Chapter 10
Washington: Land of the Coffee Pixies
“Sencha is Japanese, right?” Nadine asks as Rowan goes over the steep temps for each of our teas. It’s Monday, her first day at the tea shop.
I printed out the notes I shared with Ryder, deciding that having an easy-to-grab cheat sheet would be handier than keeping the info on my phone.
“Correct,” Rowan says.
Nadine knows a lot more about tea than I realized, certainly more than I knew when I first arrived in Moss Hollow.
Rowan hasn’t objected to her presence in the shop, though I can tell he’s uneasy about allowing another newcomer into his tea kingdom. But he knows how busy he’s going to be come autumn.
I’m feeling a little melancholy today, consumed with thoughts. The bond, of course, is on my mind. And the gnomes. The roof and attic repairs, too.
It’s a rainy afternoon, but thankfully a little cooler.
Each day has been warmer than the last, and I’m starting to wonder how hot Vermont is going to get.
I assumed summers here would be cool like they are in coastal Washington, but the temps have been in the mid-eighties.
It makes me miss the cold Pacific ocean and mild afternoon walks along the shore.
At least the tea shop is a pleasant place to spend a drizzly afternoon. Other people must think so as well. We’ve been busy all day. It’s just now slowing down as people start thinking about dinner.
A human in her early twenties with curly red hair and an abundance of pretty freckles stares at the tea menu, looking overwhelmed by all the options. Her companion, a brown-haired man about the same age, looks uncomfortable, like he doesn’t want to be here.
“I’m happy to answer any questions you might have,” I say.
“What’s Ruby 18?”
“It’s a Taiwanese black tea, unique because it’s a hybrid of a wild tea bush and Assam,” I say. “It has flavor notes of cool mint. Some people say they detect vanilla or molasses as well.”
“Do you like it?” she asks.
“I do, but I’m also a pretty big fan of black tea. What types of tea do you typically enjoy?”
“Just tea. You know, in tea bags.”
“I think there’s a good chance you’ll like it. It tastes like regular bagged black tea, except better.”
“I’d like to try it,” she says. “Can I get a personal pot?”
“Of course.” I turn to her companion. “Anything for you?”
He scowls at the menu. “Do you have coffee?”
The time has come.
“I can make some for you, if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes,” I say, ignoring Rowan when he turns to look at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Regular or decaf?”
“Regular.” The man looks relieved. He gestures to the disposable paper cup Nadine sets on the counter for her customer. “No fancy cup. That type is fine.”
“No problem.”
I prep the woman’s tea and send them off to a table with a timer. Then I retrieve our new French press from the cabinet.
“When did that show up?” Rowan asks.
“Today. Hudson stopped by while you were at lunch.”
“First hot chocolate and now coffee?” Rowan jokes…kind of. “What is the tea shop coming to?”
“Tea is lovely, but sometimes, you need something stronger. I’m happy to offer a nice cup of coffee for customers who want it.”
Rowan leaves Nadine to help the next few customers and watches me set up the French press, intrigued despite himself. When I open a brand-new bag of coffee beans, I breathe in the forbidden scent.
“You have a problem,” Rowan says. “These are whole beans.”
“That’s why I bought a grinder.” I grab it from the cabinet as well, grinning when I show it to him.
“That thing is massive.”
“It wasn’t that expensive. If we decide we want a good one that will do espresso, we’ll have to spend a little more. This is perfect for the French press.”
“Why would we want an espresso grinder?”
I shrug. “You never know.”
“Laverna is likely rolling in her grave.”
Nonchalantly, I say, “That’s what happens when you give your tea empire to a pixie from Washington.”
“You get a coffee pixie.” He chuckles to himself, studying the grinder. “Coffee shops offer mediocre tea. I suppose our tea shop can offer mediocre coffee.”
“You’re setting the bar low. I used to make coffee at the gift shop back in Washington, and our shifter owners had persnickety Seattle tastes. I make a lovely cup of coffee, thank you very much.”
His smile grows as he watches me. “So, you just add hot water and coffee into the carafe?”
“Yep.” After I set a timer, I show him the lid with the long handle. “When it’s done, you push the plunger down. That’s what filters the grounds. The coffee flows to the top, and the grounds stay at the bottom.”
Rowan watches the process, trying to look skeptical, but I recognize that look in his eyes—it’s the same one he gets when he talks about magic. He’s intrigued.
When it’s ready, I pour the coffee into a cup and snap a lid in place. “There’s enough here for one more cup if you’d like to try it.”
“I’ve never been particularly fond of coffee.”
“Maybe you’ve never had good coffee.”
He makes a dubious noise and then pours the last of the steaming liquid into a teacup.
Preparing to give the drink to my customer, I turn…and then gasp because Russell walks into the tea shop. Startled, I stumble back, knocking right into Rowan.
But wait. No. That’s not Russell. Just another brown-haired man with similar features.
I laugh to myself, still spooked.
“Are you all right?” Rowan asks, touching my arm.
“Oh, yes. I just…” I gasp again when I turn, this time at the brown coffee stain on Rowan’s beige waistcoat. “Oh no.”
Rowan looks down, frowning. “It’s all right. I’ll go upstairs and rinse it out.”
“I’m so sorry. I hope it doesn’t stain.”
“I can take care of it if it does. Stains are easily dealt with.”
I’m about to argue that coffee stains can be difficult, but then I realize he means with magic.
Handy.
Abandoning what’s left of his coffee, he heads upstairs.
“How are you doing?” I ask Nadine when I return to the counter after delivering the customer’s drink.
The steady stream of patrons has finally come to an end. We even have a few open tables now.
“Great,” she says enthusiastically. “Your shop is super cute.”
“You know a lot about tea.”
“My grandma loves it, so I try different types when I visit her. Loose leaf is new to me, though…” She trails off when Ash walks through the door, her eyes going wide. “Who is that?”
“The pain in the tail.”
“That’s Rowan’s cousin?” she whispers.
“Yep.”
She makes a disappointed noise. “Why are the bad ones always so hot?”
“The age-old question.” I smile when Ash reaches the counter. “Hey.”
“Hello.” The councilman’s eyes move to the woman beside me.
“This is my friend, Nadine,” I say to him. “Nadine, this is Ash.”
He inclines his head, offering her a brief greeting.
“Are you here for your Irish Breakfast?” I ask him.
“I came by to ask you if you’d like to run a booth at the ice cream social.”
“Do I have to serve ice cream?”
“No, I assumed you’d sell tea.” Dryly, he adds, “Considering you run a tea shop.”
“Oh, Kit!” Nadine exclaims. “You could sell matcha ice cream!”
“All the ice cream will be free and distributed by the town council,” Ash says. “However, if you’d like to donate ice cream, you are more than welcome.”
“I don’t know,” I say to Nadine. “Does it taste like grass?”
Because that’s my opinion of matcha in beverage form. But who knows, maybe it tastes better frozen and smothered in sugar and cream. I mean, really, what doesn’t?
“It doesn’t taste like grass.” Nadine laughs like she thinks I’m ridiculous. “It’s so good.”
“I have no idea how to make ice cream.”
“Your mom does. Her ice cream is amazing.”
She’s not wrong. Mom’s homemade ice cream is the best.
I turn my attention back to Ash. “When do you need an answer?”
“By tomorrow afternoon. Maknihl is working on the stands. We need a list of participants so he knows how many to make.”
“What all would I have to do?”
“Plan decorations. Set up, stay at the stand while the social is going on, and then clean up. We’ll take care of stand transportation.”
“When is the ice cream social?” Nadine asks.
“Next Saturday, from two to five,” Ash answers.
“Go ahead and count us in,” I tell him. “It sounds fun.”
“Good.” He nods to Nadine. “Enjoy your time in Moss Hollow.”
“Thanks.”
As he leaves, she turns to me, widening her eyes, trying not to giggle. When he’s gone, she says, “For being so hot, he’s a bit cold, isn’t he?”
“At least you didn’t sparkle.”
Her lips part with amused horror. “Did you?”
“The very first time we met. And then every time I saw him after that.”
“That was before you and Rowan…”
“Yeah.”
She looks thoughtful. “No wonder Rowan is nervous. I know I would be if my mate sparkled for another person before we bonded.”
I sigh, knowing she’s right.
When I realize Rowan still hasn’t come down yet, I glance toward the back hall. “He’s been up there a while. I hope I didn’t ruin his waistcoat.”
“You should probably check on him,” Nadine says mischievously.
“He’s a grown man. I think he can handle a stain.”
“It’s slow now. We haven’t had a new customer in a while.”
“Okay,” I say reluctantly. “You have my cheat sheet?”
“I do.”
“I won’t be long.”
Leaving Nadine to watch the shop, I go up to the apartment. I never knock, so I don’t knock now—which might be a mistake. When I enter the living space, I come to a startled stop.
On the phone, Rowan paces. His waistcoat hangs on the back of a chair, and he holds the coffee-stained shirt in his free hand like he was taking it off when the phone rang and he got distracted by the call before he could rinse it out.
I’ve seen him shirtless once, back when Ansel reversed the metamorphosis. The moment was so emotionally charged; I cared less about his state of undress than the fact that he was a man again.
But apparently I care now.
Rowan is beautiful—lean like the high fae, but with mass to his shoulders like a human. His muscles are long and sleek. He’s not pale, but his skin is fair.