Blog

Chapter 1

They called him Cheezy Rider—and with good cause.

I stood at the wide front window of the Charmed Inn with a cup of coffee in hand. I watched my great uncle toddling around the corner onto Chestnut Street, pedaling steadily on his old Beach Comber. The picture he made was something to behold. His bright orange vest perfectly matched the small caution flag waving from a tall pole attached to the back of the bike. His silver bullet helmet matched his thinning silver hair peeking out from underneath. But nothing matched his teal and red-flowered Hawaiian shirt.

His legs, covered in khakis, pumped away as he came up the block waving to anyone who happened to be on the short street in our small town on the shore of the Susquehanna River. The bicycle had a big wire basket on the front that he filled with a box of donuts from Delilah’s Donuts every day, a place that had been in the same family for seventy-five years, like so many other businesses here. Those donuts were heading right for my work and then right to my hips. But I had never said no to pastry, and I wasn’t going to start today. In fact, I needed the pick-me-up. Things were busy at the inn, with everyone checking in for the writers’ extended working weekend, and sugar was always welcome. The staff wouldn’t say no, either.

“I’m going to take a break,” I said to my Aunt Hellen as I passed her in the hallway leading to the dining room. She was technically my great aunt, and she could keep things moving for a few minutes while I stepped out into the beautiful April afternoon sunshine. What I really wanted to say was that I was trying not to break, but that wouldn’t be good for business. It had been one heck of a morning already, and I needed a moment to collect myself in the downtime before the festivities really began. Donuts were a great distraction, even if my erstwhile uncle did bring them every day.

“All righty, Ms. Mighty!” Aunt Hellen yelled back. This highly respected tasseomancer and seance-leader had a set of lungs that should never be allowed near a microphone. “I just finished having tea with Owen, so I’m free if you want to go on your walk, too. His phone rang in the middle of our tea, and it must have been important because he hightailed it out the door after making an excuse.” She situated herself behind the desk and placed her hands on the computer screen like it might fly away if she didn’t keep it locked down. “Hey, one thing before you go.”

I held steady, waiting for the inevitable question. My life seemed to be filled with questions.

“What kind of afternoon do you think we’re going to have? Should I restock the printer?”

Showing my teeth in what should have been a smile, I flipped open the book I held in my other hand, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it all. Why, oh why, did I have to have this particular book with me? And why was my aunt always trying to force me to use my “gift”? I had no real power to do anything, just predict the future or get guidance from the text. Sometimes it was right, sometimes not. Either way, it was not high-powered magic in the least.

While poking my finger at the text, I said, “No need to stock the printer, but be prepared to deal with many irritations.” There’s nothing like trying to give a vague answer to a mundane question when the page you opened to was a spicy-hot scene between the hero and heroine in a recently released romance novel.

“I could have told you that. You have to try harder if you want to own your power, Roxanne Gleason. This is not a game.” Peering at me over her bifocals, she twitched the classic “Mom finger” in my general direction and then tsked.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but only because I knew it wouldn’t do me any good. It would probably get me a lecture, and I didn’t have time for that today. Plus, those donuts were calling my name.

“Yes, Aunt Hellen. Sorry, Aunt Hellen.”

“Cheeky,” she said under her breath, but I still heard it and smiled.

“Is Owen’s nephew here yet?”

“No, Owen said he had to back out at the last minute, so we have a free room if we need it.”

I sighed because as much as I liked Andrew, that was one less eccentric I’d have to deal with. Owen was a character all on his own, but he knew when to rein it in, Andrew not so much. Plus, his room would still get paid for even if he wasn’t going to use it.

“Okay, thanks for letting me know. Keep an eye out for Paddy McGruver,” I said. “He hasn’t checked in yet, and sometimes he likes to come in the back door to avoid what he assumes are the paparazzi.”

“Oh my, Paddy’s coming in today? Will he be here all four days?” Aunt Hellen smoothed down the front of her shirt over what she jokingly called her shelf since it pretty much caught any crumbs she dropped while eating. She then pulled her peach cardigan closed over her stomach.

“Yes, and yes. Try to keep your hands to yourself this time. You read tea leaves, not rumps. No one is falling for that I’m-a-rumpologist-bit, no matter how hard you try to sell it.”

With that, I walked out the door and left her to primp and prime herself for one of the more problematic creatives who was going to be here for four whole days. Well, not quite four, since it was more like seventy-two total hours from check-in to check-out. But who was counting?

With ten of the writers showcasing their intelligence and posturing over who had the best book and which classes were not to be missed, it would be enough time for me to need a vacation afterward.

The hotel hosted this event every year, but this was my first as the owner of this fine establishment. I had been told to give myself the seven days following the event to only host boring people, so I could rest, relax, and restore my faith in down-to-earth people. I had taken the advice since it had come from the previous owner, my grandfather. We would have guests checking in on Sunday after everyone left, but there wouldn’t be a pen and paper or laptop in sight as far as the guest list went. I had made sure of it.

Uncle Vince was racking his bike at the side of the building and removing his helmet when I stepped out onto the wide veranda that encircled the inn. I looked forward to his visits and had for all the years he’d been in my life. I wasn’t sure exactly how far away on my dad’s family tree he was, just that he was there and always had been.

He was like a beacon in the middle of the day, everyone stopping as they strolled along the sidewalks to say hi and ask about his health. It kept him busy until I could reach him, which worked in my favor. As long as he didn’t give away any of my donuts.

“I see you got two boxes this time,” I said as I approached the old man in his loud get-up.

“Roxy, my love, my dove, how are we on this fine afternoon?” His smile was far cheekier than anything I had ever sported, and I immediately wondered what he was up to. It was almost never good. Or rather, it usually was good for someone but almost never good for me.

“What are you hiding?”

He slapped his hand to his chest and feigned hurt. “I would never -”

“You do. Always,” I shot back, but a smile was trying to come out on my lips that I did not want to give in to. If I indulged him, he always had to see exactly how far he could take it.

“I’m offended.”

“Only because I’m catching you before you can even begin. Hand over the donuts, and I might be able to see my way to just watching for any missteps instead of thwarting you before you even get started.”

At first, he looked defeated, but I knew for a fact that was a lie. He’d just figure out a different way to get around me. It was a game he liked to play, and since he was an uncle and someone who had watched over me since I was a toddler, I knew, and so did he, that I had a weak spot for him and his antics. As long as they didn’t hurt anyone.

Sure enough, that smile popped back out on his face. As I knew it would.

“I saw you in my scrying bowl this morning.”

Ack, that was the last thing I wanted him to say. I would have preferred almost anything else, even the practical jokes he sometimes liked to indulge in. He wasn’t very good at them, but I laughed, even if it was just a big fake spider on my porch. His visions were some of my biggest fears, though. Or it might be better to say his visions had brought about many of my stumbles in life.

***

Excerpt from By Hook or By Book by Misty Simon. Copyright 2025 by Misty Simon. Reproduced with permission from Misty Simon. All rights reserved.