Steady in Love: Pomegranate Café Romance, #3

Elle Hartford

Steady in Love

First published by Phoenix & Kelpie Press 2024

Copyright © 2024 by Elle Hartford

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

First edition

ISBN: 979-8-9893937-2-5

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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Contents

Prologue

1. Silver and Gold

2. Spring is Coming

3. Delicate

4. Split Ends

5. Change My Mind

6. Rats and Mice

7. Other People

8. Golden Pun

9. Words of Warning

10. Parental Interference

11. Flowers

12. Breakfast at Mina’s

13. New Shades

14. Out on a Limb

15. Practice

16. Ships Passing

17. Don’t Blink

18. Crisis of Faith

19. Face the Music

20. Coffee Talk

21. On Stage

22. All the World

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Elle Hartford

Prologue

Sakura

Here we are, one full year of the Pomegranate Café! Of course, I must say we, because I certainly didn’t make it here all by myself. They say starting a business is a lonely endeavor, but making it successful is exactly the opposite, I think.

Anyway, you aren’t here for a witch’s guide to entrepreneurship, are you? I suspect you’ll be wanting to hear all about Magica and her participation in the Spring Fair.

I must admit, I have a soft spot for Ostara. As a holiday, it often gets overlooked. But that was the whole point of the Spring Fair, you understand—to observe Ostara, the traditional celebration of spring, blooming flowers, renewed life, and bunnies with eggs. I’ve never quite understood that last part, but children of all ages go wild for multicolored candy-filled eggs.

Belville, as it turns out, has a very checkered history when it comes to Ostara egg hunts. You’d think such a tiny mountain town, even one full of magical beings, would be a little more sedate—wouldn’t you? But people, and towns, can be so deceptive.

Speaking of that, there was one person in town spreading all kinds of stories and stirring things up . . . But you’ll be hearing enough from them later. I personally don’t have patience for that kind of thing.

For Magica, though, I have plenty of patience. Anyone who will step in with only a few days to spare to help out, truly help out, with an event is a blessing. And when it comes to love, such sincerity is a definite step in the right direction. Yes, this little plan has been in the back of my mind for a while, but it came together perfectly.

And let it not be said that I don’t give credit where credit is due: Glacial was a great help with this one, too. But that’s all I have to say about my stubborn business partner at the moment.

I mean it. Don’t ask.

Oh—and if you haven’t met Magica yet, don’t fret. She’s only lived in Belville six months or so now. She showed up on a floating carnival, and quite a scandal ensued—not that any of it was Magica’s fault. Red has already written down all of those details in one of her Alchemical Tales. But never mind that. The important thing is, the carnival moved on, Magica settled into small town life in Belville, and soon found she wanted to give something back.

As for the person who would help her achieve her goal—and perhaps a little more—just you wait.

This one’s been a long time coming!

One

Silver and Gold

Magica

Oh, dear. I have a feeling I should apologize in advance.

But then I think, what would Gloria say when she reads this?

Gloria never apologizes.

(I’m writing this while I’m on a break at work, and when I told Gloria what I’d written so far, she said "I do apologize if there’s a need for it. There’s just never a need!")

I guess I should back up a little. Gloria is my boss at the hair salon, Hair and Beauty by Gloria. When she hired me last fall, I’d never worked in a salon before. But I had a lot of experience doing makeup for carnival acts, so she said I could try it out. If I learned fast, I could stay.

I know this is supposed to be a story about me, but it’s easier to write about Gloria. She makes everything seem easy. She’s like a force of nature, loud and confident and totally herself. Which is extra impressive because she’s actually got phoenix magic in her family. So she can blow smoke rings when she’s thinking, and her hair is actually phoenix feathers, big shiny red ones that rise straight up above her head. And her skin is this really pretty deep orange and her eyes are really sharp and of course her nails are always perfect, painted black.

I know how it sounds. I did have a crush on Gloria back when I first settled in. I can admit it now. That’s because now we’re friends. A week or so after I’d started she had me stay after work for a moment. She told me I don’t do romance, ever, with anyone. But you’re a good person. So you can stay and keep working and I’ll teach you everything I know about heat styling, but you won’t get anywhere hoping for anything more. At first I was mortified. But part of me, deep down, really needed that honesty. So I stuck around and worked harder than ever. Now we have conversations like this:

Magica, did you finish the—

Yes!

Magica, I need more of the lilac conditioner at chair t—

I left a refill there this morning!

Magica, what was the eye shadow shade we needed to reor—

I did it just now!

And usually right after I say something, Johann laughs. Johann is the other salon employee, and a really old friend of Gloria’s. He mostly sticks to the front desk. He’s half vampire, and he always says Magica, in all my years I’ve never met anyone so like Gloria that they could beat her to the punch. And do you know how many years that is?

But it’s a joke, of course. I have no idea how old Johann is. It might not be that many. He and Gloria might be ageless, but they both act like they’re in their thirties, definitely no more than a decade older than me.

And anyway, I’m nothing like Gloria. She’s tall and curvy and totally sure of herself. My friends at the carnival used to tell me my last name must be Willow for a reason. Straight and brown as a stick and gray eyes like dried leaves—that’s what they meant.

I guess the day I realized that Gloria and Johann didn’t see me that way is also the day this story really starts.

It was early spring, and raining so hard outside that the big picture windows at the front of the salon were just silver sheets of water running down. There were no appointments on our calendar, and no one was likely to walk in for a hair treatment. Sometimes on afternoons like that we’d rearrange the stock, or Gloria might send Johann and me home early. But that day, she had a new batch of extra-strength hairspray in. Something Red, the alchemist next door, had been working on. I’d agreed to let her practice with it on my hair, since Johann’s was too short.

I don’t know what we ever did before you got here, Magica, Gloria told me while she tried to curl ringlets into my long, limp hair. Some of my ancestors were dryads, tree spirits, so while I can’t do any magic, my hair does have vines and tiny leaves interwoven in it. I thought they must make it very hard to style, but Gloria never seemed to mind.

Suffered. That’s what we did, Johann said. He was working on touching up my manicure at the time, which he said was a perk for letting Gloria mess up my hair. Gloria always encouraged us to practice with the salon products, but I could never keep my nails looking good, no matter how hard I tried. I’m too used to using my hands without thinking about it.

Even your hair would probably look better than mine, though, I told him. I knew by then that when Johann said suffered, he meant that Gloria would be messing with his hair instead of mine. But his wavy black hair was actually pretty nice, aside from being too short to be any good in curls or an updo.

Gloria set down her curling wand and put her hands on her hips. Why would you say that?

Because she always says things like that, Johann said.

I looked from one to the other, confused. If it was something I always did, and yet it was wrong, then—

Stop, Gloria told me. I know that look. You’re panicking.

I am not, I said. I definitely was. My throat was tight. What did I say?

Honey. Johann set down my hand and reached out to touch my shoulder. He’d switched from professional to friendly and kind. I always found it surprising when he did that, but it was reassuring too. He said, There’s nothing wrong with you or what you said. We’re just surprised every time we realize that you don’t see yourself the way we do.

What? I looked up at Gloria.

She sighed and picked up her curler again. When I said we’re doing curls, what was your first thought?

Curls never stick in my hair, I said promptly. It’s too flat and heavy. It just goes straight again in ten minutes. But, um, I added, as soon as I’d realized what I’d said, I’m glad you can practice, and maybe with Red’s special hairspray—?

Gloria chuckled and shook her head.

I turned to Johann, who sometimes would translate for her since he knew her so well. He grinned at me. What she means is, it’s not the curls that matter. It’s getting to practice on your gorgeous locks rather than my spiky head. And it gives me a chance to put a proper polish on your nails. See? He held up my fingers. The nails gleamed in a shiny coat tipped with gold sparkles. Now they can match your hair, too. Don’t lie to me: if someone asked you, you’d say your hair was brown, wouldn’t you?

I might. I might have said