Chapter Eleven
I vy plopped into the chair across from Marjorie. It was almost six p.m. and she needed to close up, but Marjorie, absorbed on her laptop, was muttering mild curse words at an Excel spreadsheet. Ivy hated to disturb her. She’d locked up at five p.m., but left Marjorie alone. Now, she needed to move her day along. She had a date with Kyle.
Ivy started pouring her latest tea blend experiment featuring Assam extra fancy with black mango and tangerine into delicate Russian teacups. For now, she was calling it Chinese Tropic. She sweetened one and set it off to the side of the laptop.
Marjorie sighed. “I’m holding you up. Thank you for letting me work late on my accounting for the tree farm.”
“No problem, it gave me time to prep for tomorrow. How does chicken salad panini with pimento sound? I was able to get all the meat cooked, and I’ll chill it overnight before I turn it into chicken salad in the morning.”
“Delicious. What does Holly think about your new lunch items?”
“She hates them. I don’t think she’ll ever approve of what I do. Her ventures are always so successful, and mine always fall short.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I bet she’s envious she didn’t create lunch specials first.”
“Her bakery is so successful. If she planned to serve lunches, she’d need to put in seating.”
“She has the same amount of space as you.”
“True, but in the morning, the bakery’s jam-packed with customers waiting their turn. She actually has them take a number.”
Marjorie gave a gentle smile. “How are the goals coming?”
“I have bunches of dates. I’m meeting Kyle across the street for dinner at seven to try Pedro’s new specials at the diner.”
“And Jaxon?”
Ivy shrugged. She sipped her tea. Marjorie laughed.
“You aren’t really being coy, are you?”
Ivy shook her head. “He went on a date with Hazel.” Even to her own ears it sounded ridiculous.
“I’m sure that’s Hazel’s doing.”
“He notices me, but never makes a move. I don’t think I could be more obvious.”
“Oh, you could, but I get that it isn’t your style.”
“Cookies are my style.”
Marjorie shook her head. “You already tried that. Try something else.”
“What? Short skirts and low-cut shirts? If he’s taking Hazel out, that can’t be his speed.”
“Pshaw—you know that was just Hazel being Hazel.”
“I do know that. I figure everyone must be right. He isn’t ready to date. He must’ve loved his wife desperately.”
Marjorie toyed with the edge of the tablecloth. “They were very different. As I recall, Candace liked adventure.”
“I like adventure.”
“Not normal adventure. Bungee-jumping adventure.”
“Oh, did he go with her?”
“Once, on a rock-climbing trip which would’ve been tame for her but likely new to Jaxon.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, that’s right, you were away taking your business courses at the time. It was devastating. That was the trip when Candace fell and died.”
“Oh, no.” Ivy swallowed. She had heard about his wife dying, of course, but hadn’t realized Jaxon had been right there with her when she fell. “How horrible.”
Marjorie nodded. “Jaxon needs comfort and home. Just be you with your little tea shop. You don’t need to go to extremes. I don’t believe that’s what he’s looking for.”
“I need to see this through. These dates. I have two more and then we’ll see.”
“No more Hazard Blessing magic. Once is enough.” Marjorie sounded adamant.
Ivy tensed in defense. “My parents bake those cookies every year and share them.”
“That’s different. They’re in love and know what they’re doing. For them, it’s romantic.” Marjorie slid her laptop into a black leather pouch. “Be wise, Ivy Wayland. Be wise.”
Ivy unlocked the door for Marjorie. A quick gust of wind rushed inside and swirled about. It tousled her hair and made her at once wild and daring. At a rattle behind her, she turned to stare at the cookie press on the wall.
It called to her, or so she imagined. A memory teased the edges of her mind. A hint of nutmeg flitted over her tongue. She blinked. Last night, as she had drifted off to sleep, the cookie press had called to her.
Odd.
She shivered. A chill lingered, leaving wisps trailing through her shop like a living thing. Ivy rubbed her arms. She’d forgotten all about the dream until now. She stared at the cookie press. It had been murky, the dream. Her tea shop magically infused with mist, sparkling in moonlight. She had tried to leave because in the dream she was supposed to be somewhere, meet someone, but she couldn’t find her keys to unlock the door. She would spot them, first on the counter by the register, but when she reached for them, they weren’t there. Next, they were in a saucer, then on a table. She’d flitted about trying to catch them. It had been a merry chase until she’d stopped trying. Until she’d known, intuitively, where they were hiding.
She’d lifted the lid from her ivy-patterned teapot, and with no more desire to leave, removed the keys and made a pot of tea. When the cookie press whispered to her, she’d stopped to listen. It whispered again, but she couldn’t make out the words. She’d known somehow that she wouldn’t be permitted to leave her shop until she baked more cookies. The press rattled, and rattled, harsher and harsher, until she’d reached for it.
Ivy reached up, her hand moving toward the cookie press, still lost in the dream. But the instant her fingers touched the cool metal, all memory of the dream flitted away like a feather in the wind.
Ivy shook her head. What happened next? The members of the Hazard Historical Society were the pillars of the community and the wisest people she knew. Every single one told her not to bake more cookies. She should heed their advice. But her fingers lingered on the press. She traced its indentations with searing fingertips.
It was just baking cookies. It couldn’t go wrong every time. Not if she planned. Not if she was careful. Not if it was meant to be.