When the oven timer rang, I set my pad aside and rose, pulling the pan out of the oven just as Dad opened the back door. He was juggling his laptop and briefcase along with groceries.
“Here,” I said, setting the cake on the oven beside the pizza to cool. I rushed over to help him.
“Thanks,” he said, sighing heavily with relief. He set his stuff on the table while I started unloading the bags of groceries and stashing everything in the fridge. He’d bought all my favorite breakfast items: fresh multi-grain bread, capers, cream cheese, red onion, and arugula…the perfect breakfast food. I also pulled out pumpkin spice coffee creamer and my favorite brand of coffee from the bag.
“How’d it go in Chancellor?” Dad asked absently.
“Good, actually. I left you a message. Did you get it?”
“Sorry, my ringer was turned off. Been swamped all day.”
“I actually wanted to talk to you about the property.”
“Uh-huh?” he mumbled, his mouth full of something.
“Well, the property is really adorable. It’s got unique architecture. And it’s not just a shop. There is a living space in the back. It’s a mess, but it could be turned around. I was thinking,” I began, but when I looked back, I saw that Dad was holding the notepad on which I’d written my business plan. He was holding it in one hand while he stood over the cake pan with a fork in his other hand.
“Dad!” I said with a laugh. “That’s hot. I just pulled it out of the oven. And it still needs frosting.”
My dad looked from the paper to me. “You want the property in Chancellor? For this?” he said, motioning to the notepad.
I nodded.
Dad took another bite of the cake then looked at the paper again.
“I was thinking…I want to refurbish the greenhouse and set the place up like an old-fashioned apothecary. I’d sell teas, herbs, essential oils, and have baked goods made from organic ingredients. I was even thinking I could turn the greenhouse into a little tea garden. The shop on the inside, the tea garden in the greenhouse. I’d serve high teas, even let people reserve the space for bridal showers, things like that. I could live in the back. I have money saved up. I can make it work. I know I can. I’m a good baker, and I have a head for business, you and mom taught me so much. The property is right on Main among a bunch of cool boutiques, restaurants, and cafés. It’s a perfect fit.”
“Green Earth Apothecary & SerendipiTEA Gardens,” my dad read from the business plan.
“Yeah, Green Earth Apothecary…Gea, like a play on the Earth Goddess’ name. And I thought I’d use Mrs. Aster’s old business name, Serendipity Gardens, change it up a little and marry the two together.”
“This is your wish?” my Dad asked, looking at the paper.
A chill went down my spine, and goosebumps rose on my skin. Wish? Dad took another bite of the cake as he looked at my business plan.
“It is,” I whispered.
“Then, done!” he said, raising the fork triumphantly. “Now, let me get out of my monkey suit, and let’s have some of that pizza! Wow, Jules, this cake is amazing…butter, lemon, and anise. Zap. Tastes fabulous. My daughter is the next Martha Stewart,” he said then wandered off, taking his fork with him.
I crossed the room and picked up the recipe card: Make a Wish Cake. Surely, it had to be a coincidence, right?
Chapter 8: Horatio
I left Alice’s deli and headed back to the ice wine event tent feeling completely defeated. Not only did I not get the property, but I’d also scared away the most interesting prospect I’d come across in months. Julie Dayton…a boho Botticelli. At that moment, I hardly cared what Dad had to say. He could do his worst.
And, of course, that’s exactly what he did.
Grabbing a glass of Merlot, I crossed the tent and took a seat across from my father.
“Well?” he demanded.
“The property isn’t available anymore,” I said, sipping the wine. While I know I should have been concentrating on the red hue that was rising up from Dad’s neck and across his face, the only red I could think of was that of Julie Dayton’s hair. How in the world was I going to find a way to apologize to her? I’d acted like a complete ass.
“What do you mean the property isn’t available anymore?” Dad’s voice was icy as he glared at me across the luncheon table.
Viola, who’d been chatting with another winery owner, must have sensed a family dispute was about to erupt. She pulled out a chair and sat, strategically, between us. “And what are we arguing about?” she asked as she pushed her long, dark hair over her shoulder. She was smiling as she lifted her wine glass and toasted someone across the room. “The tension between you is practically palpable. Can you two at least try to act civil in front of everyone?” she said while smiling and waving.
“Once more, Horatio has managed to screw up something both simple but important,” Dad said, jerking his tie roughly.
“Well, all I’ve heard all day today is what a fabulous event he organized on the beach this morning,” Viola said as she pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse and freshened up her makeup. “Horatio pulled off a bloody miracle, Dad. He raised a ton of money for the arts council.”
“But he still managed to lose the property. And where are we supposed to put the restaurant parking now?” he asked sharply.
Viola sighed heavily. “They can just park at the city lot. It’s just a few blocks up Main. We’ll get the city to give us some valet spots. Think outside the box. You don’t need to flatten everything—or everyone—just to get what you want.”
Frustrated, he glared at Viola. “And what about you? Have you heard back from the city about The Grove? What have they said?”
“Same thing they always say,” Viola replied then paused to wave at yet another grower. “Love Dew was amazing this year,” she called to the owners of one of the California vineyards participating in the competition. “You aren’t going to get that land. It’s a historic site. Chancellor is very particular about that kind of thing. We won’t have room for the outside wine garden, but our patrons will have a beautiful view of the park.”
I smiled at my sister in admiration. She knew how to handle Dad. Her I couldn’t give a shit less about his hardheaded ways attitude was one I needed to adopt. But it had always been like that. Viola was strong-willed and had a good sense of right and wrong. Even when we were kids she would correct Dad when he punished us unfairly. Now, she did her job at the winery the way she thought was right. Me, I was still Dad’s lackey, forever trying to please him.
“Mr. Hunter, they’re ready for you now,” the event manager said, distracting Dad who was now glaring at both Viola and me. He rose and headed toward the stage. In a moment, he’d give his annual speech congratulating the winners.
“You need to pull an Elsa on that crap,” my sister said, turning to me.
“What?” I raised an eyebrow at her.
“Dad…just let it go,” she replied in song.
I laughed. “You know how it is.”
“Seriously. Don’t even think about it anymore. We’ll just get valet spaces at the public lot. It will be cheaper anyway. I’ll convince him tomorrow. Don’t let him freak you out. You rocked that event this morning. Everything was perfect. You should be doing more of that kind of thing, not chasing some haggy old real estate agent all across town.”
“Actually, she was…well, not a hag.”
“Oh! Do tell,” my sister said then, leaning closer to me, her interest now piqued.
“The agent…her dad owns the business. She was adorable, smart, funny, and I pressured her over the property so she ran away.”
“Good job,” Viola said with a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Don’t worry, you’ll meet ten more just as pretty tonight and will forget all about her.”
I thought back for a minute about those long red dreadlocks, how she bit her lower lip nervously when I touched her back, and how polite and kind she’d been with Alice. I frowned.
&
nbsp; “Oh, whoa,” Viola said, looking more closely at me. “Like that kind of fabulous?”
Dad tapped a knife against his wine glass, silencing the room.
I nodded.
“Flowers and an apology in person. Tomorrow. Wow, Horatio finally saw someone he liked,” my sister whispered in amazement.
“It was bound to happen eventually,” I replied.
“Was it? I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe you and Rayne were planning to be perpetual bachelors…or maybe a couple,” she said then grinned wickedly.
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
We giggled, but then fell silent as Dad launched into his speech.
“Mom would have been happy to see you’ve at least noticed someone,” Viola whispered.
“Yeah, but now I have to fix it.”
“Then fix it. Oh, and the theater committee called the office right after the event this morning. Professor Lane works fast. They want you to organize the renaming ceremony. You should do it.”
“But Dad—”
“Screw Dad. You know you want this. Take care of the renaming then go for the job at the Chancellor Arts Council.”
“Dad will disown me.”
“You won’t need him anymore. You’d be free of him, the vineyard, and everything else…free to be your own man. And you’re totally going to hire me, right?”
I grinned at my sister. My heart pounded in my chest. There had never been any discussion of what I was supposed to do with my life. The vineyard was everything. We were Hunters. We’d take over the dynasty. But what if that wasn’t, exactly, what I wanted? What if I had different passions?
My mind drifted back to my memory of Julie Dayton’s face. For the first time in what seemed like years, I’d met a girl who was real, a girl who didn’t seem a bit interested in my name, at least not until I’d used it to arm wrestle the property from her. Alice was right. I was a moron. I’d make it right first thing tomorrow. I’d make my mother proud. To hell with what my dad thought.
Chapter 9: Julie
I returned to Chancellor the next day with a trunk full of cleaning supplies and a heart filled with joy. Dad was going to settle all the paperwork to transfer the name on the property and get the gas and lights turned back on. My father amazed me. It was like he knew, he always knew, that I was chasing the wrong dream. That he stood behind me meant so much. I’d make him proud.
A woman on a mission, I wanted to have the shop turned around before Christmas. Chancellor was famous for their old-fashioned downtown Christmas bazaar. My little shop would be a perfect fit. That morning I’d stopped at the courthouse in Sweet Water and applied for my operators’ license and registered with the Health Department, after spending half the night working online to make my lightning-strike of a dream into a reality. It was nearly noon, and I was officially registered as Green Earth Apothecary and SerendipiTEA Gardens. Before the day ended, I’d be making a phone call to the college to drop my classes. Enough was enough.
Maneuvering through the streets as workers cleaned up the street fair the day before, I parked my bug in the side parking lot and toted all my supplies around to the front door. There was a back door to the living space, but the old wrought iron key didn’t work there. I’d have to add calling a locksmith to my to-do list.
When I stuck the old wrought iron key into the door, I was overcome with a happy feeling that made my whole chest swell with light. Nothing had felt this right in a long time. Kismet.
“Honey, I’m home,” I called to the empty space when the door swung open. From inside the greenhouse, a bird chirped a happy little song in reply then fluttered out the open window.
Windows. Windows had to go on the to-do list as well. Speaking of which, I turned then and opened up all the windows, most of which were covered with grime. As I opened each one, I stopped to draw a little heart in the dust.
“Hello, new friend, I’m Julie,” I whispered. “Nice to meet you.”
How long had Mrs. Aster owned the little shop? I slid my finger along the dusty counter. Well, I had to start somewhere. Popping in my earbuds and calling up my favorite folk music playlist, I grabbed one of the many brooms stuffed in the old broom closet. I was surprised to see that the handle of the broom had leaves, flowers, and some really old looking swirls and other designs burned onto the curved handle. That someone had taken the time to lovingly decorate the wood moved me. Taking a deep breath, I leaned into the music and swaying, started sweeping what looked like thirty years of dust off the floor as a sweet breeze blew in through the open window from the lake just a few blocks away.
“Excuse me,” I finally heard someone say along with a tap on my shoulder. From the tone of her voice, I could tell it was not the first time she’d said something.
I turned to find three elderly women looking at me like I’d grown horns.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, pulling out my ear buds. “Had my music turned up too loud and didn’t hear you come in. Can I help you with something?”
The two women standing behind a sweet looking older lady wearing a red and white polka dot raincoat smiled at me.
“Maybe you can. We hope you can,” she said with a smile, looking from me to the broom I was holding. “Well,” she added then, “I haven’t seen you in a very long time. Girls,” she said then, motioning for the others to take a look at the broom I was holding.
The most petite of the three, wearing a large pink hat, gasped audibly. “Who are you?” she asked me then.
“Sorry,” I said then, wiping my hand on my dirty sweatshirt. “I’m Julie Dayton. I’m the new owner.”
Again, all three women looked at me as if they were in shock.
“New owner?” their leader asked.
I smiled. Apparently this was the town busybody committee. If I wanted to make a go in Chancellor, I would definitely need the Ladies’ Auxiliary on my side.
I nodded. “Mrs. Aster was a distant relative of mine. She left me the property. I’m going to reopen the shop.”
Across the room, one of the carved brooms fell out of the closet onto the floor with a loud clatter.
The three older women looked at one another then, after a moment, laughed out loud. They giggled until the third woman, dressed in a purple suit, wiped tears from her eyes.
“Oh, we’re sorry. Julie, wasn’t it? Mrs. Aster was a very good friend of ours. I’m Tootie Row,” the woman in the rain coat introduced, sticking out her hand.
“Violet McClellan,” the woman in the purple suit said, shaking my hand.
“Betty Chanteuse,” the petite little woman introduced.
The names immediately rang a bell. “One minute,” I said. Setting the broom aside, I rushed to the back living space. I returned a moment later with the old photograph. “This is you then, the three of you, with Mrs. Aster?”
“Well, I’ll be,” Tootie said then, looking down at the image. “Was that ‘65?” she asked the others.
They nodded.
“Oh, look at Alberta,” Violet said softly, pointing to another woman in the photo. “Our other friend. She passed away a few years back.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “But I’m so pleased you stopped by. I was hoping someone could tell me about Mrs. Aster. She was a distant relative. I never knew her.”
The three women looked at me, their eyes glimmering with excitement.
“We’d be happy to, Julie,” Tootie said.
“So happy,” Violet added.
“Indeed, indeed. What a miracle. Emma Jane’s relation. Alberta and Emma Jane…they were part of our cov—” Betty started but Tootie raised a hand, cutting her off.
“Not now,” Tootie said then, shooting her friend a knowing but friendly look. “Julie needs to get settled in first. What do you need, dear? What can we help you with? We know everyone in Chancellor. We can help you with just about anything.”
“Well, at the moment, I need a handyman.”
“Oh! I know just the one!” Violet said wit
h a grin. “I’ll send someone over.”
“What else, dear?” Tootie asked but her words were lost when a cement truck, followed by two utility trucks, pulled up across the street.
We all turned to look. Across the street and half a block down was an old watermill that Horatio had mentioned. Looked like, even without Mrs. Aster’s property flattened, the Hunters were proceeding with their restaurant.
“Ugh,” Tootie spat. “The land baron is hard at work, I see.”
“He petitioned the chamber for The Grove again. We’ll need to be at the meeting Thursday night,” Violet said.
“They tried to buy this property,” I said then. “They wanted to turn it into a parking lot.”
The three women gasped.
“No,” Tootie said.
“Well, they tried. Horatio…he was inquiring.”
“Oh, that poor boy,” Betty said then, shaking her head.
“Poor? Why poor?” I hadn’t meant for it to show, but an odd tremor resonated in my voice, revealing my concern.
Tootie, however, had heard. She smiled at me, took me by the arm, then led me to the window. Through the still-dirty glass, I saw a sleek white Mercedes park alongside the trucks. Horatio and an older man, apparently Horatio’s father, got out.
“There he is, slick devil,” Tootie said, the other ladies crowding behind us. “And Horatio. He’s such a sweet boy.”
The Cupcake Witch: The Witching Hour Collection (The Chancellor Fairy Tales Book 2) Page 4
