by Bree Baker
“Maybe,” I said, though it was more likely her bookstore would be filled with fans of Dickens and Dr. Seuss. Much as I loved the Grinch, he’d never stolen my heart or made me believe love could conquer major obstacles…like three-hundred-year-old curses, for example. Not that I believed in curses.
“Are you planning to open for lunch today?” she asked, adjusting her knitted scarf and hat against the wind.
“Yeah.” In light of the murder in my garden last night, I probably shouldn’t, but as a woman hoping to prove her great-aunt’s innocence, opening the café seemed like a smart move. “I’m hoping to loosen some lips with tea and cookies,” I said, only partly kidding. It had occurred to me that the killer might drop by, posing as a customer, to see if anyone saw or heard anything they shouldn’t have, or that I might overhear something I could use to help Aunt Fran. Either way, closing today would be a missed opportunity.
“Well, I’ve got to get back to Charming Reads,” she said. “Dad’s manning the register while I restock the Little Libraries, but I still have to create my menu for the progressive dinner. I thought serving desserts, coffee, and cocktails would be easy until I used the internet to look for ideas. Do you know how many holiday dessert ideas are out there?”
“A lot?” I guessed.
She closed her eyes in despair. “So many.”
I patted her shoulder. I hadn’t made my selections yet either, though I’d chosen the hors d’oeuvre portion of the evening to showcase a few café favorites and my mad culinary skills. If all went as planned, everyone would become permanently enchanted with my recipes, then come back regularly for more. “Let me know if you need help choosing desserts,” I said. “I’m happy to assist, especially if there will be taste testing involved.”
“Noted,” Amelia said, gripping her book wagon’s handle in one mittened hand. “I’ll go online when I get back and try to narrow my choices.” Her brow puckered. “That reminds me. How’s it going with the videos for the Holiday How-To section of your website? I thought I might find a video there this morning after our talk last night. I know you didn’t sleep.”
My traitorous gaze darted away. “I couldn’t concentrate last night, and my mind’s still swimming.”
Amelia hiked her brows. “So, no progress? Any idea on when you’ll get to it?”
“Not really,” I said, happy to tell the truth. “Right now, I need to find a way to help Aunt Fran.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” she asked. “Because it sounds like you’re procrastinating.”
I pressed a palm to my chest and headed back to Blue, buying myself time to think of something to say other than Bingo!
“I thought you were going to start with a video you’ve already finished,” she called after me. “Something from your culinary school days should only take a minute to add to your website.”
That was true, but my plans had changed after I’d watched several of the old videos. I’d looked so much different then. Younger. Thinner. I’d made the videos before I wore a double-digit dress size and had to lie down to zip my pants. “I thought it would be better to make new videos,” I said. “I’ve changed too much to use the old ones. People might not recognize me.”
Amelia seemed to consider my excuse for a minute. “I suppose,” Amelia conceded. “You’ve definitely changed.”
I curved a protective arm over my middle, fighting a bout of self-consciousness and hating myself for it.
She nodded, appraising me until I squirmed. “You’re clearly happier now. That definitely shows.”
I dropped my arm back to my side, suddenly perplexed. “It does?”
“Sure, plus you look a little older, more mature and confident.” She tipped her head over one shoulder. “I guess you’re right. Better to use videos of you today than ones from when you were still figuring things out.”
I bit back a goofy smile and felt my chest inflate with pride. “I’ll try to make some progress soon.”
“Perfect,” Amelia said. “I’ll be watching your website. Remember there are only nine days until Christmas.”
“Okay, but editing takes time,” I warned. Putting the videos together so they played seamlessly without stretches of silence or awkward snafus wasn’t easy, and they needed the right filters and music to make them fun. “It’s an artistic process, and my mind’s on Aunt Fran. I might be having artist’s block.”
“That can be tough,” Amelia said too sweetly and in obvious jest. “Are you sure you’re not having a chicken block.”
I hopped behind Blue’s wheel and shut the door. “I’m not a chicken,” I called through the plastic windshield.
Amelia crooked her arms and flapped her elbows as I motored passed.
* * *
I plugged in all the Christmas lights at Sun, Sand, and Tea, then the tree. I adjusted the volume on my little boom box until the crooning sounds of Bing Crosby demanded we Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!
My spirits lightened. It was hard not to be enthusiastic when the tea shop was decked out in its finest holiday garb, and everything smelled of warm cinnamon, vanilla, and sugar.
All I needed was the perfect menu.
I grabbed a stick of green chalk from behind the counter and stared at my giant blackboard, outlined in twinkle lights and jolly velvet ribbons. The tea list wouldn’t need to be changed. I’d made the batches fresh for last night’s party, so they were in good standing with my strict twenty-four-hour rule for freshness. Tonight, however, I’d be making more.
I tapped the chalk against my palm, then went to inspect the contents of my fridge for inspiration. Cranberries, meats and cheeses, pasta, crescent rolls, and veggies. Thanks to the party’s sudden and dramatic end, I had a multitude of leftovers to work with, and a spark of creativity zipped through me.
After a few moments, I climbed onto my folding stool and set my chalk against the slate. I scripted the new menu in an elaborate curlicue print.
Baked Ham and Cheese Pinwheels
Cranberry and Brie Bites
Caprese Salad
Antipasto Salad
Crab and Artichoke Dip
Satisfied, I set the green chalk aside and selected a stick of muted pink for the dessert list. I printed Swan Holiday Cookies, Pastries, and Sweets as prettily as possible, then added Get them before they’re gone! Because those recipes were going back in the vault on New Year’s Day, and they were staying there until next Thanksgiving.
My cell phone’s alarm buzzed and vibrated on the counter. Eleven o’clock! Opening time!
I unlocked the front door and flipped my new window sign from Closed to C’mon in, y’all! Amelia’s dad, Mr. Butters, had painted it for me as a café warming gift and delivered it after Charm’s summer arts festival. I’d never seen anything so perfectly southern, and I loved it.
Guests trickled in and out all day, but the café was never truly full. The phone, on the other hand, barely stopped ringing. If I didn’t stop taking cookie orders soon, I’d have to hire a staff to complete them. I spun through the room between calls, delivering plates of rich, butter-scented creations until my stomach was nearly as loud as the music. My heart swelled with every guest’s compliment, refill, and request for more. This was what it felt like to be exactly where I belonged, doing exactly what I’d been destined to do.
I took advantage of a lull in the chaos to toss a few frozen shrimp and scallops into a bowl of cold water for defrosting. It had occurred to me late last night that Lou, my resident seagull, might not know how to hunt in this weather, and I couldn’t let the poor guy starve. My aunts thought Lou was the reincarnated soul of a wealthy businessman who’d commissioned my home for his mistress nearly two hundred years ago, then died here decades later after losing her and going full-blown nutty. Reincarnation was another thing I didn’t actively believe in, but passively, it concerned me. How could I le
t a guy who’d been through all that go hungry?
The idea was no less far-fetched than the notion his wife had drowned herself out back after discovering Lou (the guy, not the gull) with his young mistress, Maggie, or the idea that Maggie had thrown herself from the widow’s walk after seeing the destruction she’d caused. My aunts couldn’t decide which of the women had been allegedly reincarnated as my white cat, a downside to “unwritten history,” I supposed, but I’d liked the name Maggie, so I went with that.
As if on cue, Maggie appeared on the snowy deck outside, lazily grooming her face and paws while overseeing the beach as if it were her job.
I slid the deck door open and tiptoed out, careful to close it behind me before freezing any of my patrons. “Hey, Maggie,” I said sweetly. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” I patted her head and scratched behind her ear before resting the tray of shrimp and scallops on a snow-covered patio table for Lou.
The big gull landed roughly on the handrail beside me, wings expanded, feathers ruffled. He looked twice the size he had been when I met him.
“Hello,” I said with a breathless smile. “You really come out of nowhere, don’t you?”
He cocked his head and locked a beady black eye on the tray.
Maggie gave Lou and his dinner a long look, then seemed to decide better of pursuing the crustaceans and went back to her grooming herself and feigning disinterest in the meal.
“I keep fresh bowls of kibble and water inside for you,” I reminded her, “where it’s warm.”
She ignored me. Maggie preferred her freedom and became quite the feline Houdini whenever I tried to make her a house cat.
“Hungry?” I asked, stepping back to give Lou room. A hearty blast of wind sent a shiver down my spine, and I wrapped my arms around myself for warmth. I’d need a coat if I spent another moment outside. I slid the patio door open once more and crept back through, this time with Maggie on my heels.
I scooped her up immediately and moved as quickly and inconspicuously as possibly through the café and into the foyer where I unlocked the door to my private stairway and ducked inside. “I can’t have a cat in the café,” I told her. “You’ll have to stay up here to get warm and catch up on your naps.” I dropped her before her food and water dishes, then patted her head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I promised.
She watched with luminous green eyes as I waved goodbye, then darted back down the steps. I closed the door behind me at the bottom and relocked it, only partially certain she’d be there when I returned. Maggie had an uncanny way of vanishing and reappearing like vapor.
I stepped across the threshold to my shop and slowed at the sight of a tall, dark, and inviting silhouette near my patio doors. The long lean lines of him, coupled with the Stetson turned my knees to jelly. A cowboy. Images from the covers of my favorite romance books crowded into my mind. A closer look turned my stomach into knots.
Wyatt.
I scurried around the counter and busied myself cleaning and ignoring him. There were still a few people finishing their tea and snacks. I didn’t want them to see anything that could later be misconstrued in any way for the sake of gossip. Very few islanders were unaware of my former relationship with Wyatt, and too many were showing a keen interest in my friendship with Grady. I was starting to feel like the unwitting star of a fairly boring reality show.
He began to move in my direction, and the steady sound of his measured footfalls set my stupid heart aflutter.
“E,” he said, removing his hat and upturning it on the counter. He boarded a bar stool before me and smiled.
“Wyatt,” I said. “What can I get you?”
“How about some tea for starters?”
I filled a jar with ice, careful to look anywhere but directly into the blue eyes that had been my undoing once before. “Anything to eat?” I asked, sliding the jar beneath my Old-Fashioned Sweet Tea dispenser.
Wyatt tipped his head toward the deck. “His lunch looks pretty good.”
I followed his gaze to Lou before sliding the tea across the counter. “Cold shrimp and scallops?”
Wyatt lifted the jar in cheers. “I love shrimp and scallops, and I love your grandmama’s Old-Fashioned Sweet Tea. You remembered.” He winked.
“I remember lots of things,” I said, meaning nothing in particular but letting him think on the implication. “Do you really want shrimp and scallops?”
Wyatt leaned back to rub his washboard stomach through a fitted thermal shirt. “Nah. You choose. You know I’m always happy with whatever you make.”
I turned away to grab a plate and roll my eyes privately. “Well, I run a café now. Normal people place orders instead of leaving everything up to me.”
He chuckled. “As if you’d ever take an order from me.”
I paused to smile at him. “Touché.” I grabbed a loaf of fresh-baked bread and tossed it onto the counter.
Wyatt hiked a thumb in the direction of the deck. “You know you don’t have to worry about him, right?”
“Who?” My gaze jumped toward the sliding doors. “Lou?”
Wyatt watched me carefully, a small smile lifting his stubble-covered cheeks. “I know you think he’s going to freeze out there, but he’ll be fine.”
I paused. I’d forgotten that Wyatt was more than a rodeo-hopeful. He was an animal lover and student of nature as well. It was one of the things that had drawn me to him.
“See the way he fluffs himself up?” Wyatt pointed toward the windows across the café where Lou had become a virtual volleyball of feathers on the handrail outside. “There are pockets of air between his feathers that keep him warm. His body heat stays in, and the feathers are waterproof too, so they repel the precipitation.”
I smiled back, thankful for the information. “That’s good to know.”
“Yeah. Plus, see how he’s sitting on his feet?” Wyatt pressed on, apparently unable to stop himself. “You can’t see them because he’s using his feathers to keep them warm too. Even if he didn’t, his feet have very few blood vessels. It would take a lot to freeze them.” He dragged his gaze back to me. “Your little friend out there is designed for survival.”
I selected a bread knife, then gave Wyatt an appreciative nod. “Thanks, I guess I do worry.”
“Wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” he said. “It’s nice that you feed him. He’d be okay without it, but he uses lots of energy to stay warm, so the extra calories don’t hurt.”
I cut two thick slices from the bread loaf, then liberally buttered them both.
Wyatt took notice and sat up straight. “Are you making grilled cheese?”
I grinned.
Wyatt and I had been so poor when we’d first left Charm together that we’d practically lived on grilled cheese and instant noodles. Over time, I’d learned to add things to the sandwiches that made them feel more personal and more like my own. He’d cheerfully tried every new combination I’d put in front of him, and we’d joked that I could sell a grilled cheese cookbook for money one day if he never made it in rodeo.
I bit my lip, hating the way I fell so easily back in sync with the man who’d broken my heart. I was supposed to be avoiding him.
I turned away and got to work. He’d done the right thing by dumping me, I reminded myself. I’d wanted him, and he’d wanted the rodeo. It would’ve been cruel for him to keep me around knowing how much that was true. Maybe, I realized, flipping the golden-brown sandwich, I wasn’t avoiding him just because I was angry with him. Maybe I’d been avoiding him because I didn’t like feeling like a cast-off sock.
“That looks amazing,” he said, leaning on his elbows across the counter. “Have any pickles or potato chips in this fancy-pants café?”
I plated the sandwich with a pickle spear and bag of kettle-cooked chips. “Voila.”
Wyatt moaned in satisfaction as he stare
d at the simple meal. “This is perfect.”
“Almost,” I said, turning to ladle some homemade chicken soup from the small Crock-Pot under the counter. “For that impressive response, you get to share my lunch.” I set the bowl beside his plate, and he collapsed back on his stool.
“You’re a goddess.”
“Eat.” I ladled a second bowl of soup for myself, feeling a little ashamed of all my attempts at avoiding him. “How are things at the nature center?”
“Good.” His eyes widened. “There’s so much to tell people, and so much more I want to know.” He relayed the details of his research and anecdotes from the classes he held about our island’s wild mustangs with the enthusiasm of a kid who’d discovered unicorns. He brushed a napkin over his lips when the sandwich and chips were gone. “How’s Fran doing?”
I supposed I should have known he’d heard about that too. Everyone in town probably had by now. “She’s okay. She’s tough, and she believes things usually work out the way they were meant to.”
“And how about you?” he asked, concern dripping from the words.
“Frustrated.” I sighed.
“Understandable,” he said. “Anything I can do?”
“Not that I can think of.” Though, I still needed to ask Fran if she could think of anyone with an aggressive grievance. “I’m going to figure out what really happened to Mayor Dunfree. Janie’s on top of everything else.”
He nodded. “That’s the new girl. The brunette from LA, right?”
“That’s the one.” I ignored the ridiculous pang of jealousy. Janie was outgoing, gorgeous, and pretty hard to miss. Of course he would know her.
“You don’t like her,” he said, pushing his empty soup bowl in the direction of his crumb-covered plate. “Why?”
Because I’m childish and petty? “I like her,” I said. “I’m just trying to think of a way to clear Fran’s name. People are talking, and I need to nip that in the bud. Otherwise, her reputation won’t recover, even after her name’s cleared. She’ll never be mayor, and the lingering suspicions could hurt her business or worse, damage our legacy, and that would probably kill her. Figuratively, I mean.”
