Chapter Eighteen
J axon finished the architectural plans for the kitchen addition he’d been working on for Cece Tollivar. She wanted to surprise her contractor husband Dartagnan in the hope he would actually upgrade her kitchen, like he’d been promising for the last five years. Jaxon was glad for the work, but wasn’t sure Cece was pursuing her goal the proper way. He knew he didn’t like to be tricked, coerced, or blindsided.
He paused at the salon’s entrance, and she waved him in. “Hey, Jaxxy—you got my plans all drawn up?”
“Sure do. You positive Dart’ll go for you surprising him like this?”
“Ah, that don’t matter.” Cece laughed. “A promise is a promise. I’m just helping my man keep his.” She took the envelope with the plans from Jaxon and spread them out on the counter. “You sure do detailed work. I love the arch here over the little breakfast nook for two. So romantic. Makes me excited about getting up early, just so we can enjoy breakfast together. Do I owe you anything?”
“Nope, you’re all paid up.”
“Even better. Thank you for being a co-conspirator in my underhandedness.”
Jaxon shifted. Underhandedness? He was just doing a job. He sure hoped Dart understood. He especially hoped it was a pleasant surprise and not an annoyance. But doing the right thing could lead to pitfalls. Jaxon preferred to be up-front, which meant he’d better quit procrastinating and tell all his tenants about the sale of the building. Might as well start now. “I need to fill you in on some changes.”
“With the plans?” Cece squinted at the blueprints.
“No, with this building. I’m selling.”
“Selling?” Cece straightened her chartreuse-framed glasses to peer at him.
Jaxon nodded. “I’ve taken a job in Boston. It’ll be too hard to manage the building long distance. I don’t want to shortchange my tenants. I’ve got a buyer and escrow started.”
“Oh, well, life is change.” Cece studied him. “You don’t look so happy. Are you?”
“Yes?” Jaxon coughed. He hadn’t meant for it to sound like a question. The closer it got to his move, the more he doubted his decision. He had a new salaried job and a lead on an apartment that allowed pets. It’d be close enough to walk to work if the weather was good. He loved being able to walk to work like he did here. Of course, it wouldn’t be as close. Montgomery would be alone longer than he was used to, but there was a park. Just not right across the street like the town green.
He’d checked out the nearby shops and restaurants. It’d be great. He could experience all Boston had to offer: museums and public transport…and traffic and crowds. He frowned. “Anyway, I wanted to let my tenants know about the sale. I told Holly when I was in the bakery. I’m headed to tell Lydia next, probably.”
“And Ivy?” Cece’s glasses slid down her nose.
Jaxon shifted under the older woman’s perusal. “Of course, I’ll tell Ivy.”
“If you told Holly, won’t Ivy already know?”
One would think, but Jaxon was pretty sure Holly was keeping it from Ivy for her own reasons in her one-upmanship way.
“Lydia probably already knows, too,” Cece pointed out.
“I’ll keep you informed, and let you know when the sale’s final.”
“Guess I can expect a rent increase.” Cece sighed. “Oh well, nothing stays the same.”
Jaxon headed to Lydia’s. He paused outside Ivy’s shop, but it looked as if she was cleaning in the back, so he moved on to LaFleur.
The door chimed like a doorbell as he entered and stopped to take it all in. It amused him how differently each tenant arranged the nearly identical spaces. Cece’s salon appeared long and thin, with haircutting stations down one side and shampoo bowls down the other. Holly’s bakery looked square, with a counter cutting the space in half and all the space before it open and empty to accommodate early morning crowds.
Lydia’s space could best be described as jungle-themed secret garden. Towering tropical plants interspersed with local flora reigned, the clutter rather like its proprietress. Glass shelves packed and nearly overflowing miraculously highlighted each trinket for sale. A glassed room in the middle, filled with blooms of every variety, made the shop smell floral and earthy—a bit like Lydia, who frequently over-applied her perfume but maintained a practical down-to-earth mien.
Had Holly told her great-aunt about Jaxon selling the building? Lydia, not one to leave a thought unsaid, hadn’t approached him. He wound through the densely packed shop to find Lydia at a back counter, flower cuttings spread before her. Two completed arrangements of a dozen roses loomed, one in deep red, another in white.
“Those are lovely,” he said.
“They’re for the two leads in the play Ivy saw. She asked me to send them flowers to congratulate them for a successful run. The red ones are for Tessa, who played Irene Adler, and the white are for Chad, who played Sherlock Holmes. What can I arrange for you?”
“I’m not here for flowers today.” Was he ever? Jaxon couldn’t remember ever ordering from her shop. Candace never had any use for flowers, considered anything that could die a waste of time. She preferred money spent on experiences. But couldn’t receiving flowers be an experience? “I wanted to let you know I’m leaving Hazard and selling the building.”
“No,” said Lydia. “Oh, no, no, that’s wrong.”
“No, I am.”
She shook her head with emphasis.
“Lydia, I know what my plans are. Escrow will be closing…” But Lydia was shaking her head. She waved a hand at him to stop.
“You don’t know.” Lydia pressed her lips tight. “Fine. Make your plans. Fine.” She went back to stabbing a third set of roses into the vase she had set up. Despite her obvious agitation, each rose went in straight, perfect, and flawless. Even upset, Lydia knew her business. “Who wants to buy your building? Not that horrible Derrick Cross.”
“Well, yes.”
Lydia’s lips got tighter.
“How do you know Derrick?”
“Man made an offer on Oleander House before I joined the historical society. I didn’t trust him to do right by my house. Even if I’d sold it, I’d want it preserved. That Mr. Cross, well…” Her lips pinched tighter until they were a thin red slash. “Next, he tried to purchase Sundial Sands. As if! Hazel will never sell that Gilded Age beauty. She grew up there as a girl. It’s her grandson’s last connection to his parents, after they perished in that frightful accident. That stuffy Mr. Cross even made an offer on the Hazard Inn, but the buyer chose someone out of New York. Kate somebody, who actually wants to be an innkeeper. I don’t trust that Cross man’s motives.”
“Most of the women in town find him charming.”
“Don’t patronize an old woman. Do you find him charming?”
Jaxon wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “It’s a business deal.”
“Yes, yes, well, you’ll see, won’t you?” She stopped stabbing roses and started fluffing up ferns. “Have you told my nieces?”
“Holly, I told Holly.”
“And Ivy?”
Lydia’s intent gaze made Jaxon shift. What was it with these older women and their piercing gazes? He’d swear they saw straight into his soul to his attraction for Ivy Wayland.
“I plan to go there next. I just told Cece.”
“And passed Ivy on your way to tell me? Why ever would you do that?”
“She looked busy.”
Lydia raised a brow. Her gaze swept over the cuttings scattered in front of her.
Point taken. “I’ll just let myself out.”
*
Brantley Mitchell hovered outside Ivy’s shop door for the umpteenth time that afternoon. Ivy found his ballet of indecision baffling. Brantley would start to enter her shop, then step away, then again turn as if to enter before spinning away in the opposite direction. This go-round, he loped across the street and sat on the bench by the statue of Eddie, hands clasped on knees. Suddenly electrified, he jumped up, crossed back to the tea shop with purpose, only to again hover outside her door, vibrating like a dragonfly. It was hypnotic. She wasn’t a scary person. She had cultivated a warm, convivial demeanor. She loved welcoming customers. Why didn’t he just come in?
When Ivy could no longer stand it, she grabbed the glass cleaner and a rag. She waited until he was nearly to the door and jerked it open. “Oh, Brantley.” She feigned surprise and graced him with a bright smile. “Come in.” She preceded him and hoped he would follow. When he trotted after her, she motioned him to a table. “What brings you in today?”
“Priscilla said I should.”
That stopped Ivy for a moment. Hard to fathom Pricilla Whitaker sending business her way. Ivy gave herself a mental head shake. “Oh, well, can I get you something?”
“Yes, please.” He nodded and sat, hands clasped on the table like a good boy. Ivy almost laughed. He was her last customer of the day. But a customer, even a socially awkward one, was still a customer.
When she waited, he said, “Can I have a cup of tea and one of those?” He pointed to the scones under the glass dome.
“Of course.” Ivy fixed him a soothing blend of chamomile and peppermint tea along with a warmed raspberry scone on a sturdy stoneware plate, and brought it out as his left foot bounced under the table.
Brantley was always so solemn. People considered him offish, but Ivy suspected he was just shy. A local silversmith, specializing in eighteenth century reproductions, he had a studio workshop two blocks off the square. She’d seen him play on the Rebels baseball team—well, mostly sit on the bench. They never put him up to bat that she could recall, although she remembered him playing shortstop. Brantley was strong, his art required it of him, but a bit gangly.
He took a sip of tea and a bite of scone. He chewed and swallowed, hard. “Will you go out with me?”
The question caught Ivy off guard. “Oh, I…”
“Are you into history? We could tour a mansion? Here, I mean, not in Newport. I wouldn’t expect you to go to Newport with me.”
“My family owns one of the mansions.”
“Sorry, never mind, you’ve probably seen them already.”
“No, actually. I haven’t toured any. They’ve been under renovation as long as I can remember and only recently opened for tours. My aunt’s part of the Hazard Historical Society, and she’s been after me to see the mansion she manages. Are you familiar with Oleander House?”
“I restored a set of goblets for the historical society and made some re-creation candlesticks for the mantel.”
“Did you? That’s fabulous. Oleander House is completely refurbished. How wonderful that you were part of that. I’ve only seen a couple rooms, but they have a new docent. Sorry, I’m babbling.”
“No,” he said, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I’d love to take you to tour your family’s ancestral home. Oh, that sounded odd. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It sounds lovely. Thank you.”
“How about Thursday? Do they do tours late enough?”
“I’ll check. I’m sure it can be arranged. Thank you for thinking of me.”
Aunt Lydia would be ecstatic, although Ivy wasn’t sure if Malory would. As much as Ivy admired her, Malory remained a formidable enigma, even after their milkshake excursion. But she probably knew Brantley if he’d done silverwork for Oleander House.
What Ivy refused to do was ask Holly’s permission to go on a date. What possible danger could an afternoon house tour represent? She had successfully fended off unwanted advances by the Rebels first, second, and third basemen. Surely she had nothing to worry about with Brantley Mitchell, Rebels’s shortstop.
After Brantley finished up his snack and she closed the door behind him, she called her aunt about touring the mansion Thursday.
“Let me schedule a private tour for you.”
“I don’t like to be a bother. I’d rather join an existing tour if there’s an opening.”
“I’ll check online. Yes, we have a tour with two spots left Thursday at four. If it’s not late enough…”
“I’ll make it work.” She didn’t want to put out her new friend, and alone on a tour with Brantley—well—this was better, to be part of a crowd. Being on a date with an uptight, fidgety person would be better in a group rather than alone, surely.
Ivy was pondering this when Jaxon stopped outside her door. One look at him, and the tension just drained out of her. He had that effect. She hadn’t realized how anxious her brief time with Brantley had made her.
Jaxon motioned at his dog. “Want to take a turn around the square?”
“Love to.” Ivy grabbed a sweater and locked up. The breezy afternoon was a perfect excuse to step out with the only man she wanted to spend time with. They stepped straight out to the green and began to stroll around the outside. The breeze buffeting in gusts, Ivy smoothed her hair, but tendrils escaped from her ponytail until she gave up and set it free.
The expression on Jaxon’s face was priceless.
“You didn’t know, did you?”
He opened his mouth and closed it. “What do you mean?” His eyes on her hair, as it churned like Medusa’s in a tempest, made Ivy laugh. “That I’m a wild woman?”
His eyes grew warmer as he gazed at her. “Wild, is that so?”
“I keep it tamed, but on a day like this?” She shrugged. “Why try?”
“You should let your hair down more often.”
“Figuratively or literally?”
“Both.”
They walked companionably along Worthy Street, Montgomery trotting ahead and occasionally pausing to sniff. They turned at Endeavor, passing the thrift store. At Throckmorton Grocery, Montgomery strained at his leash, but Jaxon held him in check.
“The grocery must smell good to him.”
“It’s the meat counter, and the fresh fish.” At Toby and Mac’s, the dog settled.
“I heard our barkeeps may tie the knot.”
“Seriously? Mackenna doesn’t seem the marrying type, but I’m not much for town gossip.”
“I hear it in the tea shop.”
“I try to avoid it.”
Ivy tilted her head in an unspoken question.
“I don’t like how I figure into it, like I’m pathetic.”
“No one thinks that.”
He raised a skeptical brow. “I’ll need to move for a fresh start. Can’t remake yourself in a small town.”
“I’ve lived here since fifth grade and remade myself many times.”
At Jaxon’s raised brow, she added, “You want a rundown?”
“I do, I really do.”
“In middle school I was very into mermaids, so my mom helped me color my hair blue green. By the time I got to ninth grade, I had changed that up for a fascination with mythology and wood nymphs.”
“Nymphs?”
At his joking leer, she laughed. “Not that kind of nymph. I was only fourteen. Don’t tease; this was serious stuff. I fancied myself a dryad, you know, like the spirits of trees. On May Day, I passed out flowers.”
“How did that go over with your classmates?”
“You can imagine, can’t you? Although I will say, they all wanted a flower. They thought I was crazy, but they didn’t want to be excluded from my flower-bestowing. Holly ran with the popular crowd, so I was a continual embarrassment.”
“You were imaginative.”
“By the time I graduated, I had changed it up again, and I was all about the environment and saving the forests. After graduation, I bumped around for a few years volunteering in the community and trying different jobs. I worked briefly in a Goth clothing store. I was a receptionist at a veterinary clinic. I waited tables at Leo’s diner. Finally, I went away and took business classes before I came back home to open the tea shop. In fact, this spring, I believe it’s time for a new me. Perhaps it’s time for a new you, too.” Or a new us.
Jaxon fell silent and focused on Montgomery trotting along, blissfully unaware of the sudden undercurrent between them. Had she shared too much? Jaxon was so easy to talk to. He always acted so interested in what she had to say.
Jaxon glanced over at her and, for an instant, she got lost in his eyes.
He coughed and took a breath. “I love springtime,” he said. “The wind—what is it with wind and springtime?”
“Winds of change bring the hope and promise of what will be.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that. About…change.”
“I like change,” Ivy said decisively.
“You do?” He angled his head, and Ivy had to think about her statement. “Change within parameters. I love it here in Hazard. I don’t plan to change that. I do enjoy changing up my menu and planning for the future.”
“About that.”
“Thank you for the new lease. I feel secure knowing it’s squared away. Such a good omen. Business has picked up. I can’t believe how transformative new menu items are. I should’ve done it long ago. I even had a new customer from out of town, who’s purchasing property in the area.”
She cast a side glance at Jaxon who started coughing again. Ivy patted him on the back. “Are you alright?”
Jaxon made a strangled sound, even as he kept walking. Montgomery stopped to sniff the grass. “Did he say what his name was?”
“Derrick, I think. He only wanted a scone, said he wasn’t much of a tea drinker. I tried to convince him to try a cup of a new blend I’ve been working on. I just added some Earl Grey to it. I expect I’ll have it perfected soon. I used to love chemistry class and this feels a little bit like that.”
At Jaxon’s expression of genuine interest, Ivy tingled to her toes. “You want to know about my tea blend?”
“Sure.”
“Lots of science involved. I’m working to create an aromatic calming combination. I’ve decided to establish a house blend and thought I would name the best ones I’ve created so far. But naming is harder than I thought it would be.”
“Like what have you come up with?”
“Peacemaker?”
Jaxon shook his head.
“How about Serenity?”
“That was a sci-fi movie.”
“You would know that. Okay, how about Quietude? Calm with attitude?”
Jaxon shook his head in mock horror.
Ivy laughed. “Okay, so, not good.”
“What if you incorporated the history of the area? Georgian Colonial blend or Rebel blend,” he suggested.
“I’d need to do more research.” Ivy was delighted with the idea of a Georgian Colonial blend. It was right in step with what she’d suggested at the board meeting. Her mind took off imagining her successful new tea blend at the fundraiser, combined with her scones and savory sandwiches. But which scone and which sandwich and…
Jaxon was watching her.
“Sorry, my mind’s running a mile a minute. I offered to help with refreshments for the fundraiser. I can’t wait to introduce my new Georgian Colonial blend.” She gave a happy little jump.
“Excellent idea.” As Jaxon gazed at Ivy, he knew he needed to share that he was leaving, but she was so caught up in the moment. He hated to rain on her enthusiasm.
“You inspired it,” she said.
“Me?” Jaxon opened his mouth to admit he was leaving, but choked on the words. He couldn’t bear to dim the light in her eyes.
“You’re good for me.”
Jaxon ignored the voice of self-recrimination and focused on Ivy’s zeal instead. “Tell me more about the fundraiser.”