The Harvest Moon Café

Book 0: Moonbeam Hollow

by Farah Halliwell

Genres: Romance; Contemporary Romance; Fantasy Romance; Multicultural & Interracial Romance; Paranormal Romance

Synopsis

Blair Briarwood's pumpkin spice lattes are sprinkled with cinnamon and a dash of magic - the secret ingredient that keeps the Harvest Moon Café glowing through every autumn morning. Until her ex-boyfriend moves back to town and opens a rival café right next door . . .

Blair has enough on her plate trying to keep younger sisters Belinda and Bianca from revealing their witchy powers to the residents of Moonbeam Hollow. She definitely doesn't have time for Luke Caldwell's annoyingly handsome smirk and perfect new café - or the fiery sparks beneath their fierce rivalry he insists are still crackling between them . . .

This town simply isn't big enough for two pumpkin spice rivals. But when a series of strange magical disturbances threaten the beloved Fall Harvest Festival, Blair and Luke are thrown together again. To save her home, Blair must protect her family's bewitching secret, out-brew her ex and unravel the curse that Luke's return seems to have stirred.

But as secrets fly and spells are cast, will Blair learn that letting herself fall for her first love is the ingredient she's been missing all along?

This totally cosy and steamy romance is perfect for a brisk Autumn day. Fans of Laurie Gilmore, Practical Magic, Rewitched and The Ex Hex will be completely enchanted by this second-chance, witchy romance!

Tropes:
Second-chance romance 🧡
Rivals to lovers to rivals to lovers 🍂
Small town romance 🍁
All the Fall vibes 🎃
Spice 🔥
First love 🧣

Release date: August 25, 2026

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 320

Sample

Chapter One

Blair Briarwood, eldest of the Briarwood sisters and owner of the Harvest Moon Café, the only café in the sleepy town of Moonbeam Hollow, knew deep in her bones that something wasn’t quite right in her little world. She didn’t know why things felt wrong – a glance around proved everything was in order. Her café was bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun, heightened by the orange and dusky peach colour scheme. Silver-haired members of the Moonbeam Hollow knitting society were crowded onto two sofas ­covered with crocheted throws and velvet cushions at the back, loudly gossiping over each other more than knitting or purling. Blair’s sister Bianca was curled with one leg under her at one of the honey-oak café tables, drinking a spiced maple latte while reading a book. Her long cherry red hair was almost glowing in the sun, blocking Blair’s view of what she was reading. Bianca shifted in her seat, and Blair’s ­stomach tightened when she noticed that her sister was holding a travel guide to India.

Her sister had finally returned to Moonbeam Hollow after travelling and earning her degree, and now she was going to India? Had Bianca’s urge to connect with their family roots returned? Blair absently fingered the pendant on her chest. How was she supposed to look out for – and protect – her youngest sister, if Bianca was on the other side of the world? And also, how would this connecting be funded, anyway?

But Bianca being difficult was hardly new, and Blair doubted it was the cause of her unease.

Blair glanced out the white-framed front window. The green grass of the town square was dotted with yellow dandelions and a small white gazebo gleamed against the clear blue sky. Also, the backside of a man was visible as he rummaged in an illegally parked green SUV. Who was that? Blair knew everyone in Moonbeam Hollow, and no local filled a pair of Levi’s quite like that. It was hard not to stare. The man’s legs looked long and strong in the faded denim, paired with tan leather boots and a blue plaid flannel shirt. As his head and arms were inside the car, Blair had no idea if he had a broad back or strong biceps to match his well-formed lower half, but that didn’t really matter. Blair wasn’t at all interested in dating, hooking up with, or even flirting with anyone, so admiring from afar was all that was going to happen.

Blair tried to predict his coffee order. She had owned a café long enough to know that rugged jeans and flannel didn’t always mean black drip coffee. In fact, there was nothing that pleased Blair more than a burly outdoorsy type ordering a lavender Earl Grey, or a honey-cinnamon latte. And since it was September and the café’s famous pumpkin spice latte was on the menu, it was entirely possible that this flannel-clad man would opt for a seasonal speciality.

If he was in front of Blair, she would know exactly what would soothe his soul and delight his taste buds. She’d be able to craft the perfect speciality drink, tailored specifically for him, using her instinct and years of experience. And a heavy dose of witchcraft magic, too.

A loud holler from the knitting group brought Blair out of her trance. She’d asked the members more than once to keep their voices to a reasonable decibel, but it was futile. Blair wouldn’t think of banning the Stitch Witches from the Harvest Moon Café, though, despite their boisterousness and inaccurate, honestly frankly offensive name. (There wasn’t one witch among them.) Members of the group each bought at least two speciality drinks and tipped well during their meetings. Plus, they gifted Blair cozy hats and scarves all year.

‘Blair darling,’ a voice in front of her said. It was ­Agatha, the leader of the Stitch Witches, giving Blair a pointed look. The sixty-something woman’s hair was dyed a silvery-­lavender shade, and she always wore bright, purple-framed glasses. Blair noticed that behind Agatha was the group’s ­newest member, a shy teenage boy who Blair knew was only in the Stitch Witches because his mother had read that knitting would improve his math abilities. ‘Tyler here claims he doesn’t like pumpkin spice, but I told him that your pumpkin spice lattes are the best in the world. Be a doll and prove me right.’

Blair put on her customer service smile. ‘Of course!’ She looked into the boy’s dark eyes. He was shy, yes, but there was a boldness in there, too. She dug deeper to find his most cherished food memory – watching his grandmother bake treats for him. Blair focused harder on the image to see what the treat was . . . and bingo. The boy loved carrot cake, which meant a pumpkin spice latte heavy on cinnamon, vanilla and pumpkin. As Blair made the drink, a flick of her hand and a silent spell on her homemade pumpkin spice syrup ensured that those flavours would be in the forefront.

She handed the young man his warm orange mug and watched as he took a deep inhalation. And there it was – the moment when the scent of the custom brew brought him back to being a small child watching his grandmother ice cakes in her kitchen. It was a lovely memory, judging by the way his shoulders relaxed. Blair would never grow tired of gifting her customers that feeling.

‘I told you.’ Agatha beamed at Tyler. ‘It’s impossible not to love Blair’s pumpkin spice. It’s like it’s crafted by fairy magic!’

Witch magic, actually. Not that anyone in town knew that. Except of course the only other two witches in Moonbeam Hollow, Blair’s sisters Belinda and Bianca. Blair’s talent was in potions, which is what speciality drinks really were. She used the best quality flavourings and spices and a hint of magic to make her warm beverages elicit cozy and welcoming emotions in her customers. And she dabbled in healing potions, too – selling two-ounce bottles of homemade power shots from a fridge in her café, all from her mother’s recipes.

‘First one’s on the house, Tyler,’ Blair said. ‘I hope we’ll see you here for knitting group meetings every week!’

Tyler nodded awkwardly and headed back to the couches, but Agatha stayed. She was probably fishing for information. Agatha was both the best knitter and the best gossip in Moonbeam Hollow. Or the worst gossip – especially if you were the subject of her tea-spilling.

‘Have you heard the news?’ Agatha leaned close as though she was telling a secret, despite her voice being as loud as ever. ‘A new pâtisserie is opening next door!’ Agatha said pâtisserie with an affected French accent that Blair had to strain not to laugh at.

But wait . . . what pâtisserie? Blair had noticed that construction had started today in the space next door, but she didn’t know yet what type of business it would be. ‘I didn’t know a bakery was opening.’ Blair wiped down the espresso machine.

‘Construction started this week. Apparently, the baker is Cordon Bleu trained. Wish I could say more but have been sworn to secrecy! Don’t worry, my dear, the Stitch Witches will be on the Harvest Moon Café’s side. We do not let ­people come for one of our own in Moonbeam ­Hollow!’ Agatha said in a sing-song voice before heading back to her group.

Blair didn’t have a moment to process Agatha’s news because her sister Bianca was immediately standing in front of her. ‘I have all the dirt,’ Bianca stated, eyes wide.

‘Eavesdropping, Bianca?’ Blair asked.

‘Barely. Agatha’s loud enough to burst an eardrum. I used the weakest listening spell to listen to the Stitch Witches.’

Blair shook her head, disappointed. She wished her other sister Belinda was here. Blair and Belinda had been ­trying to convince Bianca to stop using magic to invade other ­people’s privacy.

‘Don’t go all judgy big sister on me,’ Bianca said. ‘You use magic every time you make someone a latte.’

‘That’s different. It’s my literal job. You’re just being nosy.’

‘Okay, and if I wasn’t being nosy then I wouldn’t know that a bakery called Shirley’s Sugar Mountain is opening next door to your literal job.’

Blair’s eyes narrowed. ‘That doesn’t sound like a French bakery.’

‘Maybe there’s a French pronunciation of Shirley. Are you okay with this?’

Blair shrugged. ‘A bakery would be good for Moonbeam Hollow.’ Blair ordered pastries and baked goods from a supplier in a nearby town to sell at the café, but they weren’t really moneymakers for her. Her beverages were her bread and butter, or rather, her milk and coffee.

‘I overheard Aarushi say she saw a man bringing an espresso machine into the place,’ Bianca said.

Oh. This could very well be why Blair had been feeling something was wrong all day. Moonbeam Hollow wasn’t big enough to support two speciality coffee establishments. And if one of them also had French pastries made on the premises? It would be very hard for Blair’s little café to compete with that. Even using magic.

Also, was the strong-legged man outside the one with the espresso machine? Blair glanced outside, and both the man and the car were gone. She assumed he wasn’t the actual proprietor of Shirley’s Sugar Mountain, unless his name was Shirley, which seemed unlikely. Maybe a contractor? Or handyman? Blair made a fist under the counter. This could definitely be a problem.

‘It’ll be fine,’ Blair said. ‘You don’t need to worry about it.’ Blair herself was worrying about it, but she didn’t want her sister to.

Bianca’s mouth downturned in a familiar expression – she was clearly holding herself back from saying something. But then she suddenly flashed a look of pure mischief. ‘I saw the man in there today. A burly construction man who I’m sure knows how to use his . . . hands.’

Blair couldn’t help it: she snorted a laugh. Her sister frustrated her more than most people, but no one else in the world made her laugh like Bianca.

‘Are you looking for a tryst?’ Blair asked.

Bianca snorted incredulously. ‘I’m not into lumberjacks. I was thinking about a tryst for you, Blair. You can’t stay single and grumpy forever. You pretend you don’t care about relationships, but I happen to know you still have a worrying addiction to mid-tier romance movies.’

Blair rolled her eyes. Easily said by an unemployed botanist considering running off to India. Blair wasn’t grumpy – she was responsible. She had to be. She was the eldest sister and had been put in charge of Belinda and Bianca when she was only eighteen. Now Blair ran her own business and was the only one of the three who worried about the condition of their house (which really needed a new roof in the next five years), while also worrying about their secret coming out in Moonbeam Hollow.

‘I’ll worry about my own love life,’ Blair said. ‘And my own business. Did I see you reading an India travel guide?’

‘Now who’s snooping?’ Bianca paused. ‘You know what you should do? Go visit the space next door. Be neighbourly while doing some reconnaissance to see if they’re only a ­bakery or a bakery café.’

That wasn’t a bad idea. Knowing what kind of establishment Shirley’s Sugar Mountain was would ease Blair’s mind and hopefully stop the Stitch Witches from loudly declaring allegiances already. And if Blair was honest – she did want to see the rest of the flannel-clad man. Just to admire, of course. Nothing else.

‘Okay.’ Blair placed a burnt orange mug on the counter. ‘I’ll bring over a pumpkin spice.’ Without looking into the man’s eyes, she couldn’t tailor the drink to his exact tastes, but her off-the-shelf pumpkin spice syrup was the best around, thanks to her skills with potions. ‘Can you watch the shop?’

* * *

After topping the pumpkin spice latte with a swirl of whipped cream and a light dusting of cinnamon and nutmeg, Blair took off her cream apron emblazoned with Harvest Moon Café in a curly orange font, and walked outside, taking the warm drink with her.

It was a crisp late-September day – the autumn equinox actually, when day and night were equal in length. It was an important day for witches for many reasons. To Blair, seasons changing always reminded her that the world kept moving, whether she moved with it or not. And autumn equinox was a particularly special day for Blair, because it was the official start of fall – Moonbeam Hollow’s most picturesque season. The Harvest Moon Café was on Main Street in the tiny town, with the post office on one side and what was an empty storefront on the other. Across the street was an adorable row of pale brick shops with peaked roofs adorned with white gingerbread trim and matching hand-painted signs. The Wolf Willow Bookstore, the largest of the shops, was where Blair’s sister Belinda worked. The idyllic Victorian architecture and massive trees lining the streets had resulted in Moonbeam Hollow being named the Most Autumnal Small Town in Ontario. The annual Moonbeam Hollow Fall Harvest Festival attracted thousands, and honestly, the little stall the Harvest Moon Café set up at the festival kept Blair afloat during the slower months after Christmas, when treacherous roads and bitter winds kept tourists out of Kawartha Lakes, the region Moonbeam Hollow was in.

Blair smiled as she inhaled deeply, the scent of fall leaves and crisp air warming her core. Blair loved fall. She loved cozy sweaters, warming spices and the brilliant shades of red, orange and yellow the town was blanketed in. Blair’s ancestry may have originated in a more tropical climate, but as far as she was concerned, she was born for this season.

The storefront next door had brown paper covering the windows, but the glass door was uncovered, so Blair peeked inside. It was clearly a construction zone and there was no way of knowing if the finished space would be a bakery or a bakery café. And it was empty. Leaning even closer, she was surprised when the door shifted. It was unlocked.

Blair shouldn’t go inside. Trespassing would be very, very wrong. But . . . there was no one in there. There could be someone in the back room, presumably where the actual baking would happen. But Blair was a witch. She could easily peek around the counter undetected.

She mouthed the words to a small spell, not of invisibility – she was pretty good at making herself invisible, but making her clothes disappear was trickier. And she suspected that someone seeing a floating cream cable-knit sweater with a brown corduroy miniskirt and tights would be much worse than someone seeing her. She instead cast a silence spell. All Blair needed was to get behind that counter to see if there was an espresso machine, then sneak out unheard by any burly men in jeans in the back room.

Inside, the first thing Blair noticed were large sheets of white paper taped to the wall. She stepped closer and saw that they were illustrated mock-ups of what the finished bakery would look like. Blair couldn’t help studying them, her heart falling a bit at the cream mouldings and pale green panelled walls. This place was going to be lovely. There were even glass chandeliers in the drawings. Blair had no issue with the cozy clutter of her café, but this chic new space was going to make the Harvest Moon Café seem old-fashioned. She’d have to renovate. Blair’s ­stomach tightened at the cost.

But she couldn’t spend too long looking at these plans that resembled a quaint little bakery in Paris – she was silenced, not invisible. She headed straight for the counter to see what equipment the man had brought in.

Then three things happened almost simultaneously. First, Blair tripped over something as she stepped behind the counter. Her tripping caused her to fall right on top of the thing, spilling the pumpkin spice latte on herself and on the obstacle. And finally, upon landing on the hardwood, she had the perfect view of a box with a photo of a high-end Italian espresso machine on it. The kind that Blair dreamed of getting when she’d first set up her café. The kind that would cost more than her current espresso machine, drip coffee machine and display fridge combined.

‘First day here and people are already throwing themselves at me,’ a voice drawled. A male voice. And that was when Blair realized what she’d tripped over – worn denim. The same legs she’d been admiring from her window. This person . . . man . . . was on his knees working under the sink behind the counter. And Blair was now sprawled on top of his solid calves. ‘What the hell!’ he added, probably when he felt the hot pumpkin spice latte penetrate his jeans.

Blair closed her eyes with embarrassment, crawling off the man. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here.’ She tried to sound light and chipper but was probably failing. ‘I came to deliver a pumpkin spice latte as a welcome-to-the-neighbourhood gift! I’m Blair, I own the café next door. Are you . . . I mean . . . I see that espresso machine. Is this going to be a café? Because there’s already a café in this town. Mine. I’ve been here six years, and Moonbeam Hollow is loyal to its locals, not to fancy Cordon Bleu-trained . . .’ She trailed off, conscious that she was being ridiculous. This guy was a delivery person or a plumber or whatever, so why was she telling him off? Blair was even more mortified.

The man let out a husky laugh, untangling his arms from under the sink. ‘Are you going to say something? Like ­apologize after breaking and entering and dumping hot liquid all over me?’

Blair winced. She’d forgotten about her silence spell – he hadn’t heard her rambling. She said the reversal incantation under her breath while brushing herself off. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She leaned down to pick up her orange mug from the hardwood.

But when the man emerged from under the sink and spoke again, she realized that his voice sounded familiar. Painfully familiar. ‘Blair?’ he asked. ‘Blair Briarwood? I know it’s been a while, but a simple hi would suffice. You didn’t have to fall at my feet.’

Blair looked at the man’s face with one side of his lip quirked up in a cheeky smirk, and her knees almost gave out. She’d know those brown eyes and dark wavy hair anywhere. The broad, strong, flannel-clad man in front of her was none other than Luke Caldwell, her high school rival-turned-boyfriend who she had not seen or heard from in over a decade. Luke had grown, but he was still handsome as hell. And he still took all the air from Blair’s lungs when he smiled wide, which is what he did next.

This was exactly why she’d had this impending sense of doom all day. Luke Caldwell’s return to Moonbeam Hollow was going to be nothing but trouble for Blair.



Chapter Two

Blair took her orange mug and rushed right out of Shirley’s Sugar Mountain without saying a word, ignoring Luke’s voice calling out, ‘Blair, wait!’

She was not going to wait. She was not going to look at that man one second longer than she needed to, because if she did, the image of the last time she saw Luke Caldwell would come rushing back to her.

Luke, a skinny teenager then but just as beautiful, looking at her with pleading eyes, begging her not to walk away from their relationship. Luke telling Blair over and over again that he loved her, and that he was willing to stay right here in Moonbeam Hollow with her if that’s what she wanted. Luke finally telling her that if she wanted him to leave, she would never see or hear from him again. The last thing Blair needed was to relive the moment when her heart had been ripped in two because she told Luke Caldwell that she didn’t love him.

It had been a lie. She’d loved him so, so much. More than she thought was possible.

And now he was here. Back in Moonbeam Hollow, and right next door. Doing . . . what exactly? Blair had stalked Luke’s social media after he left town. She may be a witch, but she was only human. Blair knew Luke had studied architecture like he’d intended to. She knew he worked in a top Toronto firm designing skyscrapers and hotels. He wore suits and ties to work, not perfectly fitting jeans and flannel. Why was Luke working construction in Moonbeam Hollow instead of designing skylines in the city?

To be honest, Blair didn’t really want the answers to those questions. It had taken years for Blair to finally get over Luke, and clearly she hadn’t done a very good job of it, based on her pounding heart as she rushed through the Harvest Moon Café straight to the privacy of her back room. She sat at her cluttered desk and put her head in her hands.

This was ridiculous.

She should not be responding this way. Luke was only a man. The fact that he was her first and truly only love meant nothing. So what if they had history? Blair had some sort of history with three-quarters of the permanent residents of Moonbeam Hollow, seeing as she grew up here. Mind you, her history with others wasn’t nearly as intimate.

The door to the back room opened, and her sister Bianca walked in. ‘Why are you wearing the pumpkin spice latte you took next door?’

‘Not now, Bianca. I came here to be alone. Someone needs to stay out front.’

‘Agatha sent me here, saying I had to support my sister. She’s guarding the counter and said she’d holler if someone needs one of us. I have no doubt we’ll hear her.’

Blair agreed. Not for the first time, Blair wondered if she should cast a silence spell on all the Stitch Witches.

‘What happened next door that made you look like the whitest Brown woman I’ve ever seen?’ Bianca asked. ‘Did you catch a glimpse of the sexy contractor’s . . . tools?’

Blair rolled her eyes at her sister. ‘This is not what supporting me looks like, Bianca.’

Bianca crossed her arms, leaning against the door. ­‘Briarwoods are famously bad at the emotional support thing. What happened?’

Blair exhaled long before speaking. ‘Luke was next door.’

‘Luke . . . Perry? Evans? Skywalker?’

Why were little sisters so infuriating? Blair gave her sister an annoyed glare. ‘Luke Caldwell.’

‘Oh.’ Bianca’s forehead furrowed. ‘I think I would have been less surprised if you said Skywalker. Like as in your nerdy-ex-from-high-school Luke?’

Blair nodded.

‘So, you poured a pumpkin spice latte on yourself and ran away? That’s not what I would have done.’

‘Still not really helping, Bianca.’ Blair pulled off her cream sweater and put on the blue sweatshirt she kept at her desk. It didn’t really match her brown tights and skirt, but it would do. ‘I need to figure out how to calm myself before I go back out there.’

Bianca reached into her pocket and took out a small brown bottle. ‘Ashwagandha tincture. I distilled it in North Africa. Put three drops under your tongue.’

Blair raised a brow. Potions were really Blair’s thing. ‘You carry tinctures in your pocket?’

Bianca reached again into the pocket of her black skirt and pulled out a handful of similar tiny brown bottles. ‘You never know what can happen in a day. Go on, it’s not magic, just a good old-fashioned medicinal plant extract. It will calm your nerves.’

Blair did as instructed, trusting her sister because Bianca really did know her way around plants.

‘I need to go,’ Bianca said after Blair gave her the bottle back. ‘Got a call from Raj’s farm – there may be an issue with this year’s pumpkin crop, and Raj wants me to take a look. The festival will be screwed without enough pumpkins. Try not to crash into any more exes. Oh wait, you don’t have any others.’ Bianca smirked.

* * *

Blair closed the café late that night because her bakery supplier had got mysteriously lost on the one straight road into Moonbeam Hollow. He finally arrived with muffins, bagels and croissants for the next few days, muttering something about cats on highways in a kind of confused daze. All Blair could think of while she unpacked the baked goods was who would want these when the bakery café next door would presumably be baking in-house?

And that made her wonder again why the hell Luke Caldwell was back in Moonbeam Hollow at all. The man was an ­architect, not a plumber. Maybe that hadn’t been him? Maybe Blair’s subconscious brain was playing a nasty trick on her and superimposed Luke’s ridiculously handsome face onto the body of a lumberjack. (Luke’s physique had not looked like that when she last saw him.)

But no. Blair knew it in her bones – that was him. It wasn’t only his face and that smirk. He smelled like Luke. Smiled like Luke. And the particular way he said her name, sounding equally exasperated and enchanted by her. That was him. He was right next door . . . She wasn’t going to be able to avoid him.

Immediately after Blair turned her open sign to closed, her phone rang. It was Gladys, the owner of the bookstore across the street, the Wolf Willow Bookstore.

‘Blair dear, I saw your light on. Please don’t mention this to Belinda, but would you be able to pop over to the bookstore a moment? I stayed late to do inventory, but the lights are going absolutely haywire – I have no idea what’s going on.’

Blair glanced out the window at the bookstore. And yes, the store looked like a flickering candle.

‘I’ll be right there,’ Blair said.

After Blair locked her door, she rushed across the street to the bookstore, not even glancing in the direction of the bakery. Luke probably wasn’t there, anyway. Hopefully he took the hint that Blair didn’t want to talk to him.

The Wolf Willow Bookstore was a charming store packed with dark fixtures and bright windows. The moment Blair walked in, she was hit with the familiar scent of old paper and the black tea that Gladys was constantly sipping. The wood floors had a warm patina, and the narrow aisles were lined with dark shelves crammed with books, everything from romance and fantasy to sci-fi and historical novels. But the amber lights were flickering, casting the store intermittently in shadow.

Gladys was behind the counter at the computer, a worried expression on her kind face. She was a lovely, capable woman who’d run the bookstore for decades, but she was easily in her seventies now. She took off her glasses, letting them hang on a beaded chain around her neck and pushed her short grey hair behind her ears. ‘Thank you so much for rescuing me, Blair! I have no idea why the lights would be doing this, unless it is something to do with the breaker. The last time this happened was when we hosted a midnight release party for that hockey romance book, but that made sense considering the snow machine. But today has been full of mysterious nonsense!’

Blair glanced around the store. Other than the lights, everything looked fine. ‘What else happened today?’

‘A large order of a popular fantasy book ca. . .