The next morning in Luminvale dawned bright and chirpy, birds singing like they were being paid to perform, the sun piercing through the windows like it had a personal vendetta against sleep, and Milo—well, Milo was already five minutes into his third nap of the morning.
He was sprawled across the wooden bench inside the herbal shop, a pillow tucked under his head (stolen from behind the counter), and a half-finished sandwich still clutched in one hand. There was even a thin trail of drool inching toward a recipe for foot fungus cream.
Milo had been trying to get motivated. Really. He'd swept the front of the shop, opened the windows, and stared meaningfully at the herbs on the wall. But then he blinked, sat down to rest his eyes, and—poof—a nap ambushed him like a stealthy raccoon.
Ding-ding!
The bell above the shop door chimed cheerfully, and Milo bolted upright like a cat caught in a thunderstorm. His sandwich flew into the air. It hit the ceiling with a soft thwop, then landed squarely in a jar labeled "Highly Reactive Chamomile."
He stared at the jar, unsure if he'd just committed a culinary war crime.
"Hellooo?" called a sing-song voice. "Is this the legendary shop of Grandma Willow?"
Milo groaned softly and forced himself to his feet, brushing crumbs off his shirt. "Yes, yes, come in. Welcome to 'Herbs & Naps.' I mean—uh, 'Willow's Remedies.' Probably."
A trio of villagers entered the shop in a whirlwind of energy. At the front was Mrs. Crimble, the local knitting club leader and a force of nature disguised as a sweet old lady. Behind her trailed Farmer Tobin, who smelled like compost and cabbage, and Alma, a teenage girl with stars in her eyes and a journal full of "future potion ideas."
"Oh, Milo dear!" Mrs. Crimble beamed as she practically pranced up to the counter. "It's so lovely to see you stepping up. Your grandmother would be so proud—if a little horrified by your posture."
Milo gave a weak smile. "Thanks, I think. What can I get you all?"
Mrs. Crimble slammed a small list onto the counter with a dramatic flair. "I need a tonic for joint pain, a poultice for Harold's gouty toes, and something to keep cats from stealing my yarn."
Milo blinked. "Uh... I'm not sure we have—"
"Oh! And something that makes Harold stop snoring. Or disappear. Either works."
Farmer Tobin cleared his throat and slapped a bag of something damp on the counter. "I got a rash. Smells like turnips. Probably is turnips."
Milo leaned away from the suspicious bag. "I... I'll get back to you on that."
Alma leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "Milo! Can I help? I've been studying herbalism for like... two whole weeks! I even made a potion yesterday!"
Milo tried not to panic. "And how did that go?"
"Well, it turned my cat green and gave him the ability to yodel."
Milo opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "Right. So maybe don't help with mixing just yet."
Mrs. Crimble reached over the counter and pinched his cheek. "Don't be modest, dear. Your grandmother always said you had a gift! Or maybe it was a 'grift'? One of those."
With the whole village now apparently treating him like the chosen herb-messiah, Milo decided to give it an honest shot.
Step one: Find the ingredients.
He walked toward the shelves with all the grace of a man heading toward his own execution. Each jar was labeled in Grandma Willow's slightly terrifying cursive:
"Mandrake (Screams, Do Not Sniff)"
"Bitterwhomp (Causes hiccups, possible invisibility)"
"Dandelion (For Teas and Passive Aggression)"
Milo rummaged for the joint-pain tonic recipe and found it crammed between two pages of a recipe book labeled "Remedies and Other Mild Disasters." The instructions were detailed… ish. Mostly, they included things like:
"Boil until it smells like wet bark."
"Add two sprigs of fluffroot (or was it floofroot?)."
"If potion turns mauve, you're probably fine."
With limited time and increasing customer pressure (Mrs. Crimble had started humming aggressively), Milo threw together what he hoped was a correct mix. The liquid came out pale gold and fizzed slightly.
"Tonic, ready!" he announced, setting it down with more confidence than he felt.
Mrs. Crimble downed the potion in one go. There was a tense moment of silence... then she did a cartwheel.
Everyone blinked.
"I haven't moved like that since the Great Knitting Riot of '09!" she declared, beaming. "I feel amazing! My joints are singing!"
Alma clapped. Tobin looked mildly alarmed.
Emboldened, Milo tackled the rest of the requests. He used soothing mint balm for Tobin's turnip rash (with a prayer to the herbal spirits), handed Mrs. Crimble a potion made of orange peel and vinegar for her yarn-thieving cats ("They hate citrus!"), and even brewed a snore-reducing tea with Snuzzberry, a plant known for putting even wild boars into a coma.
"Now," Alma whispered dramatically, "you must teach me your ways, Master Milo."
Milo stared at her, wide-eyed. "You do realize I made all that up as I went, right?"
Alma gasped, looking more impressed. "Even better! That's what real geniuses do!"
As the customers trickled out, chattering excitedly, Milo slumped back behind the counter and dropped his head into his arms. He was exhausted. His hands smelled like garlic and mystery root. A cat had somehow ended up perched on the shelf, judging him.
Luca popped in just as Milo considered turning the whole shop into a bakery instead.
"Hey!" Luca grinned. "I heard you accidentally turned someone into a gymnast! You're famous already!"
Milo raised one tired eyebrow. "Do you want a potion? I can make one that causes mild existential dread."
Luca shrugged. "That's just called Tuesday."
Milo chuckled despite himself. "It was... actually kind of fun. In a chaotic, what-am-I-doing-with-my-life way."
"You mean in a Milo kind of way," Luca teased, throwing an arm around his shoulder.
The sun dipped lower outside the shop as the two friends looked around at the still-chaotic, slightly messy but now officially active herbal shop. It was far from perfect, and Milo still had no idea what he was doing—but the villagers were smiling, the potions hadn't exploded, and no one had turned into a toad.
All in all, not a bad start.
Milo yawned, stretching with a satisfied sigh. "Alright. Maybe I'll keep the shop open. But only if I can close early for nap time."
Luca grinned. "Deal."
And with that, the new herbalist of Luminvale survived his first full day... mostly awake.