Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Alight snowfall began as Andrea followed the GPS’s directions and wound through the rest of Maple Crossing’s main street offerings, noting the location of the town’s market, which she planned to visit first thing in the morning to get all of the supplies she would need to continue her experimental baking.
Eight minutes later, she turned onto the festively named Cranberry Drive and found herself facing a row of five connected townhouses, each painted a different muted color—sage green, cream, dusty blue, pale yellow, and dove gray.
They were charming in an understated way, with small front porches and window boxes that probably burst with flowers in the warmer months.
Marren’s was the sage green one, second from the left, with an enormous silk poinsettia wreath mounted to the front door and two miniature potted Christmas trees stationed on either side of the front steps, their boughs wrapped tightly in white fairy lights.
Andrea pulled into the narrow driveway leading to a one-car garage bay, and noted how quiet and peaceful everything seemed in the snow-covered neighborhood.
The development sat on the outskirts of Maple Crossing and appeared to have a mix of housing options, with single-family homes built alongside duplexes and matching rows of townhomes.
The streets were well-plowed and easy to navigate, though a fresh layer of snow was beginning to dust the walkways and porches.
She grabbed Crumpet’s leash and her carry-on bag, deciding to leave the rest of her luggage until she’d had a chance to explore inside.
“All right, this is home sweet home for the next three weeks. Time to go check it out,” she said as she opened the door and let Crumpet out.
He pranced as his paws hit the snow-dusted driveway and she smiled, thinking back to the brief conversation with the handsome man at the coffee shop. What had Maya called him?
She’d been … distracted.
“Oh, well,” she said on a sigh of puffy white breath. “It’s not like it matters. I’m not going to see him again. It’s probably not that small of a town.”
Besides, she’d sworn off men.
Even ones who smelled like a forest after the rain.
Right.
With a soft tug on Crumpet’s leash, she dismissed all thoughts of cedar-scented aftershave, dimpled smiles, and thick dark hair, and carefully made her way up the half dozen steps to the cheerfully decorated front porch.
A welcome mat declared: “All Guests Must Be Approved By The Cat” with little cat paw-print silhouettes framing the words.
Andrea smiled to herself as she stomped her boots off on the mat and slipped the key into the deadbolt. “Let’s hope we pass the test.”
The front door opened directly into a cozy living room with exposed wooden beams and the stone fireplace she’d admired from the rental listing photos.
A pair of bookshelves stood against one wall, packed with an eclectic mix of novels, cookbooks, and what appeared to be several collections of volumes on various subjects, from herbalism and spell crafting to folktales and mythologies.
A comfortable-looking sofa faced the fireplace, with a soft throw blanket draped over one arm, a TV on a cabinet beside it.
Andrea leaned down and started to unclip Crumpet’s leash. “Now, remember, if you see a cat, behave yourself,” she said before turning him loose.
The dog made a beeline for the couch and immediately set about determining which cushion he preferred, a test which largely consisted of flopping about like a freshly caught trout.
Andrea shook her head, a bemused smile on her face, and shucked off her boots. On socked feet, she took herself on a mini tour of the main level, pausing in the kitchen to run her fingers along the soapstone countertops and hammered bronze apron sink.
She murmured to herself as she opened a few cabinets to check the cookware situation. She was inspecting the weight of a ten-inch saucepan when a soft thud from somewhere in the next room made her freeze.
Crumpet barked once, then whimpered and came scrambling into the kitchen, his tail tucked.
Alarmed, Andrea set the pan on the stovetop and kneeled down to inspect the trembling dog. “What is it?” she asked.
“Finally,” came a distinctly unimpressed voice from the hallway. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost or driven yourself into a snowbank.”
Andrea’s mouth fell open as a large black cat sashayed into the kitchen with the regal bearing of a panther. His bright green eyes fixed on her with an expression that somehow managed to convey both boredom and mild disdain.
Andrea blinked. “You can talk?”
“Obviously.” The cat ignored Crumpet’s low growl and began to slowly circle them with the self-important air of a regional health inspector. “My name is Phantom. And no, I don’t care for opera music, nor do I care what you do with box number five, before you try that tired old trope.”
“Right. Somehow, Marren left out the talking detail,” Andrea muttered, already reaching for her phone.
“She must have also left out the part about being here to feed me my supper. I take it promptly at five o’clock, and as you can see, you’re cutting it a tad closer than I’d prefer.”
Andrea glanced down at her phone and frowned. “It’s barely half past four.”
“Precisely.” Phantom flicked his tail and lifted his nose into the air. “Marren feeds me a can of tuna every night. There’s a stack of cans in the pantry cabinet. The ones packed in oil are for me. The watery ones are hers.” He twitched his whiskers with keen disapproval.
Crumpet growled as the cat prowled closer, though he went scrambling behind Andrea’s legs when his warning proved entirely ineffective.
“Hey, now,” Andrea warned, giving the cat a look. “Give him some space.”
“What, has he never met a cat before?” Phantom scoffed and whipped his tail once more.
“Not an indoor one,” Andrea replied, still flicking through her texts to find the thread with Marren. Her stomach clenched at the reminder to listen to Martina’s voicemail, but she quickly zoomed past it.
Phantom’s whiskers twitched as he got closer to Crumpet, who was doing his best impression of a statue. “What is that smell?”
“He just had a bath yesterday!” Andrea protested, momentarily pausing her search.
“In what? A vat of lavender-scented Pine-Sol?”
Andrea bristled. “No. Doggie shampoo. It’s an oat and lavender blend.”
“Was it from the dollar store? Marren made the mistake of trying their shampoo once. It was horrendous!”
Andrea’s eyes narrowed as she considered the cat. “No. It’s from the farmer’s market, actually. It’s an all-organic blend and it costs sixty dollars a bottle, if you must know.”
“Sixty dollars? For dog shampoo?” Phantom sat back on his haunches, looking genuinely appalled.
His expression quickly shifted, and he eyed her with new appreciation.
“Although perhaps we could strike a deal. I’ll play nice with the pooch, and you buy me a month’s worth of the good salmon Marren insists she can’t afford! ”
“What the—” Andrea’s mouth dropped open, flabbergasted at being hustled by a talking cat three minutes into her vacation. Before she could formulate a complete response, her phone buzzed with a text. It was from Marren and included a photo of Andrea’s in-ground pool:
Made it to LA! Your place is gorgeous. Thanks again for this!
Andrea glanced at Phantom, who was still looking at her with dollar signs in his green eyes. “It’s Marren,” she said. “Here, let me send her a photo of you so she knows you’re safe and sound.”
She left off the and annoying part, figuring the cat was already aware.
“Of me? Wait!” Phantom immediately struck a pose, chin lifted and tail curved elegantly like a question mark. “Get my good side. The right side makes my whiskers look uneven.”
Andrea couldn’t help but laugh as she snapped the photo. She quickly typed back:
You mentioned the cat, but not that he could talk.
The response came almost immediately:
Sorry! I did threaten to put him on diet kibble until his birthday if he misbehaves for you. So keep me posted.
“Diet kibble?” Phantom repeated as Andrea read it aloud. “The audacity! I’m practically wasting away as it is!”
He most assuredly was not, but Andrea was against body-shaming, regardless of species, so she kept her opinion to herself.
Phantom’s whiskers continued to twitch as he muttered further complaints under his breath, but he gave Crumpet a withering glance and a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, I’ll play nice with the pooch. Though I can tell that his perfume—organic or not—is going to wreak havoc on my allergies!”
He turned and sauntered from the kitchen, his tail flicking back and forth in his furry wake. “Now, I suppose I could spare a few minutes before supper to show you around.”
Andrea looked down at Crumpet, who whined.
“Come on,” she said, scratching under his furry chin. “It’ll be all right. I think he’s more bark than bite.”
“I heard that!” Phantom called from the other room. “And it was highly offensive, I’ll have you know!”
With Phantom eager to get to his evening meal, he kept the tour brief, pointing out the essentials with the efficiency of an uninspired real estate agent.
Three cozy bedrooms dominated the second level of the home, only two of which were set up with beds.
The third was a study, with more bookshelves, a tidy desk, and well-worn leather chair.
The primary bedroom was only slightly larger than the other two rooms, but had its own private bathroom.
The third level was more of a loft space, with a pitched ceiling that made it impossible to stand to her full five-foot-nine height, and seemed to be used as a storage space, with neat stacks of plastic organizer tubs lining each side of the room, a narrow walkway between them where the ceiling was highest.