Cozy Grove Quotes

I loved every bit of this season—when the air turned crisp and you could pull all the warm sweaters out of the back of your closet. It felt like the equivalent of wrapping yourself up in a warm, cozy blanket with a cup of hot apple cider in your hands.

It wasn’t quite ten yet, but the town was already waking up, the soft patter of rain against the windows adding to the comforting hush of the bookstore. Outside, Maple Street lay still, the orange and red leaves swirling along the sidewalk like confetti, signaling the arrival of autumn—my favorite season.

But there was something extra special about the fall in Pleasant Grove. This town had always been a secret haven for witches, a cozy little town full of covens, where magic was ordinary.

And you were always nothing but slime, Henry Wallace. Fancy trash

I looked up to see my mother on the ancient porch swing on the back deck, snug in a cozy bathrobe and fleece slippers, a mug of something steaming in her hand. It was almost eleven, but my mom was a big fan of stretching her mornings as far as they could go.

I loved every bit of this season—when the air turned crisp and you could pull all the warm sweaters out of the back of your closet. It felt like the equivalent of wrapping yourself up in a warm, cozy blanket with a cup of hot apple cider in your hands. 

There was something uniquely magical about sleeping cozied up with a best friend, a primal sense of safety and contentment that couldn’t really be explained.

Did I miss a party or something?” Turning her glare on Evangeline, she demanded, “What was all the hollering about? One patron asked if we were murdering people in the basement.” “And you associate that with a party?” Shane asked, frowning at the odd woman. “Depends on the party.” Softening, Carrow shrugged. “I told him we reserve that right only for those who do not return their books on time—it’s part of the lending-card agreement.

I never went to college, I don’t understand how women can walk around bound up in tight clothes all day, and I once tried to eat a frog on a dare.

there.” Disconnecting the call before Mimi could lambaste her further, she tossed the phone on the bed and darted for the bathroom. Her toe caught on the bedpost, sending a shot of pain through her foot and up her leg. Howling with righteous indignation, she called the bed a few choice names as she hobbled her way to the tub. Performing the world’s fastest strip down, she jumped into the shower and nearly slipped. “Holy fright,” she barked, catching herself on the handrail. Her brain was still groggy with sleep, her toe ached like a mofo, and she’d almost head-butted herself with the shower. This was clearly not her day. Like, at all. She needed a strong cup of coffee, STAT. And better karma. And apparently, a new alarm clock. Lathering the shampoo into her long, unruly curls, Evangeline replayed her evening. She had read for an hour before turning off the bedside lamp, and she distinctly remembered flipping the alarm to the on position. Having purchased the alarm clock radio at a secondhand store in what she thought was a great deal, she now figured it was past its prime, and she’d need to buy a new one when she got paid on Friday. Because who wouldn’t love to spend what little she earned on a new small appliance? After playing the lather-and-rinse game with the conditioner, she washed her body before carefully stepping from the shower to grab a towel. The last thing she needed was to do the splits across the linoleum floor. Her dang toe still throbbed to the tempo of an agitated mariachi band. After a quick towel drying that left her hair dripping rivulets down her back, she chose a blousy blue top, black gaucho pants, and a pair of ballet flats, which she managed to slip into without ripping, breaking, or slipping on anything.

Disconnecting the call before Mimi could lambaste her further, she tossed the phone on the bed and darted for the bathroom. Her toe caught on the bedpost, sending a shot of pain through her foot and up her leg. Howling with righteous indignation, she called the bed a few choice names as she hobbled her way to the tub. Performing the world’s fastest strip down, she jumped into the shower and nearly slipped. “Holy fright,” she barked, catching herself on the handrail. Her brain was still groggy with sleep, her toe ached like a mofo, and she’d almost head-butted herself with the shower. This was clearly not her day. Like, at all. She needed a strong cup of coffee, STAT. And better karma. And apparently, a new alarm clock. Lathering the shampoo into her long, unruly curls, Evangeline replayed her evening. She had read for an hour before turning off the bedside lamp, and she distinctly remembered flipping the alarm to the on position. Having purchased the alarm clock radio at a secondhand store in what she thought was a great deal, she now figured it was past its prime, and she’d need to buy a new one when she got paid on Friday. Because who wouldn’t love to spend what little she earned on a new small appliance? After playing the lather-and-rinse game with the conditioner, she washed her body before carefully stepping from the shower to grab a towel. The last thing she needed was to do the splits across the linoleum floor. Her dang toe still throbbed to the tempo of an agitated mariachi band. After a quick towel drying that left her hair dripping rivulets down her back, she chose a blousy blue top, black gaucho pants, and a pair of ballet flats, which she managed to slip into without ripping, breaking, or slipping on anything.

Evangeline reached for the pot and froze. It was empty. Her gaze darted to the power light, which was not glowing green and happy. Therefore, she was not glowing green and happy. “What fresh hell is this?” she demanded, checking the grounds carafe. It was full, so that wasn’t the issue. She opened the water lid. It, too, was full. She pushed the brew now button, but nothing happened. Still no happy, glowy green. She glared at the machine she’d purchased specifically because it boasted a timer— so the brewed goodness would be waiting on her each morning, not the other way around.

Instead, it roared—well, more like whimpered—to life, and she threw her hands up with a triumphant yell, startling the hell out of ol’ Mrs. Perkins, who was rocking on her porch on the bottom floor of their apartment building. The scowl the old lady shot her could have curdled the cream in Evangeline’s coffee. If she’d actually gotten any.

like he was the asshole.

She bared her teeth. “What I need is—” To go back to bed and restart this horrible day. To chase a bottle of Aspirin with a pot of coffee. To burn that godforsaken muumuu. “—to get a new alarm clock.” Mimi

You okay?” Carrow asked, her eyes narrowing with scrutiny. “Yep. I’m as ducky as a goose.

of mechanical fluids, and— “Is that coffee?

The effect is less festive and more Christmas having a nervous breakdown.