“My fault. I feel really horrible,” he said as he loaded the signs into my trunk. “And I’d love to buy you a coffee…and a Band-Aid, if you’re up for it.”
“You’re missing a great event. Speaking of which, I need to get back to my booth. It was great meeting you, Julie,” Rayne said, sticking out his hand.
Awkwardly, and with a giggle, I shook his hand left-handed, nursing my still-bleeding finger on my right hand. It was starting to throb. “Nice to meet you too.”
With a smile, Rayne waved and headed back down the street.
I turned back to Horatio who had just finished loading the last of my signs back into the trunk of my bug.
“All set,” he said, closing the trunk. “Ready?”
Horatio. Who in the world names their kid Horatio these days? “Really, you don’t have to. I’m all right,” I said.
“Are you sure? It’s not every day I slam into the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Alice makes a mean bagel. If you’re hungry, I’ll spring for lunch too,” he said with a smile.
I eyed him over. He really did seem sorry. And, considering my tissue was already soaked with blood, I really did need a bandage. And when I looked at him once more, peering into his light blue eyes, I liked what I saw. There was someone soft, maybe even kind, living inside those eyes. They intrigued me.
“All right, just let me stow this first,” I said, setting the recipe box on the passenger seat of my car. As I set it down, I noticed what I had thought was silver paint on the lid actually looked like real silver. Someone had inlaid strands of silver onto the woman’s hair and the dust she was blowing seemed to be flecked gold. It was so lovely. I tossed a sweater over the box, just for safe keeping, then locked up the car. I turned back to Horatio who was unsnaking his tie from around his throat. I smiled at him. “Lead the way.”
Chapter 6: Horatio
“Hey Alice,” I called as I guided Julie, touching her gently on the small of her back, to the counter.
“Horatio? Here to blow some of that money you raised?”
I laughed. “You know that was for charity.”
“Don’t I count?”
“Only if you’re going to run a bagel-making workshop for kids.”
“You know, that’s a cool idea,” Alice said with a thoughtful grin.
“First, med triage. Got a first aid kit? This is Julie, and I’m pretty much responsible for slicing her finger open.”
“Smooth,” Alice said then turned to Julie. “Hi Julie, I’m Alice. Want to come around back? I can clean you up,” Alice said as she looked over Julie’s finger.
“I don’t want to trouble you. You’re so busy,” Julie said, casting a glance around the deli.
“Cleaning up Horatio’s messes is something I’m very good at,” Alice said with a knowing wink. She was right. I was less than smooth at times, and figuring out how to unglue gold diggers was a skill I hadn’t yet mastered. Alice, on the other hand, knew how to pull them off like the painful burrs they were.
“Uh, okay,” Julie said, curiosity filling her voice, as she headed around the counter toward the back with Alice.
From a distance, I watched the two of them chatting while Alice bandaged Julie up. They laughed like old friends. The scene made me smile.
The bell above the door rang. A guy with two small kids entered. He ushered them to the small kids’ corner then went to the counter.
“Hey Cooper,” Alice called. “Be right there.”
The guy waved to Alice then headed over to play with the kids. The two children, a boy and a girl, giggled wildly when their daddy sat down at the kids-sized table with them and began serving them invisible drinks. I smiled as I thought of Viola.
As if on cue, my phone vibrated. I pulled it out to find a message from my sister.
Second place for Frozen Kisses. Suppose we ought to stay in a hotel tonight? Viola wrote.
Another state might be better. I replied.
For the love…he must be losing his shit. He’s acting…weird. His smile is wider than his face. He even started giving me shit because you didn’t get that property yet. Better work it out before he has a coronary.
Giving you shit? Why? Tell him to back off.
Take your own advice.
No. Seriously. He doesn’t need to take that out on you. It’s on me.
I frowned at my phone. Why would Dad go after Viola for something she had nothing to do with? I didn’t remember Dad ever acting like this when Mom was alive. Viola had always been his princess, and I had been his protégé. Now I was the land baron’s whipping boy and Viola just “didn’t take anything seriously.”
It’s all right. Just try to get the property. Viola wrote.
Trying.
Try harder.
“Here we go,” Alice said, returning with Julie. “You guys want lunch?”
“It’s on me,” I told Julie.
“Oh, definitely take him up on it then. He’s notoriously cheap,” Alice said, using one of her many well-rehearsed lines that was sure to send the gold diggers screaming for the hills.
Julie laughed. “That’s no problem. I’m a cheap date. I’m game if you still have time,” she said then, smiling at me.
God, she was gorgeous. She looked like she’d stepped out of a Botticelli painting, stopped by Woodstock for a makeover, then landed before me to make me lose what little cool I had managed to acquire over the years.
“Yes. I do have time, I mean. A muffaletta for me. How about you, Julie?”
Julie quickly scanned the menu board above the counter. “Avocado and tempeh?”
“Veg?” Alice asked.
Julie nodded.
“All right. Just give me a few,” she said then waived us toward a table. “Cooper!” she called then, turning to the dad. “How’s my mermaid?”
“Hungry,” the man replied with a laugh.
“All packed up,” Alice said as she handed him a to-go bag.
“Is here okay?” Julie asked, drawing my attention back.
I nodded, stopping to pull out her chair for her.
I saw her raise an eyebrow, but she said nothing.
“So you’re a vegetarian?” I asked, sitting down across from her at the small table.
Julie nodded. “For about six years. I don’t try to be sanctimonious about it. It’s just better for my body.”
“I’ve tried a few times. Nine months was my longest stretch. Pepperoni pizza defeated me.”
“Hot dogs and Slim Jims, that’s what I crave. And I’m not sure they’re even meat. But I still haven’t given in.”
“Maybe you miss MSG.”
Julie laughed. “Maybe,” she said as she smiled nicely at me. “So, you were at a charity event?”
I nodded. “The Chancellor Arts Council. I organized their fundraiser. It went really well.”
“That’s so cool. I thought you worked for the winery?”
“Yeah, well, the winery is my family’s business. I sort of fell into it. My mother—she passed last year—was really active in the art community here. It left a soft spot in my heart, so I try to help out.”
Julie smiled softly and lightly touched my hand as if to comfort me. “My mom died over the summer. I understand how hard it can be,” she said, brushing my hand in a kind of careful caress once more then let me go.
“Sorry to hear that. How…”
“Cancer,” Julie answered.
“Same here.”
“My mom…we had a relative who left us the property on Magnolia. You’d mentioned the winery was interested. It wasn’t a regular real estate acquisition. We…I…inherited it. I’m going to pull it off the market. I’ll be opening up a shop there.”
Panic spread from my head to my toes. I could already hear Dad bitching at me, and then at Viola, about how we were costing him his dream. What in the hell was I going to say now?
“Here you go,” Alice said, setting down two red plastic baskets, the perfectly prepared sandwiches inside, sided,
of course, by her homemade chips. She set down two glasses of water as well. “Want anything else? Coffee or anything?”
“No. Thank you,” Julie replied politely. “These look fabulous. Thank you, Alice.”
“You’re very welcome,” Alice replied, and with a wave, she headed back to the kitchen, pausing to flash me two thumbs-up signs behind Julie’s back.
I lifted the sandwich and took a bite while I considered what to say next. How in the hell was I going to get her to give up the property? It was an inheritance.
“Oh my God, this thing is amazing,” Julie said. “It’s got some wild cream cheese on it. Is that dill? And fresh basil. Wow,” Julie said, examining her sandwich before she took another bite.
“What were you thinking of doing with the property?” I asked.
“I’m a baker,” Julie said confidently. “I was thinking sweets, all organic though, and a tea shop. Like an old apothecary.”
“Really?” I asked as my mind twisted with what to say, to do, next.
Julie caught my apprehension but misread it. “You don’t think people here would like that?”
Panic. I felt the muscles across my chest tighten.
“I…I’m not sure,” I lied. People in Chancellor would love it. Besides Alice’s bagels, there wasn’t a real bake shop in town, and the older ladies in Chancellor would adore a tea shop. But if I told her that, well, then there would be no talking her out of the property. “If you want to open up a place in Chancellor, the old Pizzeria over on Maple, really close to the college, just became available. That family retired, and pizza is always a hit near a college.”
Julie eyed me suspiciously then shrugged. “I don’t know. The old place on Magnolia has so much character, you know?”
I did know, but I also knew how pissed off Dad was going to be if I didn’t get that property. “Sat a long time though. The roof was looking pretty rough. Plumbing and wiring might be a problem. Could be tough, and expensive, to turn it around.”
“It’s just so adorable. I love its vibe. What were you thinking to do with the place?” Julie asked, and this time I heard an edge to her voice that wasn’t there before.
“We’re opening a restaurant quite near that spot. Maybe you noticed the old water wheel just down the block from you? I think Dad is looking for some overflow space,” I said carefully.
“Restaurant overflow? Like an extra kitchen? Storage?”
“Well, no, not really.”
“Oh,” Julie said then, setting down her sandwich. “So, more like parking.”
“The building is just too old. I’d hate to see you go into the property. It’s just sat unused for so long.”
Julie sat back in her seat and sipped her water. She had a mildly annoyed look on her face. “So your Dad was planning to demolish the place? For parking?”
“Well, it just looks like a wreck. Probably not worth saving, no offense to your relative. It’s just been uninhabited for so long. Listen, the winery could offer you a really good price for the property.”
“I’m not sure—”
Panicking, I added, “I know we’d offer you more than enough to get you into a modern shop, some place you wouldn’t have to renovate. Name your price.”
“But the property belonged to a relative,” Julie said, her eyebrows furrowing.
“True. But I’m sure that relative would love to see you succeed in business, not waste your money on new plumbing. There are a few cute places on Main to rent. I could introduce you—”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” she said then started digging through her purse. She pulled out a ten and set it on the table. “Thank you for the lunch.” She rose and strung her purse bandolier style around her body. “And please thank Alice for the Band-Aid.” She cast a glance at her finger. “I…I don’t think we have anything more to discuss. And I really need to head back.”
Crap. Crap, crap, crap. I’d let my Hunter side out, and once again, big money shot his mouth off. This time, however, I’d scared off someone truly lovely.
“Please don’t go, Julie. Sorry…I…I had to ask. I didn’t mean to pressure—”
“No worries,” she said, flashing me what I recognized as a fake smile. “Nice to meet you, Horatio,” she said then turned and exited the building, the bell above the door signaling her departure.
As she turned and headed down the street, I could see the look of utter disgust, frustration, and maybe sadness, on her face.
“What happened?” Alice asked, coming up behind me. “She start pocket digging?”
I shook my head and boggled at the truth. “No. I did.”
Chapter 7: Julie
It was late afternoon by the time I got home. My stomach was growling loudly, my finger ached, and I was still agitated with Horatio Hunter. Dad wasn’t home yet. I headed upstairs to the bathroom and started digging around for a first aid kit. Dad hadn’t thrown away Mom’s makeup and other beauty supplies yet. I opened her little travel kit and found everything I’d been searching for: alcohol, Band-Aids, and Neosporin. As I sat bandaging my finger, my eyes drifted to her drawer full of nail polishes, eye shadows, and moisturizers. Mom and I were so different. It was no wonder we could never see eye to eye on anything. I would never forget the look on her face when I told her I wanted to pass on the scholarship I’d been awarded and go to culinary school.
“What are you talking about?” she said, glowering at me over her cup of coffee one Saturday morning just after I’d graduated from high school.
“I just…I just don’t think dentistry is right for me.”
“Then get your MD or become a psychologist or a nurse or something. The future is in medicine, Julie. How many times have we been over this? You have a scholarship. You’re going.”
“But it’s not my passion. I want to do something that makes me feel…fulfilled. Like you and real estate. College…it just feels wrong. I’m a great cook and an even better baker. Maybe I could open my own bakery or restaurant.”
“The restaurant business is risky. Most restaurants fail in the first year. Do you know how much turnover those buildings get? Passions can cost you. Trust me. Pick something safe.”
“But if I go to culinary school, study the business…”
Aggravated, Mom set down her cup with a thump, spilling black coffee over the lip of the mug. “Don’t ruin your future chasing some worthless dream. It’s decided. And I’m no longer having this conversation,” she’d said, and with that, I knew there was no use in arguing. I’d spent the next two years in college bored out of my mind, studying hard in classes I loathed and whipping up new recipes on the weekend. I’d tried to talk to her the summer before my junior year, before we knew why she was sick all the time, but she wouldn’t hear it. “Julie, I know what’s best for you. Don’t waste your time chasing stars. You’ll thank me later.”
Sometime in mid-June, she woke up in the middle of the night unable to breathe. It was then that we learned that she was in the advanced stages of cancer. She was gone just two weeks before fall semester started. Pushed forward by the momentum of everything, come August I found myself sitting in the classroom wondering why I was there—again. By October, I was failing. And as my student advisor told me, I was sure to lose my scholarship if I didn’t “get my act together.” Act was definitely the right word. Sighing, I closed the med kit, put it back in the drawer, and headed back downstairs.
My bag lay half-open on the chair. I dug into my bag, pulling out the little recipe box. Whether Horatio Hunter liked it or not, I was going to follow my dream. I was sick of people standing in my way. And I was even more frustrated with myself for letting Horatio in. His eyes had tricked me. I’d thought I’d seen someone kind behind those baby blues. In the end, he was just playing me to get what he wanted. Well, that wasn’t going to happen.
I headed back to the kitchen, prepared the portabella and goat cheese pizza for Dad and myself, then pulled out a chair and started looking through the recipe cards. They had fa
ded with age to a soft yellow color. There was an interesting smell effervescing off of them, like the mixed scents of vanilla and lavender. Mrs. Aster had left a trove of recipes: cakes, cookies, herbal teas, you name it. I pulled out all the recipes for sweets. There were at least fifty of them in the box. I thumbed through until I found a recipe for Make a Wish Cake. Well, I was definitely making a wish tonight. I skimmed through the ingredients. We had everything in the house. On the back, however, I spotted something unusual on the card. There seemed to be some kind of poem written alongside the recipe.
To get your wish. Over the batter recite:
Round three times you’ll see my way
Stir backward once protests away
Round three times more to receive
In one bite, they will believe.
I grinned. It seemed like Mrs. Aster was the superstitious type, or maybe she just had a good sense of humor. Suddenly, this distant relative was getting more interesting. I tapped the recipe card on the table. Chasing stars, Mom had called it. Well, tonight chasing stars seemed like a good way to go. I stuck the rest of the recipes back in the box and headed toward the fridge. Half an hour, and lots of molasses, flour, butter, lemon peel, and ground anise, later, the batter was ready. I mixed all the ingredients just as the instructions read, then pulled out the card, reciting the lines over the batter just as it said, my wooden spoon stirring in tandem.
Round three times you’ll see my way
Stir backward once protests away
Round three times more to receive
In one bite, they will believe.
As I stirred, the sharp scents of butter, lemon, and anise filled the kitchen with a heavenly aroma. And if I wasn’t perfectly sure that such a thing was impossible, I thought, for just a moment, that the batter had glowed with a golden shimmer, a glittery swirl of air sweeping up from the bowl. Weird.
The batter ready, I poured it into a cake pan. I then whipped up a little lemon curd buttercream frosting and set it in the fridge to cool. Then I sat down at the table and began drawing up a business plan. Over the course of the day, the vision of what I wanted to do with the place had jelled in my mind: tearoom, organic bakery, apothecary and other all-natural supplies. I could just see the old-fashioned glass case lined with my cupcakes and other treats. I could see the shelves filled with bottles of organic face creams and lotions. I could imagine little café tables in the greenhouse with tiered serving plates for high tea snacks. And in the summer, I’d plant cutting gardens in the yard. I loved the picture so much, and saw it so vividly, I could barely contain myself.
The Cupcake Witch: The Witching Hour Collection (The Chancellor Fairy Tales Book 2) Page 3
