Tide and Punishment
Page 28
Mr. Paine watched carefully, teeth clenched.
“Maybe you’d like to try the Peach Tea today,” I suggested. “Whatever you want. On the house.”
Preferably to go.
“How much sugar is in the Peach?” he asked, apparently determined to criticize. “You know I don’t like a lot of sugar.”
I pointed to a brightly colored section on my menu that highlighted sugar-free options. “How about a tea made with alternative sweeteners, like honey or fruit puree? Maybe the Iced Peach with Ginger?” I turned to the refrigerator and pulled out a large metal bowl, then scooped the cream cheese, mayo, and seasoning mixture onto the second bread slice, turning it face down over the cucumbers. “There’s no sugar in that at all.”
“Fine.” He lifted his fingers in defeat, as usual, pretending to give up but knowing full well he’d be back tomorrow with the same game.
I had quit hoping he’d start paying for his orders two weeks ago. That was never going to happen, and I had decided to chalk the minimal expense up to community relations and let it go. Though if he kept walking off with my shop’s canning jars with , he’d soon have a full set—and those weren’t cheap.
“Great.” I released a long breath and poured a jar of naturally sweetened peach tea for him. He was lucky I didn’t serve it in a disposable cup.
“What’s in it?” he asked.
“Peaches. Tea.” I rocked my knife through the sandwich, making four small crustless triangles.
“And?” Mr. Paine lifted the tea to his mouth, closed his eyes, and gulped before returning the half-empty jar to his napkin. He smacked his lips. “Tastes like sugar.”
“No,” I assured him. “There’s no sugar in that.” I plated the crisp cucumber sandwiches, then poured the ladies’ mint and cranberry teas, grateful that they were too busy ogling Lou out the window to notice the delay. “Fresh peaches, honey, ginger, lemon, and spices. That’s it.”
I knew what my tea really tasted like to him: defeat. He’d tried to stop me from opening Sun, Sand, and Tea because businesses on the beach were “cliché and overdone.” According to Mr. Paine, if I opened a café in my home, Charm, North Carolina, would become a tourist trap and ruin everything he lived for.
Fortunately, the property was old enough to have been zoned commercial before Paine’s time on the town council. Built at the turn of the nineteenth century, my home had been a private residence at first, then a number of other businesses ranging from a boarding house to a prep school, and if the rumors were true, possibly a brothel. Though, I couldn’t imagine anything so salacious ever having existed in Charm. The town was simply too…charming. And according to my great aunts, who’d been fixtures here since the Great Depression, it had always been that way.
The place was empty when I bought it. The previous owner lived out of town, but he’d sent a number of work crews to make renovations over the years. I could only imagine the money that had been slowly swallowed by the efforts. Eventually it went back on the market.
Mr. Paine eyeballed his drink and rocked the jar from side to side. “I don’t see why you won’t provide the complete list of your ingredients. What’s the big secret?”
“I’m not keeping a secret. The recipes are private. I don’t want them out in the world.” I wet my lips and tried another explanation, one he might better understand. “These recipes are part of my family’s lineage. Our history and legacy.” I let my native drawl carry the words. Paine of all people should appreciate an effort to keep things as they were, to respect the past.
He harrumphed. “I’m bringing the ingredient list up at our next council meeting. I’m sure Mayor Dunfree and the other members will agree with me that it’s irresponsible not to have it posted.”
“Great.” He never seemed to tire of reminding me how tight he was with the mayor. He’d used their relationship to the fullest while trying to keep my shop from opening, but even the mayor couldn’t prevent a legitimate business from being run in a commercially zoned space. I refilled Mr. Paine’s jar, which had been emptied rather quickly. “Let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to try.”
Mr. Paine climbed off his stool and stuffed his goofy hat back on his mostly bald head. “Just the tea,” he said with unnecessary flourish.
“See ya.” I piled the ladies’ teas and sandwich on a tray and waved Paine off. “Try not to choke on an ice cube,” I muttered.
* * *
The afternoon ebbed and flowed in spurts of busyness and lulls of silence. I supposed that was typical of a new business in a small town, not to mention that Sun, Sand, and Tea hadn’t had its official launch yet. I was due for a big grand opening, but fear and cowardice kept me from planning it. What if no one came and the whole thing was a flop?
I flipped over the CLOSED sign promptly at five and went upstairs to trade my sundress for exercise gear and hunt for my track shoes. I’d gotten out of shape while I was away, loitering behind a table at culinary school, in a city where I never felt completely safe, eating take-out and every meal on the run because I didn’t have time to cook for myself while studying the art of haute cuisine.
Now none of my clothes fit and I wasn’t happy about it. Luckily, Charm was a great place to get out and get moving, whether hiking the dunes, playing volleyball on the beach, or swimming in the warm, blue ocean. I hit the boardwalk with a brisk stride.
Waning sunlight glistened on the water, reflecting shadows of soaring birds and the occasional single-engine plane, and the heady scent of home hung in the air. It was the salty, beachy fragrance that clung to my skin and hair long after I’d gone inside, the humidity and seagrass, wet sand and a hint of sunblock. I could never quite put it into words, and my attempts had been wholly lost on the friends I’d made living inland. Maybe rather than just a smell, it was a sensation you had to experience to understand. Kind of like that perfect glass of iced tea. Or maybe it was just me. Some days I wasn’t sure if it was sweet tea or saltwater flowing in my veins. Probably a little of both.
I turned away from the beach and headed through the marsh, following the wooden planks beneath my feet. Tenacious green stems poked through stringy bundles of dead seagrass. Spring in Charm was lovely, but soon everything would be in bloom, lush and wild, the way I loved it.
Too soon, the bushy marsh shrank away, revealing a glimpse of Ocean Drive, the main road in town, in the distance. I slowed at the sight of an extra-large moving truck parked across multiple spaces outside the Gas-N-Go.
Was I no longer the newest full-time citizen of Charm? A curious thrill buzzed over my skin. Was the person with the truck new-new, or newly returned, like me? Did I know them from my previous life here? Or was I about to meet a new friend?
Booted feet moved beneath the truck’s long metal belly, nearing the back corner at a clip. I nearly held my breath in anticipation.
The boots arrived in full view a moment later, attached to a pair of nicely fitting jeans and six feet of serious.
I gave a low whistle, and the man’s head turned sharply in my direction. Keen gray eyes fixed me in place.
“Oh.” He’d heard that? My heart raced and my cheeks burned with humiliation. I’d been caught whistling at a strange man. What was next? Catcalls from my porch?
Acknowledgments
Thank you, dear reader, for joining Everly on another adventure in Charm. You make my dream possible, and I can’t thank you enough for that. Also, thank you, Anna Michels and Sourcebooks. I’m humbled and honored to be a part of your amazing team. Thank you, Jill Marsal, my blessed literary agent and personal cheer squad. I don’t know how you do it, but you keep me busy and I love it! Thank you to friends who help me plot murder: Jane Ann Turzillo, Kathy Long, Cari Dubiel, Shellie Arnold, and Wendy Campbell. Also my critique partners, Jennifer Anderson and Danielle Haas: you make my stories better. And finally, thank you to my family: Noah, Andrew, Lily, and Brya
n. I realize that I’m usually daydreaming, alone at my desk and in my pajamas, but you are my world, and I wouldn’t replace you with a million fictional ones. Not even if those worlds had free books and chocolate.
About the Author
Bree Baker is a Midwestern writer obsessed with small-town hijinks, sweet tea, and the sea. She’s been telling stories to her family, friends, and strangers for as long as she can remember, and more often than not, those stories feature a warm ocean breeze and a recipe she’s sure to ruin. Now she’s working on those fancy cooking skills and dreaming up adventures for the Seaside Café Mysteries. Bree is a member of Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, and the Romance Writers of America.
Thank you for reading this Sourcebooks eBook!
Join our mailing list to stay in the know and receive special offers and bonus content on your favorite books and authors!
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
Books. Change. Lives.