by Lane, Nina
“Okay.”
We finish rolling up the banner. Marianne unlocks the front door and pushes it open. After she flicks on the lights, I can see that the interior is more dingy and worn than I remember. All the tables and chairs are stacked against one side of the room beside a pile of chintz tablecloths. The floral wallpaper is starting to peel, and a thin layer of dust has settled over everything.
I run my hand over the high, curved back of a chair. “Has anyone asked to lease the building?”
“I’ve had a few inquiries, but no applications yet.”
“What kind of place would you like to see here?” I ask.
“I haven’t really thought about it, Liv.” Marianne looks around a bit wistfully. “My mother always just loved the fact that people enjoyed themselves here. She liked making customers happy, serving them good food. She never minded that some of them would stay for several hours, just chatting and drinking tea. In fact, she’d encourage it.”
“Your mother would have gotten along great with my friend Allie,” I remark. “Allie’s the same way. A natural hostess. She owns the Happy Booker bookstore over on Emerald.”
“Oh, yes. I saw there was a going-out-of-business sale.”
A pang of sorrow hits me. “Allie lost the lease on the building. She tried everything to bring in new customers. Children’s parties were her biggest events, but she never had much success despite all her planning and creativity…”
My voice trails off. Something flickers to life in the back of my mind.
“Do you have a business card?” I ask Marianne.
“There’s probably one still back here.” She goes behind the front counter and rummages around underneath the cash register. “I have a crew scheduled to come in next week and clear out the tables and things. Ah, here we are.”
She retrieves a card and writes something on the back. “There’s my cell phone number, if you’d like to discuss anything.”
“Thanks.” I glance around the restaurant again before Marianne and I exchange goodbyes.
I walk to Emerald Street and the bookstore. Allie is busy moving the remaining sale books to the front shelves.
“Hey, Allie, I understand why you need to let the bookstore go,” I tell her, “but would you hear me out about something else?”
“Sure.” Allie straightens and gives me her full attention.
“I was just over looking at Matilda’s Teapot when the owner stopped by,” I explain. “She seemed really nice. We started chatting, and she told me she doesn’t have any plans for the building.”
“That’s a great place, isn’t it? Like a big old dollhouse.”
I try to ignore the nerves tightening my stomach again. “Allie, what if you and I rented the building and started a new business there?”
Allie blinks. “A new business? What kind of business?”
“It’s coded for food service, so I was thinking of a café, but something unique and focused on children and families.”
Allie leans her elbows on the counter. “Mirror Lake does have a ton of families, and there’s a whole new bunch of them every summer during tourist season. A family café wouldn’t lack for patrons. But there are also a million other restaurants and cafés in town.”
“That’s why we’d have to do something different. Something that would appeal to both locals and tourists.”
“Like what?”
“Like a party place,” I say. “Your children’s book parties were always so creative and fun… what if we opened a place where kids could have themed birthday parties?”
“There are lots of kids’ party places in town, not to mention in Rainwood and Forest Grove.”
“Not like this… I don’t think.” Of course, I haven’t done any research, so I go to the computer and do a quick Internet search. “Bouncy houses, sports parties, pizza places, karate parties. They don’t offer the kind of parties that you could. Like that Alice in Wonderland birthday you had when you turned ten, with the Red Queen cake and Mad Hatter tea party.”
“I couldn’t even get kids to come to those at the bookstore when I offered them free cake and cookies.”
“What if we combined it with another business, like a café?” I ask. “We both researched opening a café when we were looking into putting one in the bookstore, and I’m sure Marianne would give us advice or even help out. Maybe we could have a café that also offers birthday party packages.”
Allie straightens, a gleam of interest finally appearing in her eyes. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“We could uphold the tradition of Matilda’s Teapot by offering tea, but we could tailor the experience toward children and families,” I say. “Like have whimsical plates and teapots, maybe Red Queen cupcakes and those rainbow cake-pops you had for the Wizard of Oz party…”
Allie and I look at each other for a minute. It’s a good idea. We both know it.
“I have the money to invest now, Allie.”
“You do,” she says. “I don’t. I’m maxed out on credit, and another loan isn’t an option. I can’t contribute to start-up costs.”
“But you have a lot more experience than I do,” I point out. “You know about expenses, taxes, insurance, hiring employees, payroll. I don’t know any of that, but I’m a fast learner. If I contribute the money, you’d contribute the know-how.”
“Brent could help us out with the logistics,” Allie muses. “He was assistant manager at the Sugarloaf Hotel for three years, and now he’s a manager at the Wildwood Inn. Plus he has two degrees in hotel and restaurant management.”
The whole venture sounds both daunting and exciting. As Allie and I work for the rest of the afternoon, we exchange ideas about the café.
“I think we should do something like your Alice in Wonderland party,” I say. “Put greenery around the front entrance so it’s like a rabbit hole. Then we could have Queen of Hearts tarts and Cheshire Cat porridge… or if we combined it with the Wizard of Oz, we could have those sugar cookies you made with Heart and Courage iced onto them, and the lime-green punch…”
“That building does have two stories,” Allie says. “We could have one theme upstairs and another downstairs. Then have one menu, but with different dishes from each theme.”
“And we could offer birthday parties in one of the upstairs rooms so that they’re separate from the everyday running of the place.”
A palpable excitement flows between us.
“What’ll we call it?” Allie asks.
A name pops into my head without effort, as if it has been there all along.
“The Wonderland Café,” I say.
“I love it!” Allie claps her hands. “We’ll have murals on the walls with scenes from the books, and we can paint the staircase to look like yellow bricks leading up to the Wizard of Oz section.”
I can’t help smiling at the way she’s now talking about it as if it’s something we’re actually doing. The funny thing is that I can picture it too, envision how it would all look.
During my call with Dean that night, I take a breath and tell him about my ideas for turning Matilda’s Teapot into a café and birthday party place.
“That’s a great idea, Liv,” he says. “I’ve never even heard of that kind of café, and the location of the tearoom is perfect to catch a family crowd.”
Oh, my husband’s voice. Better than chocolate, hot baths, café mochas, sunshine. Warms me from the inside out and everywhere in between. I curl beneath my quilt, pulling my knees up to my chest.
“I think it’s a great idea too,” I tell him.
“I’d only suggest that you make sure you have enough money not just to start up, but also maintain working capital for at least eight or nine months.”
Ah, Professor West. Always practical. And usually right.
“What does Allie think?” he asks.
“She’s excited about it, but we need to do a lot of work and research first. I don’t even know how much it would take to get started, or if my inheritance is enough.”
“I’ll give you whatever else you need.”
My stomach twists. “I know you would, but I really want to do this by myself.”
“I don’t mean I’d be a partner. I’d just give you the money.”
“Dean, I don’t want you to.”
“Why not?”
“Because I need to figure it out by myself,” I tell him. “And if you ride in like the cavalry to save me, that defeats the whole purpose.”
“How is supporting you defeating a purpose?”
“I don’t want to be indebted to you for a business. Do you realize that I have been financially dependent on you for everything?”
“That doesn’t matter, Liv.”
“It matters to me now.” I can’t keep a hint of impatience from my voice. “I thought it was all so blissful and comfortable, and it was easy to let you take care of everything. Even when I was looking for a job, there was no urgency about it because I knew you’d be there if I failed. Maybe that’s why I never figured out what I’m good at. I haven’t failed enough.”
“You don’t need to fail to figure that out. It takes time, not failure.”
“Look, all I’m saying is that I appreciate the offer, but I can’t take money from you. I won’t. With this inheritance, I finally have the opportunity to start something on my own.”
“Liv, everything I have is yours too. You’re not taking anything from me.”
“No, Dean. I need to do this without you.”
The air between us vibrates with irritation. The pattern of my quilt blurs before my eyes. Once again, it would be so easy to surrender. Dean would give Allie and me whatever amount of money we need, we’d start our fanciful little business… and there would be a huge safety net beneath us no matter what went wrong.
Who wouldn’t want to accept such an offer?
And how would I feel about myself if I did?
I straighten my spine and take a breath before speaking again.
“Thank you,” I say. “And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. You know in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy realizes at the end that the ruby slippers will bring her home? And Glinda the Good Witch of the North tells her that she had to learn for herself that she always had the power?”
“Uh, sure.”
“It’s like that.”
“Okay.” He sounds faintly confused.
I search my brain for something he can better relate to. “Or it’s like King Arthur. He couldn’t have become king if he hadn’t had the strength to pull Excalibur from the stone, right?”
“Actually, evidence is that there were two swords,” Dean says. “And there are a few different versions of that story, one from Geoffrey of Monmouth stating that the Lady of the Lake gave Arthur the sword after he ascended the throne.”
I can’t help smiling. My sexy, wonderful husband, a scholar to the core.
“Do you get my point at all, professor?” I ask.
He’s silent for a moment. I almost hold my breath.
“I get it,” he says, and now the tone of his voice indicates that he really does.
“Okay.” I exhale slowly, my tension easing. “You know I love you like a bee loves honey.”
“You know I can’t wait to pollinate your flower.”
I chuckle. “It’s been a while since you have, huh?”
“Way too long, baby.”
My heart tightens a little. Neither of us knows exactly how much longer it will be.
“Still there?” Dean asks.
“I’m here. I miss you.”
“I miss you too, beauty.”
I imagine him lying on his bed, one arm behind his head, his T-shirt stretched across his muscular chest. I shake off my brief sorrow and run a hand over my body.
“You know, I’ve been having such hot dreams about us,” I remark.
“Am I still a gladiator in your dreams?”
“You’ve been all sorts of sexy, manly things.” I close my eyes and settle deeper into the chair. “A knight, of course. A vampire.”
“I’m sure I bit you.”
“Uh huh.” I slide a hand underneath my T-shirt to my breasts. “You’ve been a rock star, a cowboy, a firefighter… oh, that was a good one because you rescued me from a burning building, then couldn’t take your hands off me… And once you were a half-naked genie—”
“A genie?”
“Mmm. You went up in smoke when I rubbed your lamp.”
I don’t know whether to be annoyed or amused when Dean starts laughing.
Over the next week, Allie and I continue to brainstorm ideas for the café as we finish emptying the bookstore. I call Marianne to set up a meeting so Allie can also see the interior of Matilda’s Teapot.
“We were talking about murals.” Allie spreads out her hands to frame the south wall. “Maybe we could paint a scene of the Mad Hatter tea party there. Curtains and tablecloths with patterns of cards on them. And if we do the Wizard of Oz upstairs, we could decorate the rooms according to the location. Like Emerald City, a Kansas farm, Munchkinland, and the witch’s castle.”
“You’ll have to get inspections done, but the building itself is up to code,” Marianne says. “And the kitchen is ready for cooking and customers, so it would be a matter of redecorating, establishing the menu, ordering new inventory, and working out a business plan.”
I glance at her. “You told me you were sorry you had to retire, but that running the tearoom became too much for one person.”
“That’s true.”
“Would you be interested in helping us do some planning?” I ask. “We could use your expertise.”
“I’d love to. I can give you all the overhead costs and help you with permits and insurance. I can also put you in touch with my suppliers and even my former staff, if you’d like.”
The three of us sit down at one of the tables. Allie gets out her notebook and I open my laptop.
“Oh, and a local magazine is doing a story on Matilda’s Teapot and how it became an institution,” Marianne continues. “If it works out with your idea, the reporter might include you in the story as the next business for the historic building. It’s a magazine about women entrepreneurs, so it would be a great angle.”
“Great publicity too,” Allie remarks.
Though I’m excited at the idea of even being considered an entrepreneur, by the time we’ve figured out a budget for start-up expenses, I’m shell-shocked at how much it will all cost.
“If we get moving soon, we can start remodeling right away,” Allie says as she and I walk back to the Happy Booker. “Even set a date for opening. The sooner we can open, the faster we can start turning a profit.”
“Remodeling alone will be pricey.”
“We can do a lot of that ourselves, like painting and stuff. And Brent knows a bunch of contractors who’d give us a good price.”
“This is a huge undertaking.”
“I know, but we have an awesome location, and with Marianne and Brent’s help we’ll have great management. And Marianne said her staff would probably love to come back. Some of them had been working for her for years, and they have a ton of experience.”
“Who will run the kitchen?”
“Brent knows the woman who runs the kitchen over at the Sugarloaf Hotel,” Allie says. “She has lots of contacts in the area. I’m sure she can recommend someone good. Oh, I was thinking we could serve shoestring fries and call it Scarecrow’s Straw. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
I should have known, I think, as I haul another box of books to the storage area. Aside from being an eternal optimist, once Allie sets her mind on something, she’s like a bulldog gnawing on a ste
ak bone.
Well, more like a cocker spaniel nibbling at a dog treat, but she’ll bite your ass if you try and take it away from her.
After turning over the numbers a hundred times and getting Brent’s input, Allie and I hire an inspector for the building, and meet with a lawyer who explains and negotiates the lease terms.
Finally, before either of us loses courage, we agree to sign the lease. On the evening of March twenty-seventh, after we hang up the Closed sign at the Happy Booker for the last time, Allie locks the door and comes to the front counter where I’m putting on my coat.
“Hold on.” She hurries into the office and returns carrying her things and a bottle of champagne.
“What’s that for?” I ask.
“For us.” Allie plunks the bottle on the counter and produces two plastic cups from her bag. “A celebration. One door closing, another one opening and all that.”
“Good God, Allie, do you fart glitter?”
She bursts into laughter. “Pink and purple all the way.”
I grin as she hands me the bottle to open. We pour the champagne, toast to the end of the Happy Booker and the beginning of the Wonderland Café. Allie locks up the store and pushes the keys back through the mail slot. We hug each other goodbye, agree to get together later in the week, and head home.
Now that the bookstore is officially closed, I’m even more nervous about the café venture. It was my idea, and I’m the one who asked Allie to be a partner. If it doesn’t work out, the failure will lie on my shoulders.
And even though I told Dean that maybe I haven’t failed enough, I certainly don’t want to take a friend down with me if I do. On the other hand, Allie was right when she said we already have a great support system and location. Failing would actually take some work.
I shake off my lingering uncertainty as I walk into the foyer of our apartment building. I collect a few bills from the mailbox and go upstairs. There’s a note taped to our front door. I stop.
Shock floods me. I stand there and try to process what the note means. Then my heart gives a wild leap, jolting me into action. I turn and hurry back downstairs to Avalon Street. The instant I step outside, I start to run.
