Chapter 19 Gwendolyn
Gwendolyn
“Gwen! I swear you are doing pure witchcraft with that espresso machine.”
I grin at Mary Weaver from across the counter, pulling a double shot for another of our specials for the day.
One of my favorite things to do is create new drinks to pair with whatever Ophelia whips up in the kitchen.
Since everyone is going feral over her apple tarts lately, I tried my hand at an apple crumble latte.
“That is high praise coming from you.” I pour the shots into a cup and start to steam the milk. The temperature had dipped today, and it was hot lattes galore with the customers. “I was excited to see your name on the booth signup this year.”
“You know I live for this event. It’s the best time to get people to try out my expertise without feeling overly pressured.
You know, some people just don’t want to know the truth.
Nonsense, if you ask me. Better to be prepared than not, I say.
” She taps her long purple fingernail on the counter, emphasizing her point.
“You know I’ll be lined up and ready for a reading,” I promise her. I finish up the latte and hand it over to the customer waiting patiently at the pickup counter. Walking back over to Mary, she doesn’t waste any time grabbing my hand to inspect my palm.
“You know, I’ve been getting these feelings when I come in here lately.” She traces my heart line before closing my fingers over it and tapping it three times before letting go.
“What have I told you, Mary? Unfortunately, we don’t play for the same team.” I grin at her.
She shrugs, the beads on her shawl clinking together as she moves her upper body. “Honey, you couldn’t handle it even if you did. A cougar like me would eat you alive.” She leans in a bit and whispers. “But you’d like it,” she adds with a wink.
I giggle. “I’m sure I would.”
“I’m serious, though. There’s this warmth coming from you. It feels…” she waves her hands in front of her trying to come up with the right word. “Hopeful. Like a new beginning is coming for you.”
“This opportunity to help plan the fall festival is probably what you are feeling.”
Mary cocks her hip and stares at me for a moment before shaking her head. “It’s more than that, though I have to admit I think it’s connected. Why don’t you stop by soon, and we can do a reading?”
“You know I save my one and only tarot pull for the festival. Let’s not mess with tradition.”
She huffs. “Knowledge is power, girl! The more you know—”
“The more I’ll hyperfixate and get nothing done,” I interrupt with a pointed finger in her direction. “We both remember what happened the one time I went rogue and requested an extra reading for the new year.”
Mary smirks. “I pulled The High Priestess and told you to trust your intuition. Not my fault you muddled your intuition by overthinking every moment after that.”
“I was a basket case. Piper was about to divorce me as her best friend!”
She raises her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. But I’ll be waiting for you on festival day. I’m all too eager to pull your cards.”
One of my regulars stops by for a refill on drip coffee, and I break away from Mary, who gets into a discussion with a group of young women in town on a bachelorette trip.
They overheard her talking about tarot and eagerly requested to book a visit while they were in town.
I smile to myself, loving yet another moment when being part of a small town is beautiful.
“Hey, Gwenny.” Ophelia pops through with a tray of fresh treats for me to set up in the bakery case. “Will you be okay by yourself for a bit before Piper gets in?” She glances at her watch and winces.
I glance over at my grandmother, as effortlessly beautiful as ever in her jeans and oversized sweater.
Her long silver hair twisted into a claw clip.
She has a natural youthfulness to her that we were always reminded by locals on how grateful we should be to get her genes.
Only in her mid-sixties, Ophelia was still young no matter anyone’s standards.
It was always amusing to see people’s faces when they found out she was actually a great-grandmother.
She had our dad at eighteen, then our mom had Jackson at eighteen as well. It was always an unspoken question surrounding our family if one of us would follow in their footsteps. Jackson was only twenty when he found out his girlfriend at the time was pregnant with Rowan.
I look at my grandmother now, and a niggling worry in the back of my mind starts to pop up.
The last few months I had been noticing the dark circles under her eyes and the mild weight loss.
When I brought it up previously, she assured me it was just old age catching up to her.
But something in my gut told me that wasn’t the whole truth.
She rubs at her head now; her face pinched in pain.
I reach out, moving her to get a better look at her eyes. “Are you okay?”
She drops her hand and plasters on an easy smile. “Of course. Just a bit of a headache. I think a little too much time in that hot kitchen lately is getting to me.”
“I told you I can do some more of the baking, Grandma.”
Ophelia waves a hand at me. “And I told you that you already have too much going on. Besides, you know the kitchen is my happy place.”
I nibble on my lip, trying to catalogue all the miniscule differences on her face to see if I’m missing something.
“I promise, I’m okay.” She grabs my upper arms, rubbing them as if to ease my worry with comfort. “I’m just going to head home and take some medicine. I bet that and a nap before I have to pick up the rug rat from dance later will knock it right out.”
I nod my head slowly, skeptical but trusting her judgment. “Okay. Promise to let me know when you get home. And when you wake up.”
“Of course, my girl.” She pecks me on the forehead as she crushes me in a hug.
“You should try those new bath bombs Kennedy sent you for your birthday.”
She grins at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, which are looking dimmer by the minute as her headache clearly grows. “I like the way you think.”
She grabs her bag from the office, and I watch as she dons her sunglasses and steps outside.
The flinch that goes through her as she takes in the brightness has me more concerned than before.
I keep my phone within my eyesight during the ten minutes I know it would take her to get home, promising myself I’ll call at minute eleven after if I haven’t heard from her.
I finally breathe again when I get the text telling me she is home.
I’m so focused on watching for her text that I don’t hear the bell go off overhead the front door.
“Excuse me?”
I jump out of my skin so aggressively that my phone falls out of my hand. I scramble to grab it, but I’m not quick enough, and it loudly clatters to the ground.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath as I pick it up, praying it’s fine. But the spiderweb across the screen puts that prayer to rest.
“That’s embarrassing,” the voice on the other side of the counter snickers, and I’m ready to curse again.
I glare in Camila’s direction, not bothering to cover up my annoyance.
“What do you want?”
She raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. “I don’t think that’s how you should speak to a paying customer. Especially one so–-”
“Bratty? Conceited? Mean?”
“I was going to say influential. But keep it up, little Prescott, we can test my influence in real time. I think Daddy might have the number for the local health inspector lying around. Never know what might be lurking back there.” She flicks her fingers towards the kitchen.
My muscles freeze at the threat. Camila has always been a grade-A mean girl, but that was a hardcore threat even coming from her.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I grit out. My hand clutches around my shattered phone so hard, I can feel the edges of broken glass cutting into my skin.
“Oh, nothing,” she checks out her fingernails, which are painted a perfect pale pink.
“Just making sure you understand where you stand in this town. Just because Mrs. Spencer has taken a weird liking to you, don’t think it’ll change your status around here.
And you can forget about sinking your dirty claws into Logan. ”
I rear back slightly, brows pinching together at the turn of conversation. That’s when it hits me. She’s threatened. By me.
Rolling my lips between my teeth, I try to keep the laughter from bubbling up, but it’s no use. Camila’s eyes blaze with fury as it falls out of me.
“Are you okay? Like, honestly.” I glance around the dining area, making sure no one was paying attention to us. “What the hell are you on?”
“Don’t act like I don’t know what you are scheming. I see the way you look at him. As if he hung the moon just for you. Get a grip, little Prescott. You’ve always had this weird fascination with him. Even after he stood your sorry ass up at graduation.”
My stomach turns sour at the reminder of what happened years ago between Logan and me, which makes me wonder how much she knows. It was probably a funny little story they shared when they were still together.
She tosses her brunette curls over her shoulder, scoffing at how absurd she seems to think I am.
“Anyway, I’m here to pick up some drinks for the guys.
Logan is knee-deep learning the ins and outs at Town Hall with his dad.
It’s so inspiring to see him take charge.
I just wish his mother didn’t sign him up to take on more.
You seem just fine on your own. But I get why she wants to hand him an easy win.
” She sighs wistfully, looks around quickly, and then turns back to me with a full on judgemental gaze.
“Maybe you working for the Spencers will help give you a little… encouragement to do better with your life.”
I doubt I could ever do better in her eyes, whatever that actually means.
The bell over the door rings, and a family comes to stand behind the woman who is making me feel smaller than an ant. I want nothing more than to get her to move on, so I push away any thoughts of responding and go the route that will get her out of my cafe sooner.
“Whatever you say, Camila. What can I get started for you?”
“The usual for me, of course.”
I turn my back so she can’t see me contort my face in a mocking gesture as she talks.
“A vanilla latte for Mr. Mayor. And,” she thinks for a second while I pull the shots. “Let’s do one of those apple drinks for Logan. My fiance has a sweet tooth.” Her giggle grates on my ears as my mind chants that word over and over.
Fiance?
But something about the way she said it gives me pause.
Looking over my shoulder, I glance at her ringless left hand.
“Oh, does he know about that new relationship development? Last I heard, you two weren’t even together anymore.
Haven’t been for years. What was the reason?
” I tap my chin, thinking as I craft the drinks. “That’s right, you cheated on him.”
I know I got her as I watch her natural tan take on a reddish hue. “Well, it’s not official yet. But I bet by the time he takes office, we will be well into planning the wedding.”
I shake my head and quietly finish making the drinks. Setting them on the counter, I ring her up. She taps her card on the reader, her shit-eating grin still sitting on her face. As soon as the screen shows paid, I glance behind her and smile at the family waiting.
“Hi!” I greet brightly. “Welcome to The Willow Whisk. What can I get started for ya?”
The family steps up with the youngest daughter already drooling over the bakery case, tired but happy expressions on their faces.
I don’t dare look away from them as the adrenaline from my interaction with Camila begins to plummet.
And I’ll be damned if she sees me falter as she makes her way back outside.