table’s edge, and Ursula dove from her seat, barely saving the precious item from shattering on the floor. Panic raced through her, and she sat immobile on the floor until her heart rate settled down. The crystal ball had belonged to Great-Aunt Lulu, and it had been passed to Ursula. She cradled the heirloom against her chest. Lately, all she seemed to be talented at was breaking things. When will you stop being so careless?
“Sula, beloved,” Mama said. Ursula glanced up. Mama’s eyes were gentle as she approached. “Take a break. Get something to eat. I’ll watch the table.”
Mama carefully took the crystal ball from Ursula’s hands and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. The shop was eerily silent. Ursula nodded. She stood, grabbed her purse from behind the counter, and left the shop, avoiding their customers’ worried stares.
A quick glance down the street confirmed that Lincoln had hurried away from the shop with his boo-thang. Ursula walked in the opposite direction. A few people gave her curious looks as they passed her on the sidewalk. She was, for lack of a better phrase, internet famous and there wasn’t a ghoul, ghost, or enchanter in the Grove who didn’t know her cautionary tale. Ursula knew what question everyone asked themselves when they saw her around town.
How much of a psychic could she be if she didn’t know? She must’ve had a feeling!
Of course, she had a feeling. Everyone had feelings, but she couldn’t just follow them because things felt off between her and Lincoln. On paper they were the storybook couple, the town prince falling in love with the local witch. How sweet! But when it came to her magic, Lincoln had questioned whether she needed it. He had raised a silent brow whenever Ursula dabbed her honeysuckle and sunflower oil perfume on her wrists. He had given her an earful when she’d suggested growing an herb garden in the kitchen, claiming that she was being held back by outdated superstition. Ursula bit her lip until it ached. His words reminded her of the conversations she overheard between her parents. Dad’s urgent words echoed in her memory: Niesha, if you love me, don’t do your witchy thing with my family. Leave the crystal beads at home. Don’t wear all that lavender. You’ve got to love me more. Be stronger than the magic.
Rather than be forced to choose between her craft or their relationship, Ursula chose Lincoln before he even asked her to make a choice. However, the magic still called to her, and the very last spell she cast was the one that ruined her life.
In the end, Ursula learned the hard way that happy endings were never meant for witches.
People were coming home to the Grove. Downtown, with its antique lampposts and bare trees, was filled with the early evening traffic. Shoppers cradled crocheted totes heavy with fresh produce and foodstuffs. Commuters ambled from the transportation center, their clothes wrinkled from their travels. By this time, the golden hour was on its way, giving buildings a shiny metallic glow that filled Ursula with a muted feeling of anticipation—it was time to treat herself to something cheesy and delicious. Ursula went to Mimi’s Diner and ordered the Shore Nachos, avoiding eye contact with curious diners and trying to ignore their not-so-hushed conversations.
“Is the Ren fair in town?”
“No, that’s Ms. Niesha’s daughter who works down at that feather shop.”
“Oh, that is her. Tsk. It’s terrible what happened to her…”
Ursula tuned out the rest of their talk, but fatigue had already settled in. I don’t want to be the main attraction in this spooky town anymore. Once her order was called and her to-go bag arrived, Ursula hustled out of the diner.
She walked until she reached the waterfront. Gulls squawked and coasted overhead. The sand was bare, absent of colorful towels and beach chairs. It was the off-season, so the Grove’s boardwalk was sparsely populated with a few people walking around bundled up in their light spring coats. A few storefronts were closed with blue and white SEE YOU IN THE SUMMER! signs dangling above their doors. A chilly breeze came over Ursula and gave her goose bumps.
The wood bench was cold underneath her when she sat down.
She’d once hated going to the beach, haunted by the memories of carefree days, but now this place comforted her. Nana Ruth, rest her soul, always called Ursula her beach baby when she was small. While the cousins splashed and played in the waves, Ursula scooped up sand in her purple bucket and pail. She made sandcastles, decorating them with broken seashells and driftwood. On those summer days, she imagined that she ruled a kingdom where witches could become queens of the night. As she grew older, Ursula lied to everyone and said that she couldn’t be bothered with the beach. The sand had once given shape to her childhood dreams that intimately crumbled under the weight of adult responsibility. Now the sand reminded her of the innate magic that flowed in her veins, the same magic that she ignored in an effort to be someone normal. Someone who could be loved by a man like Lincoln.
She shook off those melancholy thoughts. It was time for Jersey-style nachos.
Ursula ate her dinner while watching the waves crash against the sand. The spring equinox was upon them. The earth was waking up from its slumber, but Ursula felt confined in a dreamless sleep. She worked so hard at her job and maintaining her life that she didn’t even have the energy to dream anymore. It was time to wake up and make plans. Every time she went to make a new life list, Ursula froze, the cold dread of indecision keeping her from doing anything meaningful.
But this time that same dreadful feeling had lessened greatly, and she felt eager.
A voice inside asked the million-dollar question, So, what’s different this time?
Seeing Lincoln outside her window living free of their past made her feel angry and a little jealous. Why couldn’t she just move on? The memory of her not-wedding day lay heavy around her neck like a massive statement necklace made with uncut ruby crystals. She couldn’t take it off, and it was on display for the world to see. For years, Ursula molded herself into the woman she thought was perfect. Flawless. Respectable. She’d transformed herself into the partner she figured Lincoln needed by his side.
He still left.
Ursula cringed at the woman she had been last summer. She couldn’t forget the worst version of herself, the pastels and pearl-wearing mena. . .
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