Chapter Twenty-Two
J axon had enough. He couldn’t wait to leave Hazard. He hadn’t been able to bear telling Ivy the truth about leaving, and she took that as a slight. Seriously, he’d tried to spare her. Let her be—what—happy?
Jaxon let out a grown. What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t, that’s all—at least not with his head. Of course she felt slighted. He let out a shuddering sigh. She was mad and rightly so. He might as well skip right on out of here. He had a job lined up. An apartment. He could design actual houses instead of small remodels. So what if they were unimaginative, cookie-cutter houses? Small and cramped and affordable. That’s right, he was off to save the world by designing affordable housing.
Of course, his idea of an affordable house and his soon-to-be employer’s idea were vastly different. He wouldn’t be in charge. A job was a job, and it would further his career until he could make enough money to buy land to build his own not-so-affordable house. He needed a serious job, working for a serious corporation, to do that.
Was he selling out? Or being smart? Candace would’ve said he was being smart. Unfortunately, she hadn’t lived to see it.
Ivy would say—what?
He had a meeting with the Realtor to sign the final paperwork. To sell his building to Derrick Cross. He just needed to find his way.
*
Ivy had done it. She had banished Jaxon Langford from her mind, and sampled her signature tea blend. It was better than Find Your Way. A touch sweet, a touch earthy, and a touch wholesome. A bit like herself. She never considered herself earthy before. But after Saturday’s stint in the oleanders, she had a new rapport with nature. She was connected to the earth, safe, and at home on the planet.
She fretted over the mysteriously missing cookies. Even after quizzing Malory, she had no clue who took them.
She frowned. She just needed someone to test out her new concoction. Ah, here was a customer—a dark-haired, dark-eyed, classically handsome male. Her new bell tinkled when he walked into her shop—a repeat customer Ivy recognized from the other day. He was here and she was in business yet for a while.
“Welcome.”
He gave an abrupt nod. She ushered him over to her favorite corner table in a little patch of sunlight with the best view of the square. Sunlight cast the man’s features in sharp relief. He radiated danger, incongruous with such a handsome face.
“What can I get you today? I have a signature tea blend.”
“Coffee.”
Ivy shook her head. At his incredulity, she explained, “This is a tea shop.”
“Fine, I’ll try your signature whatever.” At his impatient, dismissive gesture, Ivy decided to win him over. Her new blend really was extraordinary.
When Ivy brought it over on a tray, he ignored the sugar and cream and drank it straight. She had steeped it dark, as that brought out its aromatic earthiness. She stood back, confident. She had spoken the blessing over her blend while she mixed it.
He took a drink and coughed, “Ugh, what is this?”
“It’s tea, my signature blend. It’s…”
“Awful.”
Ivy stood up straighter. “It—isn’t.” It wasn’t. It really wasn’t. It could only be awful to an awful person. She narrowed her eyes. She was through being intimidated by pushy people.
“Bring me something else, something more like coffee, something bitter.”
She whisked the tray away, content not to waste her best creation on the undeserving. She brewed him a pot of boring orange pekoe, inferior to everything else in her shop, and placed it before him.
He ignored her and sipped. “Much better.”
When Jaxon strolled into view—despite her annoyance with him, Ivy still was attuned to his presence in the vicinity—the man flung some bills on the table. He stopped Jaxon outside. Figures Jaxon would keep company with such a disagreeable individual.
Cece slipped in the door as the two men strode off down the street. “You know who that was, don’t you?”
Ivy shook her head.
“Derrick Cross—our soon-to-be landlord.”
Oh no , thought Ivy. What have I done? “Cece, could you try my new blend of tea and tell me what you think?” Ivy poured a cup and Cece took a sip.
“Oh my, that’s enchanting. It’s better than any tea blend I’ve ever had. Needs a touch of sugar, though. You know how I like my tea just the tiniest bit sweet.” She added a generous dollop to her cup and stirred, the silver spoon tinkling pleasantly against the bone china. Cece took another swallow. “My goodness, the second sip is even better than the first. It’s absolute perfection. What are you calling this charming creation?”
Ivy considered before settling on a name. “I’m calling it…Magical.” She gave a decisive nod. “Because it brings out your true self.”
*
Jaxon walked with Derrick to the Realtor’s office. Time to close the momentous deal he had labored toward for months. Finally, he’d be free to move on. So, why did it feel dreadful? Derrick Cross, soon to be sole owner of his building, didn’t act any happier than he did. He acted perplexed, instead of his usual assertive self. Jaxon had seen him exit the tea shop. He wondered what it was about Derrick’s experience that had left him quietly disconcerted. They spoke little on the way over. Which suited Jaxon fine. He needed time to think.
He glanced back at the tea shop, at Ivy framed by frilly lace curtains in her picture window, chatting with Cece and pouring tea from a flowered pot, sunlight glinting off her honey-toned hair. The scene beckoned, inviting him to realize all he’d lost. He almost turned back, but instead he lengthened his stride to keep in step with Derrick.
He’d made his decision, a choice that shattered his last chance with Ivy. So, fine, he would do right by himself.
They passed Hollister’s Bakery with its long queue, patrons obediently taking a number to wait their turn for baked bread and pastries, birthday cakes, and pies. People celebrating joyful lives.
Keeping in stride, he passed Cece’s Salon, stylists clipping and cutting, primping the population of Hazard into their best selves.
His own office came into view. Tiny and simple, he’d had good years designing kitchen remodels, garage apartments, and expansions for homes with growing families. He’d contributed to the community, made his mark, belonged.
Jaxon halted.
A yellow school bus full of kids rounded the corner. Boys he coached in Little League waved at him from the half-open windows. He raised a hand. Derrick scowled.
Jaxon remained glued to the sidewalk. If he accepted the Boston job, would he lose his joy, like Derrick? Why exactly was Derrick Cross so determined to buy up property in Hazard?
Not speaking, they crossed the street to the realty office. When the brunette receptionist gave a cheerful smile, Derrick turned on his charm. Jaxon recognized a man with a hidden agenda, and he wanted no part in it. He simply could not risk the livelihoods of his tenants. Not for a selfish move he no longer needed to make.
The complication was that he had accepted Derrick’s offer on the property. All that remained was signing the final documents. If he didn’t sign, what then? Would he be in breach of contract? The contract wasn’t actually signed. He hadn’t yet relinquished his rights to the property.
Jaxon turned to Derrick, who was bestowing his oily smile on the unsuspecting receptionist. Preening at his attention, the young woman ushered them into the thickly carpeted back office where the blazer-clad Realtor, Sally Song, waited with a bespectacled notary behind a polished teakwood desk.
Jaxon sat in a padded oxblood chair, a substantial stack of paperwork placed before him. He took his time to read through each page one last time. Even as his eyes flowed over the words, his life in Hazard replayed in his mind. When had he begun to belong? How had he not realized?
Derrick Cross shifted in impatience, his sneering lips pinched closed, somehow knowing now was not the time to push. Over the page in his hand, Jaxon studied the man he’d once thought was the answer to his dreams. Derrick Cross, moneyed, well-dressed, rigid, harsh, secretive. How had he ever thought he could work with him? How had he ever thought to foist this discontented man on his friends and neighbors?
On Ivy.
“Deal’s off.”
Derrick swiveled in his direction, all oily charm evaporated. “You can’t do that.”
“I’m not selling. I’ve changed my mind.”
“We have an agreement. The notary is here.”
Jaxon stood, took the paperwork in hand, and looked Derrick straight in the eyes. “No deal.”
Derrick grabbed for the paperwork. Jaxon held it. Keeping his gaze on Derrick, he deliberately tore the documents in half.
Derrick Cross narrowed his eyes. “You know what this means.”
Jaxon raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll find another piece of property. Little by little, I will buy up this wretched town and transform it. I’ll wrest it out of its revolting past and force it into this century. I’ll bring in modern businesses that people want to patronize and force out all those horrible mom-and-pop shops.”
“Those mom-and-pop shops are the charm of Hazard.”
Derrick scoffed, “I’ll turn this place into a profitable enterprise, not this century’s old, closed club. It’ll be…”
“…like everywhere else?”
“That’s right.” Lip curling, Derrick glowered.
“You’ll fail.”
“You watch.” He pivoted abruptly but halted at the door. “Oh, and Langford, you can consider your new position terminated. You cancel this sale…your job offer?” Derrick made a sign with his fingers of it going up in smoke. “Good luck with your life here for as long as that lasts.”
Derrick stormed out, and Jaxon turned to the Realtor. “Sorry about your commission.”
Sally shrugged. “I just completed the sale on the Hazard Inn. I’ll be all right.”
Jaxon nodded to her and the notary, and left. Time to put his life back together.