A Bill in the Welcome Basket #2
“Yes, it’s been closed, and no, she didn’t have any employees. Laverna hired a high school student over a decade ago, but he quit when he left for college. After that, she managed well enough on her own.”
I pick two infusers that look like mesh cups. At least I understand how they work.
“I’m supposed to run it for three years,” I tell him. “That’s the time that was stipulated in the will. Only after that will her entire estate be transferred to me. For now, I get a monthly allowance.”
“And how long did she specify you were to put up with me?”
I smile as I find something that might be the tea he requested. “Indefinitely, though I imagine I’ll outlive you. You’re quite old, aren’t you? And owls have short lifespans. Considering all that, I’m only estimating we’ll be together for three or four years.”
Rowan sputters, his feathers ruffling again.
“It’s not my fault creatures age,” I tease, attempting to keep my tone neutral as I search for a tea I recognize and might want to drink. “Perhaps if I had something other than cute and worthless magic, I could delay the process.”
He’s so quiet, I’m worried I actually offended him. I turn, preparing to apologize, and find him looking at me rather intently.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Maybe you can help me.”
“There’s not a fae or mage alive who can stop the march of time.”
“No, not with that. Perhaps you can turn me back into my normal self.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” I ask. “Say, is there any English breakfast in here?”
“Keep digging,” he answers. “And I don’t know. Laverna never let me experiment with her magic.”
“And you think I will?”
“You seem like a nice girl.”
“Now you’re just sucking up.”
Rowan ruffles his feathers, looking irked again. He’s certainly a prickly thing.
The teapot whistles while I’m sorting through Laverna’s collection, making me jump. Once I compose myself, I hurry to turn off the burner. “I’ve never seen a whistling kettle before.”
“How do you heat water for tea?”
“We had one of those single-pod coffee brewer things.”
He hisses as if disgusted, this time making the sound out loud.
“Or I’d use the microwave.” I pause, looking around. “Where is the microwave?”
“Laverna didn’t have one. How old are you?” Rowan asks, his voice full of disdain.
“Twenty-six.” I peer at him as I spoon tea into the infusers. “How old are you?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “I’ve lost count.”
“How old were you when you turned yourself into an owl?”
“Twenty-three.” His voice is curt, but I hear the regret there—the anger, irritation, and misery.
How awful to spend much of your life as a bird because of a stupid mistake.
“All right,” I say with a sigh. “Let me get settled here. As soon as I figure out how to run a small business and exist without a car, then maybe we’ll see if we can change you back.”
I turn when he doesn’t answer and find him scowling. He flies to the counter and peers into the infusers. “That’s too much tea.”
“It’s only a few tablespoons,” I argue. “And go away. You shouldn’t be up here—it’s not sanitary.”
“A few tablespoons is about four teaspoons too many for those cups. Think about the amount of tea in a tea bag.”
I scoot him off the counter, admiring how soft his feathers are—though I’m certainly not going to tell him. “Or here’s an idea—we could save time and just use tea bags.”
He scoffs as he returns to his perch. “Laverna’s customers are going to eat you alive.”
I dump most of the tea back into their respective containers. “Are there a lot of them?”
“Several local regulars, and many out-of-town patrons who make a point of dropping by when they visit. Then, of course, there are the casual browsers who can’t tell a tea from a tisane. You’ll fit right in with them.”
“I don’t know what a tisane is.”
“My point exactly.”
I pour hot water over the tea. “Can owls have caffeine?”
“I’m not an owl.”
“But you kind of are—no offense. Maybe you should have decaf instead?”
“You forgot to set a timer.”
“I usually just leave it in there until it’s tea-colored.”
“How have you existed—”
The chime of the doorbell cuts him off.
“Someone’s here,” I say dumbly.
“That’s usually what that sound means, yes.”
“What should I do?”
“Answer it?”
Still feeling like I’m trespassing, I leave the kitchen and walk through the living room. After taking a fortifying breath, I open the door…and then freeze.
“You must be Kathleen Merriweather,” a stupidly handsome man says.
He’s tall, he’s fit, and he wears a look of snobbish disdain like it’s an accessory to his button-up shirt, tweed waistcoat, and pressed trousers.
No doubt about it, this man is high fae.
His long blond hair is up in a knot, deceptively casual.
His lips are as sharp as his jaw, but they’re the most perfect shade of soft, peachy pink.
His eyes are espresso brown, with flecks of amber.
They sweep over me, making me wish I’d changed into something more flattering than the T-shirt and shorts I’m wearing.
“Yes, I’m Kathleen,” I answer when I find my tongue, crossing my arms, all casual-like. “Kit, actually.”
“I’m Ash Neilfellow, treasurer of the Moss Hollow City Council. On behalf of my fellow council members, I’ve come to welcome you to town.” He offers me the fruit basket he’s carrying.
“Thank you…” I scan the assortment of oranges, apples, and bananas and then give him a smile. “I’ve never received a welcome basket before.”
“The bakery was out of muffins, so I had to make do with an arrangement from the grocery store,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’ve tucked a bill for this year’s shop dues in that envelope there. They’re due by the end of the month.”
“Shop dues?”
“The dues pay for upkeep above and beyond what the town covers, along with things like flowers for the street planters, holiday decor, and festival planning. Your great aunt fell behind when she…”
“Died?”
He clears his throat like he finds me uncomfortable.
“So, it’s like a homeowner’s association?” I say, directing the conversation back.
“I suppose that’s one way to look at it. Along with the bill, I’ve included a printout of the bylaws that specifically apply to Main Street, as well as this year’s holiday schedule and approved decor themes. Be sure to read through them.” He pauses, assessing me. “Thoroughly.”
I look down at the envelope. “Okay.”
“When do you plan to reopen your aunt’s shop? We understand the situation was unavoidable, but having it closed isn’t good for appearances.”
“I haven’t seen it yet, so I don’t know…”
Anything.
Not about running a business and apparently not about tea.
“I understand.” The man taps something into his phone. “I’ll make a note that you’ll be opening soon.”
Clutching the fruit basket to my chest, I give him a seasick smile. “I’ll do my best.”
He looks up from his phone, frowning slightly.
“Miss Merriweather, please understand Main Street is Moss Hollow’s crown jewel.
Owning a shop on that coveted stretch of street comes with a high level of responsibility.
Your great-aunt was an exemplary shopkeeper.
I trust you will follow in her footsteps. ”
Not trusting myself to talk, I nod.
He dips his head, preparing to leave. “It was a pleasure to meet you. If you need anything, I live next door.”
Oh…good. Mr. HOA is my neighbor.
He glances at the ground as he turns. “Your flowers could use tending.”
“Is that in the bylaws, too?” I ask, unable to keep the snark out of my voice.
Sighing, he walks down the flagstone path. “Sadly, no. We’re outside the commercial district and the established rules that regulate it.”
Genuinely delighted to learn he can’t come after my yard with a list of regulations, I laugh to myself.
Ash pauses, turning back. He stands perfectly still, eyes narrowed.
It’s as if he’s tasting my magic and deciding if it’s to his liking.
Several agonizing seconds pass, and then a smile ghosts over his lips.
The shift in his expression is subtle, but it nearly steals my breath.
This man, though obnoxious, was born to break hearts.
“I’d forgotten how pleasant summer pixie magic can be,” he says solemnly. “I look forward to getting to know you better, Kathleen.”
I nearly drop my fruit basket. “You too. I mean, me too. With you. Better.”
Looking perplexed and vaguely amused, his eyes sweep over me. Then he nods once, lets himself out of the gate, and disappears down the lane.
“That went well,” I murmur to myself, rolling my eyes.
Rowan flies through the open door and lands on a garden post next to me. “Please tell me you didn’t just sparkle for Ash Neilfellow.”
“No,” I scoff.
But I might have. I feel a bit effervescent. And dang it, the sun is low in the sky, and we’re in the shadows. If the blasted owl noticed, the hoity-toity fae councilman likely did too.
But that’s a worry for later.
“Do you think our tea is done?” I ask Rowan, shooing him back inside.
He follows me, flying through the little cottage like he owns it. “I think it was done five minutes ago, but how would I know? You didn’t set a timer.”