The Tea Shop

by Bernadette Marie

  That made Abigail laugh, and she hadn't expected to laugh. She thought about the premonition she had the day that Mrs. Winters touched her. They looked happy. Was this the beginning of that fate? Was this the beginning of what would become? The premonition showed her that the two of them would be married. Was he a man she learned to love? Or was he the tyrant that she had made him out to be? At that very moment, she wasn't sure which one she wanted him to be.

  She picked up her teacup and steadied it with both hands. Removing the strainer, she took a sip. It didn't seem to settle her nerves any.

  Setting the cup back on the saucer, she clasped her hands again in her lap again. "I'm not used to this part of making friends."

  "I came to that assumption on my own. Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

  Abigail sucked in a breath to speak, then nearly choked on it when no words came out. It forced her to cough, and she pressed her hand to her chest while he looked on.

  "Dinner? We've been in each other's presence maybe five times. Does that constitute dinner?"

  Carson sat back in his chair and folded his arms in front of him. His smile was enormous, and his cheeks pinked as if he held a secret behind those eyes.

  “How long do you think somebody needs before they know they love somebody?”

  "Love somebody?" Her voice jumped another octave. “Are you telling me you are in love with me?”

  He laughed a hearty laugh and sat back up straight in his chair. This time he poured the water into his cup and set the strainer in the water.

  "Mrs. Winters knew her husband for seventy-two hours before they got married. It was love at first sight.”

  “Perhaps things were different back then.”

  "Perhaps.”

  Abigail busied her hands by breaking her pumpkin bread into fourths. She took the petite knife and buttered one of the pieces. "You have a very special relationship with Mrs. Winters."

  Carson nodded, the smile still wide on his lips. "I do. We helped each other through a very hard time. I suppose we still help each other out through that very hard time." The smile remained on his lips, but his eyes told another story.

  Abigail sipped her tea. "Since we're friends. Can you tell me about that hard time?"

  Carson broke his bread into pieces, much as she had, but he didn't add butter to the bite he took. He took another moment to collect himself. "Jeffery Winters and I were best friends from the time we were five years old. He was like a brother to me." The smile was back as he brushed his fingers through his hair. “Junior year, just shy of his seventeenth birthday, we headed up Lookout Mountain for a guys’ night."

  Abigail could feel the change in the story coming. Instinctively, she reached her hand across the table and placed it on his.

  He looked up at her with sad eyes, and her heart broke into two.

  "Every part of that night could've been avoided. Every single part." He looked down at their hands, hers covering his, and moved so that he intertwined their fingers together. “We had all intentions of spending the night there, back in the wooded area. We each had a six-pack of some nasty beer. And though we drove to the top, we had no plans to drive back down. We were smarter than that."

  His thumb grazed over her knuckles. The intimacy lit a fire in her chest.

  "We were as drunk as any seventeen-year-old boys could get on cheap beer. We had blankets on the hard ground, stars above our heads, and a little fire in a fire pit.”

  "If you didn't drive down the mountain, what happened?" She had to ask. It was as if he wasn't getting to the end fast enough for her heart to break again.

  "Jeffery got up. It must've been two o'clock in the morning. All we can think is that he got up to go to the bathroom. Then there was the most horrific scream." He squeezed her fingers in his. "He fell off the side of the mountain. They couldn't save him. The fall, the rocks—his injuries were too severe."

  Abigail raised her free hand to her lips, which now trembled. Tears welled in her eyes. "Carson, I'm so sorry."

  "Me too," he said.

  He must have realized he had been squeezing her fingers because he let them go and rubbed his hands over his thighs.

  "Mrs. Winters had always been like a grandmother to me. She treated me just like she treated Jeffery. And since, at the time, my grandparents lived on the East Coast, I embraced that. So, every month I take her to lunch, just as I would have hoped Jeffery would have. She scolds me, gives me advice, and makes me appreciate every single day of my life."

  "Carson, that's beautiful.”

  "A lesson learned at a very high cost."

  Abigail took her napkin from the table and dabbed her eyes. "Well, I feel like we're friends now. Thank you for sharing your story with me."

  Carson gave her a slow nod and a moment later smiled again. "So, friend, tomorrow night? Will you have dinner with me?”

  She certainly had nothing to lose now, she thought. She knew deep in her heart this was the man she was going to marry, just as the premonition had said. Only now, knowing the fate of Mrs. Winters, her heart broke even more. Was she strong enough to see him through that?

  "Okay, friend, I'll have dinner with you."

  The sadness seemed to lift from his eyes. Once again, those dark eyes looked into her soul.

  Chapter 10

  Abigail looked at herself in the little mirror they kept by the back door of the kitchen. She had taken a change of clothes in the makeup bag to work with her that day so that she could change before her date.

  "I've never seen you primp this much for anything," Clare said, perched upon the stool at the worktable. "You can't fool me by telling me you’re only friends. After all, you’ve already told me you were going to marry the man.”

  "I'm still not sure about that. I can't imagine our ideals are going to line up. But I'm not going to lie," Abigail said as she brushed a hand down the front of her skirt. "When I look into those dark eyes, I get a little lost.”

  "It figures that you'd get the guy. Here I've been in this town twice as long as you have, and nothing. Oh well," she moaned as she hopped down from the stool. "I guess if I really wanted one I should go look for one right?”

  Abigail laughed. "Just remember we’re both in the same boat. I'm not actually seeing him, yet. I'm not married to him either.”

  "Call me if you need me. Don't take him home. Call me when you get home.”

  "Yes, ma'am," she said sternly to her cousin who grinned back at her. "I'm going to be okay.”

  "I think you will be too. I'll see you in the morning." Clare grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

  A moment later the door opened again, and Abigail walked out to the front of the store. Oh, she figured she was a goner. There stood Carson Stone. His dark suit jacket hung open, but his tie was still tied. In his arms, he carried the biggest bouquet of red roses Abigail had ever seen.

  She walked toward him. “Are you trying to impress me?"

  "Is it working?" He handed her the bouquet.

  Abigail sniffed at the petals, and the scent filled her with pleasure. She lifted her eyes to his, and at that moment she saw the same image she saw when Mrs. Winters had touched her hand. This man who stood before her, gazing down at her just as he was. Her heart raced so fast she had to rest her hand on her chest. Dating someone meant you started to get to know them. But what was supposed to happen when one of the people in this newly forming relationship already knew the result? And what if, looking up into his eyes, she knew how much she was going to love him?

  "I think it worked."

  There was an awkward silence that brewed between them. Deep inside, Abigail wished he would move in and kiss her, but her reaction from the day before probably stopped him. Should give him credit for holding back.

  "Let me put these in some water." She turned and walked back to the kitchen, and he followed, just as she hoped he might. "There is a large vase on the top shelf," she said as she pointed up in the storage area. "Would you mind pull
ing it down?”

  “Sure.”

  Abigail watched, with some delight, as Carson took down the vase. He set it down next to the sink where she had placed the flowers.

  “I'll arrange these in the morning. They're going to look beautiful on the front counter."

  Carson reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. The movement so intimate, Abigail had to pay attention to her knees so they wouldn’t give out.

  "Is your car here?”

  "Yes, of course.”

  That smile, oh that smile, formed on his mouth. “Since I'll be bringing you back here, after dinner, why don't you take them home with you.”

  "But I'll only be home to sleep. I'm coming right back here in the morning.”

  "Then I'll get you more roses. I want those to be set next to your bed when you wake up in the morning. I'm trying to make sure I'm the first thing you think about when you wake up.”

  Abigail swallowed hard. “I thought we were going to dinner as friends.”

  "Sometimes the best lover starts out as a friend."

  She could hardly breathe now. It took everything she had not to throw her arms around Carson's neck and pull him in. Tyrant, she reminded herself. It would be much better if she just kept in mind that he was a tyrant. Perhaps if she could get him to not tear down the church, she could change her mind. Because right at the moment, she really wanted to change her mind.

  * * *

  Carson had made reservations at the Golden Hotel for dinner. He figured it was close. And if for any reason she walked out on him in the middle of dinner, she wouldn't have too far to go. He still wasn't sure the roses had impressed her. Though, there were a few times he thought if he kissed her she'd accept it. Not tonight. He was going to take this nice and slow.

  He decided not to tell her how ecstatic Mrs. Winters was that he was taking her to dinner tonight. If it were up to Mrs. Winters, he'd be proposing tonight. No, he'd never run off and get married as she had. Though something about Abigail tugged at him. Maybe someday he'd run off with her. Okay, it wouldn't be running off. It would be a drawn-out relationship. Watching the way she studied the menu, he figured she'd need a lot of wedding planning. Perhaps even, a lot of encouragement to want to get married. The thought humored him, and he chuckled.

  She lowered her menu. "Did I do something funny?”

  "Not at all. I'm enjoying watching you make this decision. Have you not eaten here before?”

  Abigail put the menu down. "No. I usually work through lunch and breakfast. I'm very frugal. So I often eat at home. And," she began, as she picked up her menu, "I sound like a snob. I'm sorry."

  She lifted the menu up to hide her face. How endearing, Carson thought. “I certainly don't take you as a snob. I peg you as somebody who is very thoughtful, and doesn't make rash and spur of the moment decisions.”

  Lowering the menu, Abigail looked up at him. "I like your analogy much better. I can't make up my mind." She closed the menu and set it down. "I'm going to do something a little bit rash. I'm going to let you decide what I'm eating for dinner.”

  "You're going to let me decide? I have very good taste."

  "I don't eat fish. Make your selection accordingly." She smiled at him, and it twisted him up inside. Yeah, it was going to take a lot of discipline to not pull her to him and kiss her madly. Oh, but when he did, it was going to be magic.

  * * *

  The chill in the October air was welcome against Abigail's skin as they walked from the hotel the two blocks to her shop. Tourists walked the streets and ducked in and out of restaurants and bars. During the summer, when the sun stayed out longer, people dined on the patios of those restaurants and rafted down the creek. It was a tranquil and beautiful place, Abigail thought. She could see herself growing old in the community.

  As they turned the corner and she looked up at the mountain, the M glowed from its top. She had quickly learned that the M belonged to the School of Mines which occupied most of downtown Golden. It was like a calling card. But to her, no matter where she was in the city, she knew that right below that M was home.

  “That is one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen,” she said glancing toward Carson whose head was down as he walked. "Don't you think?"

  His walk slowed, and he finally lifted his eyes. Then he stopped. "Don't think I'm crazy, okay, but I stopped looking at that mountain thinking it was a beautiful sight a long time ago. I only go up there now when I need to clear my head.”

  Abigail studied him. Who would stop looking at a mountain—and then it dawned on her. Lookout Mountain stood right in front of them. Golden was centered at the base of that very mountain.

  She reached for his hand and squeezed it, just as she had when he told her the story. "That was insensitive of me. I didn't think about it."

  He turned her toward him and lifted his hand to her cheek. "How could you possibly think that was insensitive? It's a mountain. For me to think it didn't exist, well, that was just silly. In fact, you have no idea how much it helped me to tell you that story. Keeping close with Mrs. Winters, that keeps him alive to me. But in fact, this whole town should keep him alive. We ran amok like crazy kids," he chuckled. He reached for her other hand and clasped their fingers together. "I think of him more fondly now. I think of those good times. Not that one unfortunate one that took him away. Thank you for showing me the beauty in what is around us.”

  She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it. What else could she say?

  They held hands as they walked the last few feet toward her shop.

  "I'm going to go inside and get the flowers.”

  "I'll wait right here for you," he offered as he tucked his hands into his pockets.

  Abigail opened the door to the shop and turned on the light. She took a moment and breathed in deep to calm herself. She pushed the word tyrant back into the forefront of her head. She had told Clare she had a mission, she just wasn't sure she believed in it anymore.

  Abigail picked up the vase of roses and walked back to the front door where Carson waited.

  "Would you hold these for me please," she asked as she handed him the flowers. She locked the door and turned back to him.

  “Where's your car?"

  “Right behind the building. I can make it to my car."

  "I'll carry them to your car. They're very special roses you know," he said, as they went around the building.

  "Very special? And what makes them so very special?" she asked as she unlocked the car and opened the door.

  Carson handed her the vase, and she belted it carefully into the seat, then she turned back to him for her answer.

  "Those came out of Mrs. Winters' garden.”

  Abigail looked at the roses and then back at Carson. "It's October. Nobody's roses look like that. Now you’re telling me stories.”

  Carson held up his hands as if in surrender. "I kid you not. She has a garden out front, and one in the back. And she has an entire greenhouse of roses that stay beautiful all year."

  "Carson, they're beautiful. Tell her how grateful I am that she gave these to you. I will put them next to my bed so that the first thing I think about is you.”

  He held her gaze. But he didn't move in to kiss her.

  "How about tomorrow, you and I stop by her house after work. I know she would love to see you. She is looking very forward to her birthday tea, and the invitation is still open for you to join us.”

  "Tomorrow I'll be done by six. Pick me up then?"

  "See you tomorrow. Now get in your car. I'm not going to walk away until I've seen you drive away."

  With a smile, Abigail closed the passenger door and walked around to the other side of the car. "Would you believe it if I told you I've never had a high tea for my birthday?”

  "Then consider our invitation. It could be the first of many wonderful things.”

  She let the words settle around her heart, then climbed into her car, started the engine, and drove away.

>   Chapter 11

  The table in the boardroom was covered in blueprints, and that gave Carson some extreme satisfaction. The drawings were for the church on Ford Street. The majority of the building was going to have to come down. Much of it couldn't be saved, structurally. He was glad the blueprints came through before the meeting. Not that it would change the minds of anyone who was going to be there. Perhaps if they saw that they were going to leave the integrity of what was left, they'd be a bit more supportive.

  Doug, the architect, began to roll up the blueprints and put them back in their tube. “The area is going to be fantastic. It's too bad you have to go through what you have to go through to get that far.”

  “It's all part of the process. But what would our freedoms matter if we couldn't chain ourselves to trees that were going to get cut down?”

  "Your attitude is better than mine," Doug said as he secured the lid on the tube. “I suppose I’d be the guy ramming the tree with the bulldozer.”

  Carson wasn't so sure about that, but every once in a while he understood the feeling. What they were planning was going to bring revenue to the area. The church, had it still been a house of worship, would've brought value to the community as well. But the building, vacant for nearly thirty years, was going to bring nothing but tragedy.

  Regardless, the threats would still come. The building would be built. He'd move onto the next project. Today, however, he had a date with two amazing women. One he knew nearly as well as he knew himself, the other he felt he might if she'd spend more time with him.

  As Doug cleaned up his things and left the room, Carson leaned back in his chair and chewed on the end of his pen. He had never met anyone quite like Abigail. There were times when she looked at him, and he thought she could read him. Other times, he thought perhaps she was afraid of him.

  He'd been brainstorming about her birthday. Mrs. Winters was easy. She wanted to have tea. What could he do for Abigail that would make her birthday special? He'd give it some thought. Perhaps he'd ask his mother. She seemed to be in good with Abigail. That would be a good thing, wouldn't it? If they got married, and his mother liked her?