Tags: angst (mild), animal transformation, bipoc character, bisexual character, dog shifter, first kiss, immortal, interspecies romance, magic user, memory loss, off-screen death of a grandparent, past tense, polyamorous relationship negotiation, polyamory, pov third person limited, reunion, second chances, unreliable narrator
*
A new door blew wide with a biting, chill wind and a woman stumbling through. She turned to close her door and planted both hands against the plain, dark wood, holding on as if it might burst open again as soon as she let go.
The shop was quiet, only one of the many small tables occupied by a group of women having coffee and muffins while their own door stubbornly lingered, set into the wall behind the quietest of the group.
Mel smoothed her apron down, readying herself to greet the newcomer; the hound at her feet stood and shook himself off before padding over to greet her himself.
Josh rarely paid attention to those who came and went. That he reacted to this new arrival was enough to capture Mel’s attention.
He whined and pawed at the newcomer’s ripped jeans until she turned away from her door and sank down to her knees. Her black hood fell forward, obscuring her features as she reached for Josh’s ruff, scratching him behind his ears.
“Hello there,” she murmured. “What’s your name?” She reached for his collar, a small huff escaping as she read the tarnished silver tag that hung from the worn leather. “ ‘Hello, my name is Josh.’ Well, my name is Britt. Do you live here?”
Behind them, her door faded into the weathered pine of the interior walls.
Mel exhaled. She was staring; she blamed Josh for that. She needed to remember her job: feed the people who came into the café—whether they could afford it or not—and give them whatever it was they needed most.
“Welcome to the Cloverleaf Café,” she called out. “I’ll have your order up in a moment.”
Britt looked up, her hood falling back and long, curly hair spilling out. It was thick, mostly dark against the olive undertone of her features, but with russet highlights and faded pink at the very ends. Her features had no lines, but her eyes seemed old, with dark shading beneath them. “I haven’t ordered anything yet.”
“You don’t need to.” Mel smiled; no one ever took her explanation seriously. “The Cloverleaf Café is magic. Find a place and settle in, and I’ll bring you out the chef’s special of the day.”
“I don’t have a lot of money.” Britt unzipped her hoodie as she moved slowly toward the couch by the fireplace, Josh nudging her with his nose to herd her there. Her high-top sneakers scuffed against the old wooden planks of the floor with every step.
“Pay what you can, if you can,” Mel said. “No one is ever turned away.” She made her way behind the counter into the small kitchenette, watching as Josh ensured that Britt made herself comfortable.
He sighed, stretching as only a hound could, and lay down on the warm hearth.
She’s a college student, Mel thought. She mixed cocoa and espresso in equal parts with a large shot of almond milk. Caramel foam topped the drink; her hands moved without her directing them, etching the foam into the shape of a small forest of pines.
She brought the large mug to where Britt had sunk into the couch, her knees spiked up and shoulders hunched. Josh had moved from the hearth to the couch beside her, his nose resting on her leg. Britt’s fingers tangled in the fur atop his head, clutching him like a favorite stuffed animal.
As soon as Mel set the mug on the oak coffee table, Britt shot upright, reaching for it. She hesitated with her fingertips just shy of touching.
“I really don’t have any money,” Britt said, her gaze dropping.
“And I meant it when I said you don’t have to pay.” Mel stood, half-tempted to sit when Josh whuffed at her. “Give me a minute, and I’ll fetch you something to eat, too.”
Britt lifted the mug, cradling it in both hands as she inhaled the steam. “God, this smells so good. When I was little, my grandmother would sneak me coffee because I wanted to be big, like her. She made it so sweet and chocolatey, and I loved every bitter sip.” She inhaled again, then took a cautious taste. Her eyes widened. “How did you—?”
“That’s the magic of the café,” Mel said, pinned by the weight of Britt’s regard. Josh snorted. “Whatever you need,” Mel continued. “We have it for you.”
“Whatever I need.” Britt laughed sourly. “Right.”
There was pain in Britt’s words. Anger, too, and resentment, but it was the pained resignation that her wishes were beyond fulfillment that called to Mel. She should say something, but she could find no easy words. She took a step backward as Britt took another sip, and when Britt’s focus turned to the coffee, Mel felt as if she were released. Hurrying into the kitchen, she reached for the ingredients that felt right. She finely chopped cornichons, sweet gherkins, pickled ginger, fresh radish, and a small amount of onion. The scent was briny and bright as she added the vegetables to rough-chopped eggs and blended it all together with both mustard and mayonnaise. She slathered it thickly on fresh rye, baked before the first customer arrived that morning, and realized she’d made enough for two sandwiches. She considered the two plates, then added a large snickerdoodle to each one, uncertain whether that choice was for Britt or herself. The burst of spice and sugar always reminded her of childhood; they were the first thing her mother taught her to bake, and held a part of her heart.
When she returned to the main room, the women in the corner got up with a burst of noise. “I’ve left money on the table!” one of them said. Their door faded in the wake of their passing, leaving behind a smooth expanse of wood. There were no other doors; other than herself, Josh, and Britt, the café was empty.
Britt had finished her mocha, the mug abandoned on the coffee table, and retreated into a corner of the couch. Her feet were drawn up, and her arms were around her knees as she curled into herself. Josh sat next to her, his body pressed against her shoulder, his head tilted against hers. Britt unfolded slowly, her hand sliding through Josh’s fur, the tension of her shoulders easing when he leaned closer.
Mel placed both plates on the table, sliding one in front of Britt along with a napkin. One hand still resting atop Josh’s head, idly combing through the short fur, Britt leaned to look at the plate. Josh’s presence had relieved most of her tension, and interest lit her expression.
The third place on the couch remained unoccupied. Mel sat on the edge, her body angled toward Britt and Josh, and drew her own plate and napkin closer; he stretched and one foot bumped against her hip as his head remained close to Britt’s arm.
“Don’t you have to work?” Britt asked.
“No one else is here,” Mel replied. “Until there’s another door, I can rest.”
Britt picked up the plate, lifting it to peer at the sandwich, her brow furrowed. “Another door?” she asked.
Josh barked; Mel clearly heard the go on in his tone.
It didn’t matter. Customers never remembered, or if they did, they never returned. Whether they believed or not, the café would send them to where they needed to be.
“I told you: the Cloverleaf Café is magic.” She lifted her own sandwich and took a small bite: she wanted to know what food lived in Britt’s heart. It wasn’t a combination she would have considered, but the bright flavor burst over her tongue as she took another, larger, bite. “Wherever you found us—we’re not there. We’re not anywhere, really, yet we’re everywhere at once. When you’re ready to leave, a door will be here to take you to wherever you need to go. This is—” She cut off, lifting the sandwich. A chunk of egg salad tumbled from between the bread slices onto the plate. “This is amazing.”
“You sound surprised.” Half of Britt’s sandwich was already gone, and she spoke around a mouthful. “You made it. I didn’t know anyone else knew how to make egg salad like my grandmother.”
Josh whined. Mel plucked a bit from her plate and held it out so he could try it.
“I made what you needed. She must mean a lot to you.” Mel wiped her fingers delicately on her napkin, then returned to her food as Josh pivoted so he could nose her knee and beg for more.
“She did.” Britt shoved the rest of the sandwich in her mouth, closing her eyes as she chewed. She set the plate down, capturing the snickerdoodle before she returned to her corner of the couch, feet on the cushions and knees drawn up once more. She nibbled at the cookie, laughing when Josh begged a bite from her. “Can I?”
“He can eat anything we can,” Mel said dryly. “Do you—Do you want to talk about her?”
She wasn’t used to sitting and chatting. It had been ages since she took time out of her day to talk to a patron. There were still no new doors. It seemed almost as if the café was keeping others out, giving them the time to connect.
Britt broke off a piece of the cookie, holding it down for Josh without looking. “She meant a lot to me,” she said. “She was almost a hundred when she died, and I’d just started high school. I lost the only person who truly understood me. We were generations apart, but we spent so much time together. There were things I didn’t know how to say yet, but she got me; my parents and my siblings never did. Without her—I feel like I’ve lost my only ally. I can’t find anywhere else to fit in.”
Her gaze drifted away. “I dream of her sometimes. More than just ‘sometimes.’ I dream of her a lot. I dream of fields of thick blue-green grass. I dream of eating these sandwiches for the rest of my life, and knowing that it means someone loves me. I dream of giant sunflowers that tower taller than I’ll ever be.” She dropped her gaze to look at the empty mug on the table. “Over and over, I dream of forests full of pines.”
“What do you think it means?”
Britt laughed, dry and cynical. “I’m a girl from a small town that’s made out of more pavement than greenery. I think it means I’ll always be dreaming of something that I’ll never find.”
There was a door by the fireplace, made of rough-hewn wood with a wrought iron frame where a window ought to be. Mel didn’t want to call attention to it; she curled her hands in her lap. It might be someone new arriving to interrupt them. It might be meant for Britt.
Josh barked sharply, and Britt glanced up. Eyes wide, she said, “That wasn’t there before.”
“I keep saying it’s magic, yet no one pays attention long enough to believe me.”
Britt licked her lips. “I believe you.”
She stood slowly, leaving the rest of the cookie on the plate. Mel wasn’t sure she’d eaten much of it and was surprised by the twist of disappointment in her gut. The snickerdoodle must have been only a memory from Mel’s heart, not a part of Britt’s, and Britt hadn’t wanted it.
“Where does it go?” Britt asked.
“You’ll have to open it and find out,” Mel told her. “If I had to guess? It involves giant sunflowers and forests full of pines.”
Britt’s expression lit up, eyes crinkling when she smiled. “And maybe the rest of my dreams too. If you say it’s magic…” She stepped over Josh to get to the door and paused with her hand on the knob. “Thank you. For feeding me, and for listening.”
“Any time,” Mel said, even though she knew it would be the only time.
She caught a glimpse of pines, tall and swaying in the breeze, as Britt stepped through and pulled the door closed behind her.
“You could have saved me more than a bite.” Josh was human again, dark eyes crinkled in the corners as he grinned. His human form was familiar after all their time together—familiar and well-loved. She knew the feel of his close-cropped, light-brown curls beneath her fingers; she took comfort in how the same arm muscles that held her with care also kneaded dough without tiring.
Picking the last bit of crust off her plate, he popped it in his mouth. “That was good.”
It had been a good sandwich. Britt held good things in her heart, alongside her sorrow.
His hand covered hers, threading their fingers together. His skin was dark, his hand large and strong as he held her. Her skin was lighter, and held more wrinkles and spots.
That one point of contact, palm to palm, was enough to tether her here in their café.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
She was thinking that something was missing now, and she longed for the food in their hearts. She should make a strawberry-rhubarb pie, like she had the first time Josh came to the café—something that reminded him of home and childhood, and of an older brother who was also a best friend. She was thinking that he could work beside her, rolling balls of dough into sugar and spice, because they could always use more snickerdoodles. Perhaps then, they could heal.
She pressed their joined hands over her heart. “I was thinking about the first time I saw you,” she murmured. “And about the last time I saw my mom.”
Josh’s nod said he understood, that he too recognized that this moment felt like those moments had. Mel could almost taste the importance, even though nothing had changed. From now on, she’d always think of egg salad this way.
“Everyone gets what they need most,” he reminded her gently. He gathered her into his arms as they both stood. The café supplied music, and he danced slowly with her in the emptiness as the lights dimmed. “I think our day is done, Mel. Come to bed?”
She shook her head, holding on as they swayed in the near-darkness. As long as the music played, she wanted to stay here—to linger, like doors sometimes did. She wasn’t ready to let go quite yet.
*
Britt returned with a rush of frozen air, snow swirling in around her. She pushed the door shut and pressed her hands against it, as if the wind might blow it open again. Mel barely caught a glance of her face, shrouded by a fur-lined hood, but recognition pulled in her gut, confirmed when Britt pushed her hood back and turned to lean against the door, head tipped back, long gray-brown braids peeking out from the coat.
There were more lines on her face, but Mel knew her. Knew her, and knew that the pesto she’d been grinding in the mortar was for her.
Mel smiled and called out loud enough that Josh would hear her in the kitchen. “Welcome to the Cloverleaf Café. Your order will be up in a minute.” She added, a little more quietly, “Welcome back.”
Britt stayed where she was, eyes still closed as she peeled thick leather gloves from her hands and undid the double panel of buttons from her coat. “I’ve been looking for this café for more than a year,” she said. “You said that it was everywhere and nowhere, but, for the longest time, it was definitely nowhere at all.”
“Why?” Mel sank into Josh’s touch to her shoulder, looking up to receive the soft kiss he pressed to her forehead as he set a serving bowl laden with penne on the counter. She scraped the pesto into the bowl and tossed it with the hot pasta; the fragrant scents of garlic, basil, and pignole rose. She inhaled, closing her eyes.
Pine trees, swaying in the breeze.
She swayed with the image for a moment; her breath caught, and her hand pressed to her chest.
Josh anchored her with a hand on her back. “Mel.”
Oh.
She opened her eyes again, looking to where Britt remained by her door. Britt’s coat was half-off, her hands clutching it rather than letting it slip loose as she stared at them. As Mel met her gaze, Britt’s expression shuttered, her eyes skittering away to survey the empty café.
“It’s quiet here today,” she murmured.
Mel reached beneath the counter for three bowls, setting them out on the wooden surface.
“Eat,” she said.
Britt stayed, unmoving, as her door faded behind her. She let Josh take her coat to hang on the rack along the wall. Mel served up pasta for three, garnishing the bowls with chopped-and-toasted sunflower seeds.
“Eat,” she repeated when Britt was free. “Warm up by the fire. You’ve come in from the cold, and we have what you need most.”
Britt’s gaze was fixed on Josh, narrowed and thoughtful. “I didn’t know you were in a—” She stopped as he turned to face her, close enough that if she reached out she could touch him. When he tilted his head back, her gaze fell to the worn collar that graced his throat no matter his form. She stopped short of grasping the tarnished silver disk.
“Oh,” she whispered. “ ‘Hello, my name is Josh.’ You’re magic.”
“Most things in the café are,” Josh agreed. He bridged the distance between them, hand falling on the top of Britt’s head with a gentle pat. “Hello, Britt. We remember you.”
They’d spoken of her over the years when memories intruded into their daily life. Mel couldn’t quite say why, but there were times when she’d wake with Britt’s name on her lips until Josh stole it from her with a kiss. It was just another thing—another memory from the past—the one time when they had shared the experience, rather than gifting it to one another with stories and food.
Mel still loved the egg salad she had made for Britt that first time; she and Josh had shared sandwiches almost as often as snickerdoodles or strawberry-rhubarb pie.
Britt exhaled roughly, unfreezing to take one bowl from Mel and cradle it carefully in her hands. “Thank you.”
It seemed the café would give them privacy once more, though Mel watched the walls, expecting doors to appear before they all settled by the fire. Britt took the middle of the couch; Mel took one side, and Josh took the other after he brought out a platter of snickerdoodle cookies and individual-sized pies.
Britt took a bite and made a noise low in her throat that wrapped warmly around Mel’s heart. She didn’t speak, simply eating and making happy little sounds while the meal disappeared bite by bite. Josh ate while he watched, but Mel held her fork and did nothing, unable to look away from them.
The bright garlic-and-basil scent rose in the air. Josh gestured with his fork, and Mel stabbed a piece of pasta and raised it to her lips. The earthen scent of pine underlay the brighter flavors, grounding the taste in her heart. It was delicious and drew her in, her stomach rumbling with sudden hunger.
This was Britt now, she realized. The egg salad embodied the person she had been. It would always live in Britt’s heart, but the pesto embodied the woman she had become. Within the Cloverleaf Café, everything was timeless. Snickerdoodles would always be Mel’s heart. The sweet-and-sour of strawberry-rhubarb lived within Josh. But the world outside the café was full of change.
Britt brought that change into the café, to Mel and Josh.
Britt finished the bowl and set it on the coffee table. She surveyed the waiting platter, then carefully selected a cookie.
Mel feared that Britt would tear her heart apart again; she hoped that this time, Britt might embrace it, keeping it safe within her own heart.
“I never stopped dreaming of forests full of pines,” Britt said quietly. She sat back, the cookie held loosely between her hands. “Or fields of towering sunflowers. I thought I’d found them at first, because where I went—it was absolutely different than where I’d been. Rougher. For a girl who’d never lived outside a small town that thrived on technology, it was definitely an experience. I learned how to hunt and how to fight. I learned to live outdoors, within the forests. I carved out a space and built a home.” She paused, gaze fixed on the cookie. “I fell in love.”
Stomach twisting with anxiety, Mel set the bowl down on the table and pushed it away.
Britt broke off a piece of snickerdoodle, releasing sweet spice into the air. She snapped it again, splitting the single cookie into three pieces. “I fell in love more than once,” Britt continued. “It’s easy, when you’re accepted—when you feel like you might have finally found a place you fit in.”
Mel couldn’t stop looking at the pieces of snickerdoodle in Britt’s hand: her heart, broken in three.
She rose on instinct, gaze darting across the wooden walls, seeking a new door, an interruption, anything to take her attention away. It hurt to hear that Britt had fallen in love. Her feet wanted her to move, yet she was rooted to the floor, heart racing uncomfortably over things she didn’t understand.
Josh half-stood, but Britt got to Mel first. She didn’t stand, but she leaned toward Mel, holding out one of the three snickerdoodle pieces in silent offering.
Mel took it with her fingertips, inching closer but not sitting down again.
When Britt offered it, Josh took the third piece. Britt raised hers like a glass in toast. “To finding home,” she said.
Glancing to where Mel hesitated, Josh raised an eyebrow, and Mel felt his silent admonishment. She sat slowly, her piece of cookie reaching out to touch the one Britt held as Josh met them from the other side.
“To finding home,” Britt said again. She took a bite. “Oh…” she exhaled. “This is bliss.”
Tension slipped from Mel’s bones. She glanced at Josh, catching his approval and gentle understanding. He knew Mel better than she knew herself, and he had a way of knowing what people felt, the way she knew what food held their heart.
It will be okay, his soft smile seemed to say. She should reach out. Britt might accept her heart.
“When I was a little girl—” Mel cut off at Britt’s amused look. “Do you think I was born old?”
“You look exactly the same as you did when I came through a lifetime ago,” Britt pointed out. “For all I know, you’ve always been the same.” She nibbled around the edge of the cookie, reminding Mel of the girl she had first met. Now, however, Britt focused intently, savoring every sweet, spicy bite. On her other side, Josh devoured his piece, chewing with a happy smile.
Mel savored each morsel of her own, wanting to taste what they tasted. She paused when Britt touched her to secure a stray lock behind her ear.
“You have the same salt-and-pepper hair,” Britt said. “The same whiskey eyes, surrounded by tiny laugh lines, and the same clothes. It’s as if no time passed here.”
“Magic,” Josh reminded her. He glanced away, gaze falling to the table where the strawberry-rhubarb pies sat, untouched.
“I was born here,” Mel said quietly, “to a mother who left when I was old enough to handle things on my own. She taught me how to listen to the whispers of the café and how to bake snickerdoodles. They were the first thing I ever baked with her, and the last thing we made together on the day she left.”
“Where did she go?” Britt asked. When Mel faltered for an explanation, Britt looked to Josh, as if he might know the answer, her gaze narrowing. “You’re part of the café’s magic too?”
Josh picked up one of the small pies, raised it, and gestured at Mel to encourage her to explain.
“My mother left because she found her door, and it was time for her to go,” Mel said. “I don’t know where she went, but it was where she needed to be, more than she needed to be here. Josh walked in one day while I was making pie, and he…” She wasn’t sure how to explain how right it had felt when he made his way into the kitchen and worked with her, his strong hands rolling out the dough while she finished the filling. She didn’t know how to explain how long it had been before she trusted that he truly was going to stay.
“I won’t have a door.” Josh’s words fell firmly into the air, surrounded by the scent of strawberries and rhubarb as he bit into the pie. “With Mel is where I need to be.”
Britt licked her lips, watching him. “Would it be rude to eat two desserts?”
There was another question in her words; Mel tasted it on the air. It hung between the three of them, wrapping slowly around them and tugging them closer together. Mel slid along the couch, and her knee pressed against Britt’s as she leaned past her to lift a pie, splitting it carefully so the filling wouldn’t spill out.
She held out half to Britt. “We offered. These are yours for the taking.”
Britt touched her tongue to the filling first, her nose wrinkling at the sharp, sour bite of the rhubarb until the strawberry chased that away with its sweetness. When she finished the piece in her hand, Josh held a bite out, and Britt captured it in her teeth, swallowing his offering with closed eyes.
“Stay,” Mel whispered. This was a new memory, wrapped in savory, spicy, sharp, and sour sweetness. She wanted to capture it as it was, and to have it again, over and over.
But it wouldn’t be the same without the whole meal. The desserts alone were sweetly delicious, but the lingering flavor of the pesto in her mouth grounded the fruity flavors in a way that Mel hadn’t realized was missing until they combined perfectly.
She could see it now, and as she met Josh’s eyes he nodded at her. He slid his hand across the back of the couch, behind Britt’s back, and Mel grasped it, tangling their fingers together.
“My dreams never changed,” Britt said. “I wanted to know what they meant. I obsessed over them for so long that I drove one lover away. After that, I tried to forget them, but years later, when I lost another lover, the dreams came back. So I went searching, seeking answers.”
Britt placed her empty hands on her knees, palms up. Josh covered one with his free hand, and, after a moment, Mel did the same. Britt squeezed gently. “I learned that sunflowers mean loyalty and new beginnings. They mean the joy and light of life, along with longevity, and things that are meant to last forever. And pines? Pines are immortal. They grow, and they grow, and they bend in the wind, but they don’t break like hardwoods do. And neither sunflowers nor pines are meant to grow alone. They’re part of a forest or a field. A copse, maybe. But always more than one or two.”
“Timeless,” Josh said, his thumb sliding over the skin of Britt’s hand. “And maybe a little bit magical.”
She grinned. “Yes, exactly. And I think—when I was here before, I knew who I was, but I hadn’t had a chance to just be me—to live and experience life. I needed that door, back then, but now… now I know what I’m looking for.”
Mel couldn’t find the words. Her throat was tight, her heart beating rabbit-fast in her chest. She was thankful when Josh spoke for both of them.
“Will you stay?” he asked.
Mel tightened her grip on both of them. “Please,” she whispered.
Britt closed her eyes, her smile growing soft and sweet. “If you’ll have me,” she murmured, her hands tangled with theirs, holding on tight. She brought both their hands to her mouth, kissing them as Mel and Josh’s knuckles brushed across her lips. “I’d like to stay. It took a long time for me to realize where I needed to be, but once I knew… I had to find my way back.”
The café was magic. People entered through one door and often left through another, led by their heart.
But this time, the door led Britt to them, as had the door that brought Josh to the café long ago.
“I’ll make your grandmother’s egg salad whenever you want.” Mel released Britt’s hand so she could touch her cheek, turning Britt to look at her as Britt’s eyes blinked open. “If you want to stay with us, we’d be happy to have you.”
“I’d be happy to be had.” Britt beamed, her eyes crinkling with pleasure as giggles bubbled up.
Josh slid closer, and they wrapped Britt in their arms as she laughed. She settled her head back against Josh’s shoulder, resting her cheek against his, then leaned forward to press a kiss to Mel’s cheek. Their lips met and flavor suffused Mel’s mouth.
The woodsy resin of the pignole.
Luscious strawberry and sour rhubarb.
Spicy-sweet cinnamon.
She stroked Britt’s hair as Britt turned from her to press a kiss to Josh’s lips, sealing their promises with that quiet, shared taste. They were each so different, but their hearts blended in such a delicious way.
“You are home,” Mel assured her, and Josh’s voice joined hers as she added with a small smile, “Welcome to the café.”
“I’ve got everything I wanted right here,” Britt assured them, and her kisses left Mel dreaming of pines, and of the sweetnesses to come.