Chapter Nineteen
B rantley insisted on picking Ivy up for their date at her apartment, but she convinced him to meet at the tea shop. He drove up in a restored Model T Ford.
“Oh, my, this is lovely.”
“I like restoration.”
“An old-fashioned kind of guy.”
Brantley ducked his head. He was silent on the drive out, which didn’t surprise Ivy. He came across as reserved, but the silence didn’t feel companionable like it did with Jaxon. This was strained to the point where Brantley’s angst began to affect her. Ivy breathed a relieved sigh when they reached Oleander House.
The others had arrived, with Malory waiting only on Ivy and Brantley. Ivy started to apologize, but at Brantley’s stiff posture fell silent, intuitively aware that apologizing would embarrass him. A private tour might’ve been better, but Ivy was just as glad to be part of the group.
She scoped out their tour companions. First was a couple in their sixties, formally attired for their anniversary celebration after, followed by a bevy of women in jeans, tank tops, and flirty dresses, all clearly together on a girls’ trip. Overall, a total of eight made a fairly comfortable turnout to tour a mansion that hadn’t even had its grand opening yet.
Malory was gracious, if overly solemn. Ivy could see why Hazel didn’t favor her delivery, especially for Sundial Sands, but for Oleander House it worked, due to the mansion’s murky past. In dour tones, Malory relayed the mansion’s history, how Laurent LaFleur, fourth son of Henri and Giselle LaFleur, arrived in 1785 to make his fortune in the new world. His interest in shipping led him to commission ships to carry ginseng from the new world to China and bring tea, tableware, and spices to America. Laurent planned to bring his betrothed over, but she perished with her family and his in the French Revolution when his family’s ancestral home was set aflame by an angry mob.
As the only remaining son to carry on the family name, he married a local girl, but the union ended tragically when she died of tea made from oleander leaves after the birth of their only child. The son took over the flourishing shipping company and christened the mansion Oleander House in homage to his mother.
Hmm, wondered Ivy, was owning a tea shop in poor taste considering her family history? Or did it bring the family history full circle?
Ivy adored traipsing through the rooms. Malory had done a stunning job showcasing tableware and sharing the history of the family’s business. She related the stories of the marriages down through history. Ivy’s Irish father wasn’t mentioned but her mother was, having lived in the house as a toddler raised by Aunt Lydia until the house was shut down forty years ago when the upkeep grew too expensive.
Malory drew attention to Brantley’s work and introduced him to the other tour members.
He blushed a deep red at being singled out. Malory singled out Ivy as well, making the others laugh and look askance when she mentioned her tea shop. Clearly, naming a blend for Oleander House was out of the question. What the tour lacked was a gift shop. Ivy planned to suggest it to the historical society.
She wasn’t sure what Brantley had in mind next. He was so quiet. But he took her on a leisurely drive along the cliff, and it was breathtaking and beautiful, but also hushed and awkward. They wound up at Toby and Mac’s, which seemed an odd choice, as the pub was known for being loud and lively. Brantley didn’t seem the type, but he had her car door open and ushered her inside so quickly it left no chance to suggest another venue.
Music was several decibels above conversation level, blasting out “Rock and a Hard Place.” Ivy spotted three of the Roadies in skinny jeans and halter tops huddled at the bar. Brantley pulled Ivy behind him to tuck in at a teetering table in an alcove. When Mac swung by, Brantley ordered mussels and mojitos for two. Ivy almost spoke up but shrugged it off. She was oddly relieved to see Jaxon at the table with Roman, now free of his crutches. She could just make out a bit of their conversation, of Roman talking a mile a minute about door latches.
After ordering, Brantley excused himself, and the Roadies descended on Ivy’s table.
“So, Ive, we see you’re hangin’ with the Rebels’s shortstop,” said Nell, star hitter for the Roadies and leader of Hazard’s road crew.
“Have a seat,” Ivy said to the three women, who had already collected chairs and made themselves comfy at her table the minute Brantley was out of sight.
“How’s it going?” asked Tessa, eyeing Ivy intently.
Mimicking them, Ivy leaned in. “Why the interest?”
“Oh, well, we were all in Cece’s when Dina came in, and you know Dina,” said Tylene.
“We just wanted to warn you,” said Nell.
“About?”
“Brantley,” they chimed in unison.
“Solidarity, you understand,” Tylene said.
“We like you, and we get that you’re makin’ the rounds and all.”
Ivy’s gaze swiveled back to Nell. “The rounds?”
“With the Rebel hotties.”
“Oh, well…”
“No worries, it’s cool,” continued Nell.
“We did too when we first moved here. They’re good-lookin’ guys, but…” Tylene snorted, “they tend to represent the positions they play a teeny bit too well.”
Nods followed all around.
Nell must’ve read Ivy’s look of confusion. “Kyle’s the pitcher and, boy, did he throw out at Pedro. Pedro’s a hard hitter.”
Ivy blanched. “Surely they didn’t hit you when you went out?”
“No, we’re talking ’bout the brawl.”
Ivy nodded. “Ah, Dina.”
“She’s the blabbiest,” said Tessa. “But you know how, like, Roman goes for first base and Joel’s a second base kind of guy.”
“And Rob goes straight for third base?” finished Ivy.
“See, I knew she’d get it,” said Tylene to the others.
Brantley still wasn’t back, and Ivy was having fun now. “Okay, so Brantley plays short stop, right? So does he stop short?”
Nell let out a hoot. “No, Ive, no, no, no. Brant’s the master of the double play. You’ll need to watch yourself from all sides. Well, unless you’re into that, which is cool, too. That’s all we wanted to say.”
“Bye!” They jumped up and scurried back to the bar, just as Brantley got back to the table in time for Mackenna to swing by with his order.
Brantley slurped mussels while Ivy sipped her mojito. When she stood and excused herself to use the restroom, Brantley rose. Ivy thought he was being polite, but the creepy factor rose exponentially as he trailed her down the long hallway. When she glanced back in question, he stepped close and said, “I had a nice time.”
“I did too, Brantley.”
Suddenly, he transformed into octopus man, his strong hands coming at her, aiming for second and third base. Ivy stumbled backward and found herself trapped between her date and a brick wall. She cast her gaze in search of a way to sidestep, but Brantley loomed. She immediately understood why the Roadies had warned her. Ivy put her hand out to nudge him back.
“Hey, Brant.”
Someone slapped Brantley on the back. Ivy peered past his shoulder and was never more grateful to see Jaxon in her life. Roman was there, too, and easing Brantley to the side to pull him into a conversation. Their agile moves gave Ivy enough space to slip out and hightail it for the women’s while Roman talked a steady stream and Jaxon steered Brantley toward the front.
Alone, Ivy stared at herself in the mirror in the glaring light. How she hated the dating game’s expectations and posturing. All at once, everything Holly said about the dangers of dating flooded her thoughts. Ivy leaned on the sink and took a breath. Steadier, she stepped in the hallway and out the back into the night.
As the door slammed shut, a deep voice rumbled. “You okay?”
Ivy jumped and let out a squeal.
“Whoa, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Hand on her chest trying to calm her raging heartbeat, Ivy recognized Jaxon. He was leaning against the building, the concern in his eyes clear. Her heart rate eased at the realization he had been waiting to make certain she was all right. She let out a breath and nodded. “You knew I’d abscond.”
“He deserves it,” said Jaxon in a growl of disapproval, as he pushed off from the wall.
“He still in there?”
“Roman will keep him occupied all evening. He’s good at that.”
Ivy and Jaxon fell into step and rounded the building to the square. “If we’re walking, do you want to get Montgomery?” she asked.
“Nah, he’s on a playdate.” Ivy knew she must’ve appeared confused when he added, “With Cece’s dogs.”
“Ah.” Ivy blew out a sigh when she spotted the town green and the statue. With Jaxon at her side, she didn’t want to be anywhere else.
“Are you sure you’re okay? He’s lousy with social signals.”
“Thanks for the rescue. Do you do this for all of Brantley’s dates?”
“Can I ask why you went out with him?”
“I’m pretty sure Priscilla set me up.”
“Pris, as in Alden’s mom?”
“Long story,” said Ivy at Jaxon’s raised eyebrow.
“I’ve got time.”
“It’s a high school story,” said Ivy.
“Okay, I’ve got lots of time.” Jaxon grinned.
Ivy studied him to see if he was serious before she shrugged and launched into the small-town dynamics of going through school with people you’d known your whole life.
Jaxon shook his head in wonder. “I must’ve moved a dozen times as a kid. I never experienced half that.”
“Lucky you,” Ivy joked.
He tilted his head. “Not really.”
“Was it hard to be the new kid?”
“Harder to always be the new kid. That’s why I hoped I could belong here.”
“You do belong here.”
Jaxon shook his head. “Not like you.” He gazed at her in a way Ivy couldn’t fathom, with longing and sadness.
“Here’s your tea shop and your car. I should let you go.” He gave a nod and raised a hand in farewell. “Until the fundraiser.”
He strode off before Ivy could invite him in. She shrugged, tucked herself inside her tea shop, and decided to relegate her miserable date to a lesson learned and use the time to create an ideal tea blend. She needed it ready for the fundraiser. Instead, she found herself mixing up dough for her Very Special Cookies. She knew it was a bad idea, an addiction she should forgo. Every time she baked the cookies it went awry, her serene life growing more complex with each batch. She couldn’t stop herself. She knew the recipe by heart.
Drafts kicked up as she stirred, alternately pulling and pushing at the glass door until the building breathed.
Ivy started out humming and then sang. Rain tapping in sprinkles expanded to splashy droplets blown sideways, splatting on the picture window.
Swaying in time to the gusts rattling the door, she started to dance. Electric air sizzled.
Ivy let her hair swing loose. In riotous waves around her head, it began to float.
Lightning cracked, illuminating the tea shop in stark clarity.
Thunder answered. Its deep rumbles reminded her of Jaxon’s voice reverberating within her when he spoke, how he’d rescued her and made her safe. How his presence protected her from Brantley’s unwelcome advances.
Had she given out the wrong signals? On every date? She should speak up, be more assertive. She’d meant to, but she had spent the last three years perfecting her welcoming demeanor as she built up an essentially superfluous business in a small town. Had dating again all been a colossal waste of time? None of these guys were Jaxon. Somehow, even when she didn’t speak up, Jaxon was in tune. He knew.
Would she give these cookies to Jaxon? Should she even try?
She had no clue what the results of this night would be. Maybe she’d eat all the cookies. She could be devoted to herself, selfish, doing as she pleased, caring not a whit what anyone else thought. That sounded magnificent. But she knew it would never happen. It simply was not who she was.
Tonight felt portentous, larger, more. Somehow her business depended on this night going forward. And that made no sense whatsoever. So, in the midst of the biggest storm yet this month, Ivy came into her own. With a generous smattering of nutmeg, she mixed and she chilled the dough. She sang and she shaped the cookies. She used the time in between to create the most perfect of all tea blends and she knew it was right. It was the one, her own unique tea blend, featuring all her favorites: Darjeeling and mint, oolong and clove, a touch of tangerine, with three secret dashes of this, that, and the other. A secret blend.
To the crack of lightning and rumble of thunder, the blessing flowed forth from her lips in melody, her feet tapping out the rhythm in dance. As she pressed the pattern—the most perfect pattern—and sprinkled cardamom, she relived her life, remembering childhood joy, teenage angst, and the freedom of adulthood. To percussive wind, harmony of storm, and melody of the Hazard Blessing, she baked cookies, celebrating all that life had to offer, and each tray revealed cookies of absolute, flawless perfection.
She let them cool and set about making herself a pot with her new blend. She chose her ivy-patterned teapot. Wind swirled and eased, the rattling door a past phenomenon. Calm now, she packed the cookies in a plain white bakery box and tied it with a green velvet ribbon, then decided on the ideal name for her new blend. She didn’t know what she was doing, but she was doing it anyway. Perhaps it should be her new motto. Somehow, somewhere, some way, everyone needed to do the same.
Find Your Way.
Ivy set the box of her latest batch of magical cookies under the counter and stepped out onto the dampened sidewalk, the clouds dark and drifting silently above. She drove home through the sleeping town to her lonely apartment. When she arrived to trudge up the metal grillwork steps and let herself into her place, Holly’s light was off, her sister’s apartment quiet and still. But that was to be expected. Ivy hadn’t asked her sister to wait up, to make certain she made it home safe.