Gossip, Drama, and Murder Cats
Merriweather Tea Shop is one of the loveliest businesses on the street. Ivy trails up the side, covering much of the stone. The door is deep teal, as is the decorative trim, and there are a few inviting tables out front.
Yellow roses bloom in the flowerbeds around the building, scenting the air with their sweet, floral perfume.
The window boxes are empty, as Ash said. But I can picture them overflowing with flowers and imagine patrons sitting at the tables as they take a moment to enjoy a quiet cup of tea.
It’s a pretty picture, but right now, the shop is dark and empty. A closed sign hangs on the door, sticking out like a sore thumb on the bustling street.
I glance at Ash and find him frowning at the building. He’s clearly not happy with its current state. The councilman draws the carriage to the edge of the walkway and stops. “You go ahead. I’m going to park, and I’ll join you shortly.”
I step out of the cabriolet and down to the walkway. A few people pause to watch us, enchanted by handsome Ash and his equally handsome horse.
“How much for a ride?” a man asks before the councilman can continue to wherever he’s going.
“I’m accompanying Miss Merriweather today,” Ash answers pleasantly, smiling for the tourists as he gestures toward me like I’m some sort of town figure.
“But our local livery stable is only a few blocks down, and you may speak with them about a ride. I’m headed there myself.
I’d be happy to take you that far, for no charge, if the lovely lady in your company doesn’t mind sitting on your lap.
My carriage only has two seats, I’m afraid. ”
He’s laying it on thick for the tourists.
The woman laughs, enchanted, and then she and the man step into the cabriolet. Once they’re settled, Ash continues down the street.
The councilman is such a strange juxtaposition of charming and abrupt. I want to know what shaped his personality. Was he born prickly, or has life made him that way? But that question will have to wait. I have more important things to think about right now.
I turn toward the tea shop, my eyes pausing on a nearby man. He was also watching Ash. Mildly disgusted, he shakes his head and steps forward, intending to continue.
But he stops when our eyes meet.
He’s fae. What type, I don’t know. But I don’t think he’s a pixie or a shifter.
He’s pretty like the high fae, with the sharp good looks that are a hallmark of their people.
But something doesn’t feel right. Maybe it’s the way he’s dressed.
I’ve never seen any high fae man or woman wearing jeans or a T-shirt—and never both at the same time as this man is.
He glances at the sign above the tea shop. “You must be Laverna’s great-niece.”
“I am. Everyone calls me Kit.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” The man offers his hand.
His hair is a medium shade of brown, and he wears it short. He’s probably in his early thirties, four or five years older than I am.
“I’m Marshall,” he says after we shake. “My family owns the garden nursery down the road.”
“Ash is taking me there later,” I say, my spirits lifting when I realize I’m already meeting one of my new neighbors. “I’m going to buy flowers for my window boxes.”
He studies the empty planters, his expression becoming pensive. “This is the first year they’ve sat empty.”
“At least the roses are blooming beautifully.” I walk over to the bushes, my magic awakening as I take one of the soft yellow buds in my hand. “Someone must have pruned them this spring.”
Marshall contemplates me. “Laverna loved those roses. It was an honor tending them in her absence.”
“You pruned them?” My heart swells at the act of kindness. Unfortunately, my magic slips past me, enveloping him. But maybe he won’t notice—maybe he’s already in a good mood. Delusionally hoping that’s the case, I continue, “They’re so happy—you did an excellent job.”
“You’re a summer?” he asks, guessing my season.
So much for him not noticing.
I give him a sheepish smile. “Correct.”
“That’s a relief—this town is too small for another spring, and we’ve sorely missed your aunt’s particular brand of sunshine.”
“Who’s the spring?” I ask, looking down the crowded street like I might spot the pixie in question.
“Tessalie. She runs the quilting store.” Marshall gestures up the street. “Her sister is an autumn and runs the yarn store next door to her. They hate each other.”
I blink at him. “Why?”
“Cosette says Tessalie stole her boyfriend, and Tessalie claims Cosette’s cat murdered him to get revenge.”
“A cat capable of murder?”
“It’s actually a cursed goblin and the most bloodthirsty little beast you’ll ever meet. But there was no evidence of foul play. The man simply disappeared. Most people believe he ran off with a tourist.”
“But he didn’t tell anyone? Or leave a note?”
“It’s not the first time someone’s up and vanished from Moss Hollow,” he says cryptically.
“Such drama.” I laugh, but I’m a little uncomfortable. Drama isn’t really my thing.
“We have it in spades,” he warns. “Though to be honest, I prefer to stay clear of it.”
We fall into a comfortable silence, neither of us sure what to say next.
I look at the shop for inspiration. “Do you like tea, Marshall?”
He winces. “Not particularly.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” I answer, hoping to reassure him with a smile.
But that smile falters when I spot Ash heading toward us on the walkway. Our eyes meet…and hold. As if I’ve never seen a handsome man before, my heart flutters.
Don’t sparkle. Don’t.
I rip my gaze from Ash, disconcerted. What was I saying? Oh, yes. Tea. We were talking about tea. Focus, Kit.
To Marshall, I say, “Even if you don’t care for it, I hope you’ll visit me when I reopen. I’ve recently discovered there are a great many types of tea. Maybe we can find one you like.”
Entirely of their own accord, my eyes stray to the councilman again.
“I could probably be convinced to visit.” Curious about what keeps stealing my attention, Marshall follows my gaze, looking behind him. When he spots Ash, his expression becomes tight.
“Good morning, Marshall,” Ash says when he joins us, his voice slightly monotone. “I see you’ve met Kathleen.”
“Kit,” I correct.
“Hello, Ash.” Marshall nods once, barely acknowledging him. When he turns back to me, his friendly countenance returns. “I look forward to seeing you at the garden center later.”
“When will you return?” I ask, realizing he’s heading in the opposite direction. “I’d hate to visit while you’re still out.”
“As soon as I grab a coffee,” he assures me. Then he nods goodbye and continues down the walkway, sidestepping clusters of tourists as he goes.
Looking vaguely annoyed, Ash watches him disappear into the crowd. After a few seconds, he turns to me and extends his hand toward the shop. “Shall we?”
Feeling stupidly fluttery around this man, I flip through my keys until I locate the one for the lock. As soon as I pull the door open and step inside, I’m hit with vague memories.
The shop is built in an L shape, with a wall of windows along both sides of the street. There are dozens of tables. Each has a white runner and an empty caddy at the center.
The bulk tea available for purchase lines the left side wall in large metal tins. They’re marked with cheerful teal labels, and a small sample tin is provided for smelling in front of each one.
Directly ahead of us, on the far-left side of the back wall, there’s a doorway that leads into a hall. The rest of the space is dedicated to the tea counter and prep area, which are used for serving customers who choose to take their tea here.
A chalkboard menu hangs from the ceiling behind the counter. Just underneath it, there are shelves holding hundreds of smaller tea tins, just like those along the side wall, but miniature. These are also marked with teal labels.
A glass case sits empty on the counter, looking lonely without pastries.
Though everything is perfectly organized and tidy, the shop feels abandoned.
Ash’s eyes move to a wilting plant near a window. “I hired a service to dust while the shop was closed. They were supposed to water the plants.”
I walk over to the poor philodendron, touching its soft, wilting leaves. “It’s not too far gone. I can nurse it back to health.”
There are others around the shop, including an orchid with a spent stalk, several succulents, and a collection of hanging ferns.
Poor plants. At least they had plenty of sunlight—the space is naturally bright.
“I have no doubt,” Ash says.
I turn toward the councilman, feeling like I need to get something out of the way now. “I have a confession to make.”
He lifts his eyebrows, waiting.
“I know nothing about tea.”
Ash waits a beat, and then he replies, “Then you’ll have to learn.”
I open my mouth to respond…and then close it again. Frowning, I nod, turning away from him.
“I’m aware of the conditions of your inheritance,” he says.
“If you don’t keep the shop open, all the trouble you’ve put into this move will be for naught.
You were given a modest allowance for living expenses and shop upkeep, but your aunt’s fortune and the deed to the cottage won’t be released to you unless you run the shop for three years. ”
Intrigued, but not because of the specifics of Laverna’s estate, I turn back to him. “Were you close to my aunt?”
“As close as anyone in Moss Hollow. She was a summer pixie.” Though his face is solemn, his lips twitch. “You’re hard not to like.”
Don’t sparkle.
“Do you know why she made me her beneficiary?” I ask. “She was a lovely woman, but I admit I didn’t know her well. We lived so far apart, and my mother isn’t fond of travel.”
“She had no children. You were her only kin who didn’t have solid roots.”
“I suppose I’d hoped it was something more,” I say softly, walking to the back counter.
Like, perhaps, in the few times we met, she saw something in me that made her want to leave me her legacy.
Ash follows me as I enter the back hall and then push through the door. As soon as I’m outside, I sigh, feeling like all is right with the world.