Chapter Twenty
T he day of the first Annual Hazard Historical Society Fundraiser dawned in a stunning array of color. The red-streaked sunrise didn’t bode well for clear weather, but once the sun was fully above the horizon, the sky transformed into a brilliant blue with big, fluffy, white clouds wafting overhead. Ivy chose a flowy, spring calico dress in sage and pink with apple-green accents. Dressing in her tearoom colors was part of her marketing plan. She would take a cue from Holly and be her own live advertisement.
She’d been up late baking for the event but was wide awake and ready. She had blueberry scones, ginger crinkles, and savory meat pies, all individually packaged in little white sleeves stamped with the Ivy Way Tea Shop.
Before she locked her front door, wind buffeted against her as if to say hello, so she grabbed a fluffy emerald sweater and shrugged it on to keep back the chill. The day’s weather might be a bit too blustery. Fingers crossed, Ivy hoped it wouldn’t be breezy out at Oleander House, but Malory had promised to open up the courtyard, and that should shield the guests from the worst of the wind.
Holly, of course, had already headed out much earlier to pack up her goods for the event and instruct her employees on what she expected them to accomplish while she was away for the day. Hollister’s Bakery would be open, but Ivy would leave her shop closed. There was only so much of her to go around. They’d agreed to ride together in the bakery van to the event and despite Holly’s sudden change of attitude, she wouldn’t put it past Holly to leave her stranded, trying to transport all her baked goods in her tiny little car if she showed up late.
Ivy arrived at the shops to find everything, even her own items, packed up in the van, and Holly, foot tapping and waiting.
“You don’t need to go in your shop. I took care of everything—well, I had my employees take care of everything. Get in. We need to go.”
“Wait, I just want to check…”
“Don’t you trust me?” Holly’s intensity indicated that the wrong answer would lead to an unpleasant ride over.
“Of…course, I just think I should…”
“We don’t have time for that.”
Her sister hadn’t even listened to what she was about to say. Typical. Ivy sighed and bit back her retort. Holly being helpful was still bossy and abrasive.
“Fine.” The way this was starting, Ivy figured she’d need to keep her fingers crossed all day. She really hoped this fundraiser went off without a hitch. She knew how important it was to the historical society’s projects and continued existence.
The drive out to Oleander House was spent with Holly talking up her own items and how fabulous they were. Ivy only half listened until Holly began to expound on how she had baked Ivy’s special cookies.
Hah, no you did not was Ivy’s first thought, but she politely nodded. Then her heart stuttered. Oh, dear, what if?
She began to breathe a bit faster. “So, Holly, how did you bake them?”
“What do you mean how? I do this for a living, just like you. I created a recipe based on your cookies. I’ve been perfecting it all week. It might not be exactly the same as yours, but it’s certainly a close approximation. I know you’ll never share your oh-so-special recipe.” A big eye roll followed. “You’re so secretive about the recipes that Mom gave you.” Holly added an unhappy little sniff. “But I could taste what was in them. I do know how to back-engineer a recipe.”
Holly creating her own recipe off of someone else’s was Holly’s speed. Once she had it mastered, or believed she had, she would never veer from it. But it wasn’t only the recipe. How far was Holly willing to go to match Ivy’s cookies?
Ivy bit her lip. She had to ask. “Did you use the cookie press?” Her words came out too high-pitched.
Holly cast her a catty-eyed glance. “Well, of course I used a cookie press. That’s what makes them special.”
Ivy’s stomach did a little flip-flop, but they’d arrived. Holly pulled up and parked and was out of the van with the doors open and setting boxes on a dolly to roll in before Ivy could even get her bearings. Her head was reeling at the thought of Holly using the antique cookie press. They’d both grown up hearing the legend of it, even if Holly put no credence into it.
But if Holly hadn’t matched the recipe exactly, it would be okay, right? Or, did the recipe even really matter? Ivy had added nutmeg, lots of nutmeg, and the cookies worked. Maybe the magic wasn’t in the recipe at all. Maybe it was all in the cookie press.
Holly having new devoted customers would be okay, right? Ivy had, after Jaxon shared his tin of cookies. Maybe Holly would find her own happily ever after. Just because it hadn’t worked out for Ivy didn’t mean it wouldn’t work out for her sister. That would be good, wouldn’t it? A happy Holly would be better for everyone.
Ivy’s head was spinning by the time Malory hastened out to greet them and direct them where to set up. Ivy trailed behind the two of them through the mansion, taking in the lovely décor. Holly didn’t spare it a glance, but Ivy paused to soak it in.
She stopped in front of the china cabinet as she passed and noted that some of the larger serving platters had been removed. Had Malory set them out to use? Ivy clapped her hands a little in an imitation of her aunt Lydia. She hurried to catch up and was delighted by her first glimpse of the courtyard. It wasn’t fully enclosed, but the coach house and towering oleanders in the back made it feel protected, cozy, and a world apart. The coach house was open, displaying an antique carriage. Really, where did Malory find all these items? With the coach house to the east, it sheltered them from most of the wind coming off the coast.
The landscaping was flawless, but with Malory in charge the gardeners had likely been doubly inspired to perfection. The oleanders in the courtyard concerned Ivy. Green lawns edged by blue hydrangeas in full bloom beside an abundance of pink and yellow long-stemmed rosebushes, though, were lovely. Long tables were covered in white linen tablecloths with the china platters set out.
“Oh, I’ll set the baked goods on the platters,” Ivy volunteered. She gave a little pleased jump at the thought. First, she set out her souvenir tea packets with her Georgian Colonial blend. Next, she chose the two prettiest platters to display her sweet and savory items and arranged the pastries in their sleeves to the side for guests to take. Seeing Ivy’s approach, Holly did the same.
Ivy was almost afraid to turn and see Holly’s cookies pressed with the floral design she had become so familiar with, but she had to know. Bravely, she primed herself to look. She blinked. “What’s this?” She waved a hand at Holly’s oversized cookies.
“Aren’t they splendid?” The four-inch diameter cookies were pressed with the words Hollister’s Bakery in swirling calligraphic script. “I had my own cookie press designed. It’s better since it advertises while also being pretty, and it’s easy to read. See, you can learn from me. You don’t have to always use some old antique. You can modernize and market your business. Make a note.”
“Yes, it’s very clever. You’re so clever, Holly. What a great idea.” Ivy let out a relieved breath. Her stomach untwisted, knowing the antique cookie press was safe, that magic cookies were not being indiscriminately passed out to the Hazard community.
Again.
Ivy had never intended for that to happen. That had been all Jaxon. This time, she was being careful. Her magic cookies were safely locked up in her shop, waiting for a perfectly controlled opportunity to share them with Jaxon.
No more mistakes.
Ivy crossed her fingers and smiled. She reached into the bottom of the large plastic bin with her items and caught her breath.
No, no, no, it couldn’t be.
She knew what she was seeing.
The magic cookies in their plain white box tied with her signature green ribbon stared back up at her.
Holly had brought them along, or one of her employees had. It absolutely didn’t matter how they got here. Ivy knew she couldn’t serve them at this event. They needed to go back to her shop—now. Maybe she could slip away and drive them back.
Except she didn’t have her own car. And she couldn’t explain it to Holly.
“Hand those to me. I’ll put them out.” Holly took hold of the white bakery box. Ivy gripped it tight. A tug of war ensued.
“What is wrong with you?” said Holly.
“These aren’t for today,” Ivy hissed.
“They’re cookies, right? I can see through the clear part. They won’t keep. I know you didn’t bake them last night. The box is cool, and cookies are only good for a few days.”
“Well, maybe they’re too old, then.”
“If they’re not fit to serve, I’ll toss them.”
Ivy couldn’t bear the thought. “It isn’t that. Please, Holly, these cookies shouldn’t have come. Don’t be difficult.”
“Fine, put them in the van.” Holly sniffed, pulled her keys from her pocket, and dangled them in Ivy’s face.
Ivy hesitated. She could lock the cookies in the van, but Holly would want her keys back, leaving the cookies out of Ivy’s direct control. “I’ll just tuck them away—somewhere. She glanced about wildly. Where could she store them that was safe?
She couldn’t put them under the tables on the grass. They might get ruined. She didn’t dare set them on a table. They might get eaten. The coach house, maybe. She could hide them.
Malory plucked the box away from both of them. “If they aren’t for the event, I’ll place them in the kitchen hutch. How’s that? No one would presume to remove them. Guests won’t be in the kitchen. Honestly.” With an eye roll, Malory took the cookies. Ivy could hardly go running after her without looking ridiculous. Holly was already staring.
She tried nonchalance. “Okeydokey.”
“Is it?” Holly’s eyes narrowed in speculation.
“Of course.”
But Holly wasn’t having it. “What’s really going on? Spill, little sis.”
“Nothing to spill. I made those for”—Ivy decided she might as well be honest—“Jaxon.”
“Tell me you’re not still stalking our intrepid landlord.”
“Not stalking, really, Holly!”
“You know he’s not right for you. Oh, he looks good and all that, but he doesn’t have any staying power.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Holly tightened her lips and turned away.
But this time, Ivy was having none of it. She grabbed Holly’s arm and tugged until her sister spun back to face her. “You spill.”
“Doesn’t matter,” mumbled Holly, not meeting her eyes.
The four pillars arrived together then, in their way, requiring everyone’s immediate notice. Seymour loped into the courtyard from the back, voice raised in disagreement with Aunt Lydia, who rushed in her brusque, take-charge way while Marjorie fluttered about trying to mediate. Hazel was teetering, and Ivy rushed to lend a hand to the president of the Hazard Historical Society. She knew Holly was hiding something, but Holly knowing secrets about Jaxon made zero sense and would have to be unraveled later.
Somehow, in the midst of getting everything situated, Holly wound up serving at the punch table with Ivy clear across the courtyard at the champagne table filling glasses and setting them out for the arriving guests. She’d need to pump Holly for information about Jaxon later.
Ivy passed out champagne flutes to members of the community, making small talk. She was pleased to see so many of the merchants on the square. Cece, her hair bleached a dark orange today and styled in cornrows, arrived with her looming husband Dart, bringing along Kate Mayfield, the new owner of the Hazard Inn. Ivy greeted Toby and Mackenna, who showed up with her rival from the chocolate shop Celestina’s across the square. Celeste had a competitive gleam in her eye as she scrutinized the baked goods in the sleeves advertising their businesses.
A musical quartet played fife and drums in lively historical tunes, and the guests applauded. The downstairs was opened for guests to wander through the rooms and see what they were supporting.
Ivy had just relaxed into her role when she glanced up to find Jaxon across from her.
“May I?” he asked.
Her heart pounded. He was here and looking so—Jaxon. Her mind flitted to the cookies stashed in the kitchen, but she shook her head slightly. This was not the time. Too many variables. Knowing Jaxon, he’d offer them around to everyone.
“No?” He gave her a wry smile. “I can’t have any champagne.”
“What, oh, of course you can.” She handed him a glass and their fingers touched, sending a little thrill through her. Jaxon was all dressed up today, very debonair in a suit coat with a tie and jeans. Well, not too dressed up, more casual formal.
He shrugged. “I never know what to wear to these events. Will you join me?” Jaxon motioned over one of the servers circling with trays of empties. “Can you take over for a moment here, so Ivy can enjoy the event?” He took her hand in his, drawing her away. He tucked her hand into his arm. They fell into step easily, enjoying the garden around them, stopping to chat with other guests, a few of them visitors to the area, several from neighboring Newport. The wind began to kick up, churning the bushes around them. She and Jaxon moved into the shade. At a strong gust shaking the shrubbery, a piece of oleander twig fell into his champagne glass. As he raised his glass to his lips, Ivy dashed it from his hand, the glass shattering on the bark-lined path.
At his shocked expression, Ivy hastened to explain. “The oleander, it fell…” Malory was there immediately with a server to clean it up along with reproachful frowns for Ivy.
“It was the oleander. I couldn’t let him drink it.”
Malory was all business, but Ivy could tell she was irked at the broken glassware.
Jaxon drew her away from Malory’s ire to whisk her inside. “Thank you for saving me.”
He was amused, but really, it could have been deadly. Ivy understood now how easily her ancestor had died from oleander-contaminated tea. Perhaps she should send Rob to talk to the historical society about increasing their general liability coverage.
But Jaxon was drawing her away and her heart was racing now at his proximity and attention. Together, they wandered the downstairs. She knew Jaxon had consulted with Malory on the restoration of the house, and she asked him questions as they walked. He pointed out various architectural details she might otherwise have missed, and she shared with him the history of her ancestor’s journey from France to settle in the new world.
“Well, I for one am glad he survived his travails and married, even though he lost his first love. If he hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here, with me, today.” They stepped around the dining table to a shadowed alcove near the buffet.
He turned her to face him and took both her hands in his. As she gazed up at him, he gave a gentle smile and leaned in. Their lips met in a soft, sweet kiss that made Ivy’s heart pound even as she caught her breath, here in the home of her ancestors, with the history of Hazard all around. Making new memories, with new hope, her heart soared. She belonged in Jaxon’s arms.
“Oh, there you are.”
Ivy jumped and turned to see Aunt Lydia enter the drawing room before realizing her aunt’s comment wasn’t directed at them when she started chatting with Cece. Neither Lydia nor Cece had seen them, but Jaxon distanced himself, and Ivy regretted the loss of their closeness. When they were still unnoticed, he placed his hand on Ivy’s back as if to guide her from the room.
Cece was nodding, saying, “I wish I could move my salon to a beautiful location like this. I wonder if any of these historical old buildings will ever open up for businesses and not just tours. That would be something.”
“Did you check with Kate, the new owner of the Hazard Inn? She has lots of downstairs space she might rent out if she only plans to have hotel rooms on the higher floors. Do you foresee relocating your business?”
“Well, we don’t have much choice, do we? What with all the changes, I’m keeping my options open. You never know with a new landlord.”
Lydia was nodding sagely.
“New landlord?” Ivy said to Cece, and glanced at Jaxon. Why did he act guilty? “What are they talking about?”
“Jaxon is selling the building, dear.” Lydia spoke with clear condemnation.
“Haven’t you told her, yet?” said Cece, in amazement. “Really, Jax, bad form.”
“What are they talking about?” Ivy repeated at Jaxon, who shifted backwards, farther from her.
As if swallowing bile, his words came out choked. “I’m…selling the building.”
Ivy took a step toward him. “We negotiated a new lease. Why didn’t you say something? Wait, does everyone know except me?”
He shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”
Cece tsked.
Dart walked up. “When does your cool new job start in Boston, Jax? Great opportunity. I know how you can’t wait to leave, but I’ll sure miss seeing you walk that cute little dog. You’ve been a great neighbor. Sorry to see you go.”
“Go?” Ivy repeated, feeling stupid and out of step. Did everyone know Jaxon was leaving except for her?
“Does Holly know?” she asked the room.
At Jaxon’s chagrined expression, she pushed off from him. She needed to get away. Somewhere she could think.
Everything she’d accomplished paled if Jaxon left. If she had to move her successful tea shop, her uptick in business was for nothing. A rent increase to more than she could afford would drive her out of the town square, causing her business to drop off. She depended on walk-ins. Even if the new landlord honored her newly negotiated lease, and there was no guarantee of that, a year might not be enough to make relocating feasible. She’d invested so much money into decorating her current location. She’d been building her business, or thought she had. And now?
Really, what had she accomplished?
Jaxon had betrayed her. His dishonestly sabotaged her career.
“Why? Why couldn’t you have told me?”
Holly popped in, and Ivy turned her ire on her sister. “You knew. All this time, you all knew he was leaving, and no one said a word to me.”
The perfidy was too much. It was the story of her life—Ivy Wayland, always the last to know.
“Yes, well, it was Jaxon’s place to say something, wasn’t it?” Holly huffed. “You might as well give him that latest batch of the Very Special Cookies you baked as a going away present.”
“Ha, you didn’t,” said Lydia in horror. “After we told you it was unwise?”
“Cookies?” said Jaxon, brow furrowed.
The mere thought of giving the man she loved her Very Special Cookies now after his betrayal was too much. Ivy balked. Giving magic cookies to a man who kept relevant truths was abhorrent. He didn’t deserve them. He didn’t deserve her.
The mere idea of him enjoying her magic cookies, inspiring his devotion, made heat rise in her cheeks. She didn’t want devotion. She had the devotion of half the town. From Jaxon, she craved honesty, forthrightness, to be included in what he was willing to tell everyone but her.
Ivy fled.
In the foyer, she gripped the shiny brass doorknob on the towering front door, to jerk it wide, but it held. She tugged again and again, leaning her weight back, but it would only move an inch before slamming back closed, the wind from outside holding it shut, even as she struggled.
“Please,” she murmured, “please, let me escape.” The wind dropped. She flung the door wide, tripping backward as it slammed against the wall. Ivy dashed outside, air currents enveloping her, embracing her, hustling her down stone steps, past flowerpots, toward the towering shrubbery, urging her along, faster, faster, faster. She stumbled into the shade of the oleanders and stopped, breathless, nearly sobbing, to hide in the shadows.
Raindrops splattered, just a bit at first, small ones growing until they were plopping and splashing all around. Rain, promised by that red morning sky, arrived. It expanded, wind gusting its torrents. Ivy could hear the guests squealing at the sudden onslaught and scrambling for cover as the first Annual Hazard Historical Society Fundraiser came to an abrupt halt due to rain.
She should go help. She started to, but stopped and drew farther back into the oleanders. She couldn’t bring herself to leave their shelter. They encircled her. She was safe here.
Usually she felt safe with Jaxon, but now? Now, she sought nature’s shelter, here in her family’s ancestral lands. Here, in the heart of Hazard’s countryside. Hazard was home, even here under the oleander bushes. Thick and towering, they protected her from the worst of the rain. She watched as the guests fled, running to cars, locks beeping open, windshield wipers pounding out the rhythm of the rain. Ivy began to hum the blessing. Peace fell over her like a blanket.
Even when she saw Holly pack up and drive away in the pink-and-white striped bakery van, casting one last glance around, calling on her cell phone, Ivy waited. Her cell was in the house, anyway. She couldn’t answer if she wanted to.
And she didn’t.
So she waited. She possessed no desire to drive off with Holly. Holly, who would lecture her like she was the one at fault, Holly who claimed she wanted to protect her but lied.
Ivy waited, even when it was Jaxon looking around, wondering where she had gone.
Let him wonder.
And when everyone had left but Malory, Ivy emerged from the bushes. The rain had stopped. The wind died down. She was damp but not dripping. Remarkable, really. She had always thought of oleanders as dangerous, poisonous plants, and they were, true, but they had sheltered her as their own.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
She made her way toward the house as a car drove up, splashing through puddles, gravel crunching. A white rental sedan from the look of it, both doors popped open and her parents spilled out looking travel-worn.
Her parents? Here, now, really?
“Oh, darling,” said her mother, as Ivy emerged from the bushes, twigs caught in her hair. “We came as soon as we could.”