Chapter Five
Despite the annoying reason for it, Blair was thrilled that she had to spend half of her Saturday at the Mossy Oak Flea Market.
The flea market, located off the highway between Moonbeam Hollow and one of the neighbouring towns, was a busy outdoor market filled to the brim with antiques, handicrafts and discount housewares, and had a seasonal farmers’ market on Saturdays.
There was a time when it was one of Blair’s favourite places in the world, and she would spend hours wandering the antiques, longing for a day when she could buy up all the beautiful solid wood tables and wardrobes to fill her house.
Even as a girl, Blair preferred the old and comfortable over the new and glossy, and if she had the money, she’d replace all of the box-store furniture in their Acorn Lane house with timeless antiques from the Mossy Oak Flea Market.
It had been a while since Blair had wandered aimlessly through the market, though – these days she always felt there were more useful things she should be doing with her free time.
And today, Blair’s brain was consumed with all that could go wrong in her café while she was away from it.
There hadn’t been another mishap since her plant pots were destroyed yesterday, but that didn’t mean the strange plague causing tiny disasters in Moonbeam Hollow was gone.
So, Blair stayed on her mission, not letting herself get sidetracked by adorable old cookie tins or china teacups.
She needed eight plant pots between eight and sixteen inches in diameter, and maybe some wall hangings like framed prints, tapestries, or even old posters, as long as they matched the cozy aesthetic of her café.
After a quick stop at the market’s famous apple fritter truck for three fritters and a scoop of vanilla ice cream drizzled with salted caramel, Blair started her search of the antique vendor booths, looking for the perfect treasures for her café.
She found plant pots easily – there was a vendor whose entire stall seemed to be items rescued from a Victorian greenhouse.
In addition to the eight pots, she bought a few iron signs for her walls.
One said Secret Garden in curlicue script, and the other was an ornate sign that said On This Site Nothing Happened, which absolutely tickled Blair’s funny bone.
After paying, she asked the vendor if he could hold Blair’s purchases until she was finished in the market, then went in search for more wall decor.
She came across a vendor with stacks of old pictures and paintings in antique frames.
Perfect. After flipping through the first few stacks of frames, Blair was starting to feel less optimistic.
Most of these were old, which was good. But none passed her vibe check.
Black and white Dalí prints or urban photography were far from cozy, and Thomas Kinkade–type art was way too .
. . predictable. But then Blair noticed an amazing piece, actually two pieces.
Large oil paintings done in warm colours of very familiar buildings.
‘Oh! These are Moonbeam Hollow!’ she said aloud, delighted to see these early depictions of her quaint little town.
‘Yes!’ the vendor said. He was an older man with a faint Irish accent. ‘I got a big lot of art from a local collector.’
Blair grinned. These were perfect. She leaned close to inspect them.
One painting was definitely the building across the street from her café, the one that now housed the bookstore and the florist. The other was of the post office, which had stood in the same place since the town was incorporated.
The church and the building that was now the Chinese restaurant were in the background.
‘It was a set of three,’ the man said. ‘All done in the fifties by an unknown artist.’
Blair smiled. These paintings were exactly what the Harvest Moon Café needed.
They matched her colour scheme, they were the right size, and the antique-silver frames were perfectly aged and lovely.
And best of all, they honoured the town that meant so much to Blair.
‘I’ll take all three,’ Blair said. She couldn’t see the third painting, but she assumed it would be as beautiful as these two.
The vendor shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I sold the third painting not ten minutes ago. It was also of downtown Moonbeam Hollow – you’d know the building, the one with that busy little café? My wife loves the tea there. I would have bought her the painting if it was still here at the end of the day.’
Holy crap, the third painting was literally of her building? It had to be. The Harvest Moon Café was the only café in town. Blair needed that painting. ‘Who bought it?’
The vendor shrugged. ‘Young chap. Don’t remember what he looked like.
’ He laughed. ‘I guess he wasn’t all that memorable.
He was excited to see it because he said his mother was opening a bakery in the building.
That will be rough for the café, don’t you think?
But, ah well. What is life but a revolving door of new challenges? ’
Blair’s jaw tightened. Of course it was the re-emerged bane of her existence, Luke Caldwell, who bought the painting.
‘I’ll take these two pieces.’ Blair pulled out her credit card. ‘Can you wrap them? I’ll be back to pick them up. The man who bought the third piece, did you see what direction he went in?’
The antique vendor looked reluctant to say anything. Blair was about to cast a persuasion spell on herself, but then the man shrugged and pointed to the right. ‘He went that way.’
Blair smiled. ‘Thank you! I really appreciate it.’
As soon as Blair paid for her paintings, she left the booth and took a right turn, keeping her eyes peeled for Luke.
The market was busy today – as it was every Saturday when the weather was good, but Blair had no doubt in her mind that she’d find him.
Maybe to the antique vendor Luke wasn’t memorable.
But not to Blair. He’d never be forgettable to Blair.
The exact wave pattern of his hair and his upright posture were burned into her brain from when they were teens.
And now, after seeing Luke several times as a fully grown adult, she was pretty sure she could pick out the way he filled his jeans and flannel out of a lineup without seeing one hair on his head.
And yes, there he was. Several paces ahead of her, wearing another flannel, this one red plaid, with jeans, and that dark blue knit hat. He was at a booth that sold Depression glass in various colours, and the pink glass cake stand he was holding cast a pale pink glow onto his face.
Why was Luke Caldwell so damn handsome now? This was making hating him so much harder.
‘Luke,’ Blair said loudly. She heard the curtness, the anger, in her voice.
She was going to have to figure out how to be pleasant if she wanted to convince him to let her have the painting without using magic.
And she really didn’t want to use magic, namely because her sister was right – using magic to win this battle was unethical and went against everything her parents taught them about how to be a witch.
Luke turned, and there was what looked like a frame wrapped in brown paper under his arm. He was still holding the lovely little cake stand. That bakery was going to be beautiful if Luke displayed his mother’s cakes on pretty glassware like that.
But Blair’s café would still be better.
‘Blair,’ he said, a slow smile sneaking onto his face. ‘Have you been following me?’
No, but she had been looking for him. ‘The art vendor said you bought a painting of Moonbeam Hollow. I bought the other two, and I want to complete the set. Can I buy it from you?’
Luke shook his head as he put the cake stand down. ‘Not a chance. I bought it for the bakery. Looks like we’ll match.’
Blair blinked. ‘It’s a painting of my café. It should be mine.’
Luke huffed a laugh. ‘It’s a painting of the building that my bakery is in. There’s as good a reason for it to be mine as yours. And I got it first.’
Blair put her hands on her hips. ‘Okay, but your bakery isn’t open yet, and my café has been there for six years. So, I’m pretty sure I got there first. Plus, I just bought the other two in the set and I’m sure the artist would hate for them to be separated.’
‘Ooooh, she got you there,’ a voice said. It was the antiques vendor at the glassware booth. She was a forty-something blond woman wearing winged eyeliner. Blair gave her an appreciative smile.
Luke shrugged, unbothered. ‘I’ll take this cake stand,’ he said to the woman. ‘And sorry, Blair, my painting will be hanging in my bakery.’
‘What if I pay you double what you paid?’ Blair asked. She was willing to dip into her emergency fund for this.
‘I’d take that offer,’ the glassware vendor said. ‘Random art piece split off from a set won’t be worth much. And she’s right that it’s got more sentimental value to her than you because she’s been there longer.’
Luke rolled his eyes. ‘Can I pay for the cake stand?’
The woman smiled, maybe remembering that Luke was her customer and she shouldn’t be rooting for his opponent in this art battle. She held out her payment terminal for Luke to tap his card.
Maybe Blair should use a persuasion spell to get the painting.
She didn’t remember Luke being so stubborn.
Well, scratch that. She’d debated him several times in debate club – she knew full well that Luke Caldwell was as stubborn as she was.
‘Three times what you paid?’ she offered, cringing at the loss to her emergency fund.
Luke sighed and finally looked at Blair.
His expression was so familiar. Like a mix of frustration and annoyance with a heavy dose of admiration.
That was the look he always gave Blair when she beat him.
She grinned. She loved that she could still affect him like this.
‘Okay, Briarwood,’ he finally said. ‘It’s yours for the price I paid, but one condition. Actually, two conditions.’