Chapter Seven
O n Sunday, business was hopping. Once again, Ivy’s little tea shop was packed, and even on a day she was normally closed!
Holly was pissed.
She had come by, but not to be encouraging. That had been clear as cellophane wrap. Although to be fair, Holly had dropped off her panini maker—begrudgingly.
Today’s specials were ham and cheddar panini, lavender-sage quiche, and peanut soup. The peanut soup, one of Ivy’s heirloom recipes, was a hit. Who knew?
It was super tasty and different enough that everyone was on board to sample it. Ivy had apple tarts too, which she made herself instead of using the ones from the bakery. This was likely the big reason Holly was miffed. But these tarts, made from Rhode Island greening apples, were based on a recipe her mom had gifted her.
That was another reason Holly was in a tiff. She hated Ivy encroaching on her territory. Oh, sure, it was okay for Ivy to use pastries from Hollister’s, but when it came to baking her own, she was supposed to stick to scones and cookies. Holly had lots of rules for Ivy to follow. If Ivy didn’t object when Holly laid down the law, Ivy was expected to comply.
To Holly, silence was agreement. For Ivy, it had been easier to just go along.
But now? Ivy was determined to stand up for herself. She had ideas—good, sound business ideas. She could be successful. She was every bit as good as her sister.
Besides that, she had more dates than her sister.
Ivy bit back a laugh, and mentally rebuked herself for the thought, even if it was funny. And fun. She would have to share her news with the Hazard Historical Society. The community pillars were certain to be supportive.
Kyle, scarce today in the tea shop, had eagerly invited her to go to the diner and try out Pedro’s new Mexican specials on Tuesday night. Rob had asked her out for an Italian dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town on Monday night.
“Miss Ivy?”
Ivy stopped at a table with young Alden Whittaker, his gaze on her both hopeful and shy, his light brown hair flopping over his forehead in youthful disarray. His dad gave the boy an encouraging nod.
“Would you come to my paintball party on Sunday, next weekend?” Big blue eyes pleaded with her to accept.
Ivy blinked at the invitation. Omigosh, how could she resist such an entreaty?
“It’s my birthday.”
Before she could overthink it, she said, “Sure.” She couldn’t disappoint a twelve-year-old. She sent a questioning glance at his dad.
“It’s his mom’s idea.”
Ivy racked her brain to remember who Alden’s mom was. Oh, that’s right. Priscilla Cane, now Priscilla Whittaker. Priscilla, two years ahead of Ivy in school, had hated Ivy after Holly had beaten her out for student body president. She’d gotten back at Holly by picking on Ivy, which didn’t actually bother Holly a bit. No doubt Priscilla loved the idea of Ivy getting smacked with paintballs.
But, paintball might be fun.
“I’d love to, Alden, but why are you inviting me? Are there any other grown-ups going?”
“Just you. I’m the ball boy for the Rebels, and you’re the best.”
Ivy had a flash of insight. “Did you try my cookies at the Rebels game?”
He nodded. “I only got one. You’ll really come?”
“I will.” What the heck, if Jaxon could hang out with a bunch of nine and ten-year-olds, she could hang out with a bunch of twelve and thirteen-year-old boys.
“Will there be any other girls?”
Alden bunched his lips together in an expression of distaste. “Well, my sister.” He rolled his eyes. “Because Mom said she could come. All my friends like her cause she’s fifteen—well”—he waved a hand near his chest—“whatever—but I like you. Thank you. I’ll see you next Sunday!”
Ivy shook her head as he dashed out the door, followed more slowly by his dad. She stacked their used dishes on a tray. The Very Special Cookies had made her popular with all ages. Could it be they really worked? It seemed so implausible, but she had lined up five dates in a little over a week. She gave an amazed laugh. No wonder Holly was ticked. Ivy was on her way to win her first bet ever against her sister.