Logan walked out of the kitchen leaving the chef and his flaming orchestra behind. The busy Saturday night at the Ristorante L’uva would be just another night of easy hassle in her gleeful restaurant management career if only she could manage her exaggerated worries as well. Next, she made her way into the cool and murky wine cellars downstairs. There she found Ava - her friend, her partner and her sommelier- enjoying the freedom of choosing a selection of wine bottles with no price consideration, as if nothing had happened in the past few months.

  “Here, let me help you, sweetie,” Logan hastily approached her friend, reaching out with all the means she had, and all the means she shouldn't have. Her strong arms, her drumming heart, her concerned thoughts, and her merciless regret of leaving Ava alone again in that dark cellar. Although most evenings in Paso Robles felt perfect for a warm fireplace, the one in the brick wall of the cellars was fortunately cold that night. Who would want a fireplace in the cellars anyway? Logan ordered all the outdoor fire-pits at the restaurant to be replaced with raised flower beds, and all the indoor fireplaces to be covered. She didn’t have to get creative explaining her decision to the restaurant staff thanks to the insurance company’s fire hazard notices.

  “Please don’t do that, I am fine,” Ava’s emerald eyes met Logan’s. “And please tell them to turn the fires back on. It was just an accident. I’m all right.” She emphasized her words with a slow, tight blink of reassurance, then pulled another bottle of wine from a dusty socket, careful not to mark her little black dress with dust.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to … well, I just wanted to…” Logan didn’t really know how she should finish her sentence. Ava would not accept it, but Logan was sure that her friend was developing a kind of anxiety triggered by fire.

  “I don’t understand if she is obsessed with fire or if she is scared of it,” Logan told her therapist during their last session. “Sometimes she lights a candle and looks at it for hours. Other times, she freaks out by the sole sight of flames from a fire pit. Last week, she was alone in the cellars and dropped a pricey wine bottle, causing it to explode because she thought she saw something in the fireplace. Her face was ashen when we found her, frozen, like she’d just seen a ghost, her eyes fixed on the flames. But she’s not fully open with me, and she refuses to see a therapist. I don’t know how to help the stubborn goat. She is a typical Capricorn, you know, she never asks for help.” Logan’s therapist, who knew Ava very well, took some notes.

  “All right, all right,” Ava interrupted Logan. “I know what you mean, and I am grateful you worry so much for me, but please, just trust me, okay?”

  “Okay, sweetie,” Logan forced a comfortable smile, tilting her head to the left and doing her best to act natural. She straightened her red pencil skirt, as if to show she was 'letting go of her worries,' then cheerfully asked, “Wow! Is that a Chateau L’Ambert?”

  “Yes, it’s time someone enjoyed it,” Ava murmured, brushing the dust off the bottle. “I don’t want to keep it anymore. Plus, we need the money to run this restaurant.”

  The tiring Saturday night finally embraced a peaceful silence after all the guests had left. The cleaning crew who took charge of the kitchen was breaking the silence with sounds of clattering dishes. Logan and Ava sat down in their usual place at the manager’s office for the closing. Logan pulled her lush curly hair into a bun with a pen. The cautious tightness of her red lips softened to a smile when her big brown eyes finally caught Ava’s gaze. “I can’t believe we’re leaving tomorrow! Please tell me you’ve started packing,” Logan said, her enthusiasm lifting Ava’s mood.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Ava fluffed her long golden hair, as she always did when she felt good. A smile spread across her pink lips, lifting her cheekbones and brightening her almond-shaped eyes. Her long fingers searched for a place to rest, finally hiding under the table.

  “Thank you for arranging everything,” she said, happy to finally have found the right moment to express her gratitude. “Roma Wine Academy will be a dream come true for me.”

  Ava had always been grateful for L’Ambert Vineyards, the legacy she inherited from her mother’s side of the family. She loved it with all her heart, though she could never quite be sure if her mother had shared that same passion. Despite her mother’s resistance, Ava had partnered with her close friend Logan and opened Ristorante L’uva beside the vineyards nearly three years ago.

  Frankly, Ava could never understand her mother’s feelings. Mrs. L’Ambert had always been distant, even in the final days before her passing. For a long time after moving to California with her, Ava longed for her grandmother who had raised her until she was seven, in the tiny village by the Black Sea. At first, she thought her poor English had been the barrier to connecting with her mother. But their bond never fully recovered, even after Ava mastered English and spoke with a cheerful Californian accent, and even after she’d forgotten most of her grandma’s language.

  Through the years, despite the fading language, Ava never forgot her grandmother’s warm cuddles or her colorful stories, some happy, some scary, and some downright bizarre. Ava kept asking about her until, one day, she learned that her grandma had gone to heaven to be with her dad.

  It's hard for anyone to remember their early childhood, but Ava remembered one peculiar day in fall very well. It was that time of year when rain drizzled, and the grey skies filled with smoke from the pits where villagers burned the stubble and fallen leaves. The smell of roasted chestnuts mingled with the scent of smoke and rain-soaked soil. Ava remembered that day when she walked into the old stone house to see her grandma talking to one of her friends. Grandma didn’t notice Ava hiding in the corridor, listening discreetly. She kept telling her friend that she had been seeing a ghull watching Ava. Little Ava knew that a ghull meant ‘monster’ in the local language, and she was terrified. She wanted to sleep with her grandma that night.

  “Grandma, I fear the ghull. Can I sleep with you?”

  Grandma didn’t seem scared at all. She smiled her side smile, not one of sarcasm, but one of wisdom, experience, insight, and prediction. To Ava, the side smile meant protection, security, and trust.

  “Hah!” Grandma exclaimed. “Why would you be scared? I see the ghull all the time, and he is as harmless as a cat.”

  “Aren't the ghull like monsters who dig graves and eat…”

  “Nonsense! You’d be lucky to see one. A ghull can tell you the future.”

  “The butcher’s daughter made fun of me today. She said, ‘Your grandma is nuts.’ Are you nuts, Grandma?”

  Grandma hugged Ava, her fading smile hidden behind the warmth of the embrace.

  “Don’t ever believe her!” Ava heard her whisper in one ear, while the other listened to grandma’s fluttering heartbeat.

  The next day, Grandma gave Ava three matches.

  “When you want to summon the ghull, hold the matches,” she said. “He will move the matches closer for a ‘yes,’ and apart for a ‘no.’ Don’t fear the ghull, but tell no one about it.”