The Tea Shop

by Bernadette Marie

  That was when it was no longer a game. The police came after her, but there was no evidence that she’d done anything, or knew anything. The people in town thought she was a freak or sought her out for their own good. She couldn’t freely go anywhere without people moving away from her, or searching her out. From then on she kept her thoughts to herself, but they’d always been spot on.

  Things would come in dreams, and sometimes, they were just dreams. But when someone touched her, she would sometimes see things so vividly, as she had with the woman that day. She’d been told once, by a psychic her mother had taken her to, that if the person who touched her were open-minded, Abigail would see everything. Someone who was closed off to the world wouldn’t let her see.

  From then on, she’d tried never to touch too many people.

  Close friends and family knew that if Abigail warned you about something, you took heed, especially after their grandmother’s death.

  She knew when relationships weren’t going to work out or even when a customer was going to walk in the door and cause her day to go badly. It wasn’t ideal, but she could handle it.

  The reason she’d moved to Golden and opened The Tea Shop with her cousin was to get out of the small town she’d grown up in. Her gift had become a nuisance, and there were a few times she feared for her own safety.

  Since she’d moved, she hadn’t had as many premonitions. That in itself was a gift as far as she was concerned. But once in a while, they still happened, just as they had today.

  She didn’t want to know that the woman she’d served today was going to become ill after her birthday. Her time was limited. She would succumb to Alzheimer's, and she was already becoming forgetful. It broke her heart into a million pieces because she’d found she very much enjoyed the woman. Perhaps the blessing would be if the woman never came back into the store, and neither did the man. But then that was a problem too. He was part of that premonition.

  “So did you get some vibe on the old woman?” Clare asked as she turned to seal the container she’d made the egg salad in.

  “Yeah. She’s going to become very ill this next year. She probably won’t make it through the spring.”

  “That sucks,” Clare let out a defeated breath. “I’d be wigging out too if I knew that was going to happen to someone. Even if they’re old.”

  Abigail nodded as she set the teapot on the shelf. “There was already some sadness that loomed between them. They had a history.”

  “Grandmother. Grandson.”

  “Maybe. I guess I’ll find out.” Abigail sat on the stool that Clare used by the prep table.

  “Why do you say that?”

  Abigail felt her face flush with heat and her heart began to beat a rapid rhythm in her chest. She wiped her damp palms on her apron before she looked up to see Clare’s concerned face.

  “Because that was the man I’m going to marry.”

  Chapter 3

  Clare’s mouth had dropped open, and her eyes were wide. This was not an unfamiliar sight to Abigail. Often when she offered up her premonitions, this was the kind of reaction she would get. And with the one she’d let spill out of her mouth, it was expected.

  “Are you kidding me?” Clare dusted her hands on her apron and then rested them on the prep table. “You know that? You know that is the man you’ll marry? What fun is that? Why him? Who is he?”

  Abigail shrugged. “I don’t know him. Well, I know his name. It was on the credit card slip. Carson Stone.”

  The corner of Clare’s mouth turned up in a smile. “Abigail Stone. It has a nice ring to it.”

  Abigail cleared her throat and repeated the name of the man. “Carson Stone. Does it not ring any bells?”

  A line formed between Clare’s brows as she gave it serious thought. “Carson Stone. Carson Stone,” she repeated. When her brows rose, Abigail knew she’d come to the conclusion on her own. “The business investor? Real estate guy?”

  “Yep.”

  “The one who wants to tear down that church on Ford and one of the old college buildings for a strip mall?”

  Abigail nodded.

  “I thought he looked like a nice man,” Clare went back to her work, obviously no longer impressed by Abigail’s pending nuptials.

  “We went to the city council meeting about the church.”

  “You, me, and five others. This town is much too big for only seven of us to fight for something, Abi. He’s going to win.”

  Abigail ran her hand over the smooth surface of the table. “Maybe I can use this knowledge for good. Obviously, we’re going to see each other again. I could work the situation.”

  “If you had a premonition, then that’s fate, right? You can’t change the course of things that are just going to happen—can you?”

  “I guess we’ll find out,” she said as the chime above the door signaled, and she hopped off the stool.

  * * *

  Carson walked to the counter, his wallet in his hand. The waitress who had served them walked around the corner, but he noticed how the smile slipped away when she saw him. Hadn’t he tipped her nicely?

  “Hi—Abigail, right?”

  “Yes,” she said quickly, and the smile returned, but he wasn’t so sure it was genuine.

  “I think I left my credit card here.”

  Abigail searched through a stack of receipt books and shook her head. “No. It’s not here. I’d check in your car, to the right of your seat. It fell between your seat and the console.” As soon as she said it her eyes went wide. “I assume,” her voice wavered. “That’s where mine fall.”

  Carson chuckled. “I’ll go look.” Abigail turned as if to go back to the kitchen. “Can I ask you a question?” he began and watched as she turned back to him. Those blue eyes had ice to them, and he wondered what he might have done when he was there with Mrs. Winters that had her staring darts through him. “Do you take reservations?”

  “Of course.”

  “Mrs. Winters would like to come for her birthday next month, and I told her I would see to that. She rather enjoyed your shop, and you,” he added without stretching the truth.

  Abigail's shoulders dropped, and the smile became more genuine. “She’s a delightful woman.”

  “She is,” he agreed as he leaned a hip up against the counter. “She has a lot of spunk, and life, and light.”

  He watched as she bit down on her bottom lip while she turned the page in the datebook on the counter. “She’s well? Her health, I mean?”

  It was an odd question, he thought, from someone who had just met the woman. “Very. I wouldn’t challenge her to a fight. I think she’d win.”

  The muffled laugh that came from the woman who stood before him floated right to his chest.

  “Her birthday is the 14th?”

  Carson waited until Abigail lifted her eyes to meet his. “She told you that?”

  “She must have.”

  “I don’t remember her doing that. How did you know that was her birthday?”

  For a moment she stared blankly at him, then blinked. “It’s my birthday. I suppose I…”

  Carson stood up straight. “Seriously? It’s your birthday on the 14th of October?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think that’s a mighty interesting coincidence. She will love to hear that.”

  “Shall I put you down for tea? For two?”

  “Three if you’ll join us. A birthday celebration.”

  He watched as her face grew pale. “Oh, I don’t…”

  “It’s okay. That was a bit forward of me. Besides, it’s your birthday. You probably have big plans—like taking the day off.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “If it works out, I know she’d love it if you joined us. Even for one cup of tea,” he quickly added before she could reject him again. “Two o’clock, does that work?”

  “Huh?” Abigail dropped the pencil, grabbed for it, and nodded. “Yes. Two o’clock. I’ll have it set up for her. Does she like a
particular flower?”

  “She’s a sucker for roses. She can’t get enough of them.”

  “Garden of them at the bottom of her porch?”

  He felt the perma-grin on his face slip away. “She’s lived here her whole life. Perhaps you’ve met her before. You seem to be very in tune with her.”

  “No. I’m new to the area myself. She just seems like the kind of woman who would have a beautiful garden of roses. I’ll have some on the table for her.”

  “She’ll enjoy that.” Carson stepped back, slid his wallet into his pocket. “Thank you, Abigail. I look forward to seeing you next month.”

  He turned to leave but managed a look back at the woman, who looked positively horrified that he’d come back into the store. Why would that be, he wondered as he headed out to his car. What could he have possibly done or said in that short amount of time?

  It should be something he was used to. People had an opinion about him, mostly because of his business. But really, he was progress in a town that needed some. Who needed an empty church that was rotting up from the foundation? Someone, someday was going to get hurt in a building like that. But sure as hell, the saviors of old things made him out to be the bad guy.

  Carson climbed into his car and shut the door. On a whim, though he’d already checked, he tucked his hand down between the seat and the center console and wiggled his fingers around. Then he felt it, the hard plastic of his credit card, and he moved a little more. A moment later he had it in his hand, and he laughed to himself.

  He thought back to Abigail telling him where to look for the card, then the birthday coincidence, and the mention of the rose bushes. Honestly, if Mrs. Winters had passed twenty-some years earlier, he’d have thought she’d been reborn in Abigail. But as they were together just that afternoon, that now seemed a silly thought.

  As he started the car and pulled away from the curb, he glanced back at the quaint store. Perhaps he’d give it a few days, and then he’d take his mother in for tea. She’d be elated, and he could check back in on Abigail.

  Chapter 4

  A new shipment of assorted candles had arrived when the friendly UPS man arrived. Pumpkin spice filled the air as October rolled in with its briskness.

  The leaves on the aspen trees on the hill had begun their transformation, and Abigail couldn’t wait for her free weekend to see the leaves changing. If she didn’t hurry, all of the colors would be gone, and she’d be mesmerized by the snow instead.

  She sniffed at the candle in her hand when a woman walked through the door letting in the breeze that was accompanying the October cool down.

  Abigail set the candle down. “Welcome to The Tea Shop. Are you dining with us today, or browsing?”

  The woman adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “I came a few minutes early. I’m meeting my son here for high tea, but I wanted to look at the gifts you had. I’ve looked in the window a few times, but haven’t made it in myself yet.”

  “Wonderful. Will there be two of you for tea? I’ll set you a table while you look around.”

  The woman smiled a familiar smile, yet Abigail knew she’d never met the woman. “That would be delightful. He should be along shortly.”

  Abigail went to the kitchen and began to gather the china and tea set she’d be using for the woman and her son.

  “We didn’t have another tea on the books,” Clare called from the cooler where she was taking inventory. “What are you setting up?”

  “A walk-in. I’m glad too. It’s been a bit too quiet around here. I know in December I’ll be wishing for the break, but I’d rather have the business than a quiet afternoon.”

  Abigail took the silver, plates, and napkins to the table near the window. She preferred to sit customers there so other possible customers would see them having a good time. Their lunch rush had been quiet too, but that was expected on a Tuesday.

  When she was finished, she made her way back to the counter and noticed the woman had an arm full of the new candles, and one of the handmade aprons draped over her arm.

  “Can I take a few of those for you?” Abigail moved to her. “It looks as if you found a few things.”

  “I hadn’t thought of Christmas shopping here. But I think that’s exactly what I’m doing,” she laughed as she unloaded her finds into Abigail’s hands. “Did you make the apron?”

  A warmth filled her cheeks as she smiled. “My mother makes them and sends them to me to sell.”

  “They are adorable. I haven't seen hand stitched items like these in years. Is she sending more? I’d like two more, just like that one.”

  A flutter lit in Abigail’s chest. “If you’re interested, I can put in a special order to her. It would take about two weeks for them to arrive.”

  “I would love that. I’ll pay for them today if that’s okay. That’ll make it much easier for me.”

  “Certainly. I’ll get this wrapped up for you, and you can check out whenever you’re ready.”

  “Okay, I want to look at your pastries first. My mother would adore a sweet this afternoon. She’s in an assisted living facility. I sneak her in something special every once in a while,” she said with a wide grin, and Abigail’s thoughts went right to her grandmother. They had done that for her as well.

  When the woman had finished her shopping, she walked back to the counter where Abigail had wrapped and bagged her new treasures. She had printed out a receipt and showed the woman each item.

  “You are very precise and organized, aren’t you?” The woman smiled as she handed Abigail her credit card.

  “I want to help make your experience as pleasant as possible,” Abigail said as she scanned the card and the door opened again.

  When she looked up, the eye contact she made with Carson Stone nearly had her knees giving out. She hadn’t expected to see him until his reservation in another two weeks. Oh, she certainly hoped he hadn’t come to cancel them because her premonition came true.

  It was then that the woman turned to him and wrapped her arms around him. “I came to do a little shopping before you arrived,” she said as she brushed her hand down the lapel of his suit coat.

  Abigail looked down at the credit card in her hand. Patricia Stone. This was his mother.

  She gripped the counter and tried to suck in a breath, but not before Carson moved around to her and put his arm around her waist.

  “Why don’t you sit down. You went white as a sheet,” he said moving her toward the stool where she felt her knees finally buckle.

  “What’s going on?” Clare hurried out of the kitchen and moving past Carson. “Are you okay? Abi, you’re pale.”

  Abigail cleared her throat. “I’m fine. Everyone stop fussing over me,” she said as she pushed away the fog that had clouded her brain and stood, realizing Carson’s arm was still around her, though she saw nothing in that fog that told her of their pending future together.

  “I assume you set that pretty table for my mother and I,” he said softly in her ear. “You’re going to sit with us for a moment until you’re feeling just right.”

  The argument pierced her tongue, but somehow it refused to surface as he helped her across the store to the little table she’d set only a few minutes earlier.

  Carson sat her in one of the chairs, his mother sat in the other, and he pulled another from a table for himself.

  The look of worry in Patricia Stone’s eyes had her wondering if she’d said anything at that moment when her world began to spin. Had she blurted out the words that she was going to marry her son? Wouldn’t he have laughed or argued?

  When her mind cleared, she let out a long breath. Carson held up one of the glasses of ice water to her.

  “Sip this.”

  “I’m fine really,” she argued again.

  “Sip.”

  To appease him, she sipped the water, noticing that Clare stood in the doorway to the kitchen watching the entire ordeal. What kind of help was she anyway?

  “I’m fine now.”
<
br />   Carson reached a hand to her cheek, and still, nothing moved through her as it had when Mrs. Winters touched her, or when she realized that it had been his mother who wore the familiar smile—his smile.

  “I think you just might be okay.” He sat back in his seat, blocking her in with his knee. “I know you work in a restaurant, but did you eat today?”

  “Of course—I—well, I think I…” she stopped when she realized that in fact, she hadn’t eaten at all. She’d woken late, run out of her apartment and to the store, and they’d had a pastry rush earlier that morning. Clare usually made sure they had something to eat for lunch, but they'd worked to make sure there were pastries for the after-work crowd too. Then the UPS man had delivered the candles on what was to be a quiet afternoon. “I guess I didn’t eat after all.”

  Carson lifted his eyes to Clare and gave a nod. “She’s making you a little something. You can sit here with us.”

  The panic returned. “No. You’re here to have tea with your mother. I promise you I’m fine. No need to fuss over me,” she explained as she wiped her hands on her apron. But she hadn’t stood quickly enough. Clare approached the table with a sandwich on a petite plate. If it weren’t rude, she would have scowled. Instead, she graciously accepted the plate.

  “I’ll get your teas started,” Clare offered. “Which ones might I offer you?”

  “I’d love the spiced tea I saw on display,” Patricia said sweetly. “Carson will have Earl Grey.”

  Clare disappeared into the kitchen, and Abigail went on to eat her sandwich. The sooner she finished, the quicker she could get back to work. She found herself begging any spirit that could hear her to bring in more customers. But they must have been ignoring her. No one even walked in front of the store.