The Enchanted Garden Cafe

by Abigail Drake

  Kate wore her usual black, this time a strapless corset top, but she now had a black feathered boa wrapped around her neck. She looked fantastic. Chad evidently thought so too. He walked into the shop and took one look at Kate, and his jaw dropped. He stood there silently staring at her until Kate’s cheeks grew pink from embarrassment.

  “And Chad is speechless. A rare thing indeed,” said Mom, and the spell was broken.

  “I’ve got to go,” murmured Kate as she grabbed her bag.

  “I should get to work,” said Chad at the same time.

  Kate gave me a peck on the cheek. “Have fun tonight,” she said. “And don’t be nervous. They’re going to love you.”

  I felt a little queasy. “Are you sure about that?”

  Kate squeezed my hand. “If they don’t, they’re idiots who don’t deserve you.” That didn’t make me feel better.

  “Where’s Fiona going?” asked Chad.

  “To meet Scotty’s, I mean Scott’s, parents,” said Mom.

  Chad’s eyes found Kate’s. “Must be nice.”

  Kate made a sound a little like a growl. Mom ignored it. “I’m sure they are lovely . . .” She tried to come up with the right word but didn’t succeed. “Meatpackers.” She looked pleased with herself. I rolled my eyes.

  Chad laughed, but then his face got still. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Sadly, no,” said Mom, “but I’m sure they’re nice.”

  “But . . . but . . . but . . . but . . .” Chad was so upset he got stuck on the first word and couldn’t move on.

  “I know, Chad.” I came to his rescue. “You’re all vegetarians. I realize that, but most people are not. They eat meat. Scott’s parents simply provide a service, much like we all do.”

  Chad muttered something that sounded like “unevolved, unethical barbarians” and stomped back into the kitchen to get ready for the poetry reading. Kate watched him go.

  “Give him some tea. That’ll make him feel better,” she said.

  Mom gave Kate an assessing look. “It might.”

  Kate’s cheeks turned pink again. “I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow.” Usually she stayed for the poetry readings, but tonight she rushed out the door.

  I watched her leave. “Call me crazy, but I think love is in the air.”

  Mom grinned. “That’s it, Fiona.”

  I didn’t like that grin. I knew it well. “That’s what?”

  “The name of the tea I’ll make for Sunday. Love Is in the Air. The ladies will adore it.”

  “We have to talk about your tea. We don’t need a bunch of sex-hungry seniors on our hands. What exactly are you putting in it?”

  The bell above the door rang, and Scott walked in, looking perfect as always. His neatly cut hair curled over his collar in a way I found sexy. His blue eyes were bright, and his suit didn’t have a single wrinkle.

  “Oh, look. It’s the Ken doll,” Mom said softly. I elbowed her and walked over to give Scott a hug. He smelled wonderful, like starch and soap and expensive cologne.

  He kissed my cheek, careful to avoid my lipstick. “Are you ready?”

  I nodded, feeling a nervous flutter in my chest, and waved goodbye to Mom. She bit her lower lip. She was nervous too.

  It turned out I had nothing major to worry about. Scott’s parents were nice and welcomed me graciously into their home. They lived in a giant colonial positioned very prettily among the rolling hills just outside of a town called Butler. I didn’t see much of the actual town itself, but I enjoyed the quiet beauty of the country and the drive on long, scenic, winding roads that led past farms and forests. It was nice here and completely the opposite of what I’d grown used to living in the South Side.

  “It’s so quiet,” I said.

  “I know,” he said with a smile. “Don’t you love it?”

  Scott’s mother, blonde and slightly chubby, had a broad, sweet face and an infectious laugh. His father was a taller, grayer version of Scott. The meal his mother prepared relied heavily on steak, frozen vegetables, and processed cheese, and their taste in wine was abysmal, but I liked his parents, and they seemed to like me too. They were an average family, what I’d always wanted, but to my great surprise, I found them . . . boring. Mr. Lipmann talked about two subjects: his health and his time spent playing football a million years ago in college. Mrs. Lipmann talked about one subject only. Scott. By the end of the night, I could barely keep my eyes open.

  Just when I thought the meal would never end, Mrs. Lipmann stood up and led me into the formal sitting room. “So the menfolk can talk,” she said.

  Images of Scott and Mr. Lipmann drinking port liquor and smoking pipes filled my head, and I held back a giggle. No port for me, however. She handed me a cup of coffee. Instant coffee. I did my best to drink it without making a face.

  Photos of Scott covered the walls like a shrine. Scott as a chubby baby. Scott with a gap between his teeth in second grade. Scott in several photos with a curvy, attractive redhead.

  “Oh. That’s Brittany.” Mrs. Lipmann stood next to me and used a tissue to remove a smudge from the glass. “Her parents are our best friends. They live just down the road.”

  “How nice,” I said, not sure how to respond. He’d never mentioned Brittany to me, and some of the photos looked recent. Very recent. In one photo, he had on the same suit he wore tonight.

  Mrs. Lipmann seemed to read my thoughts. “They broke up a few months ago. We always assumed they’d end up together. We even bought an extra parcel of land linking our property to her parents’ property. We thought someday they’d build a house and raise their children there. Join the garden club and volunteer at different social functions. You know what I mean. Now they aren’t together anymore, so I guess some other lucky girl will snatch up her spot.” She gave me a wink, and suddenly I felt a cold wave of panic seize me. I didn’t want Brittany’s spot, and I didn’t want to build a house next door to the Lipmanns. She continued, oblivious. “There is the business to run too.”

  “The meatpacking plant?” I asked as the wave of panic I’d felt reached tsunami levels.

  “Mr. Lipmann is getting too old to handle all the stress of it himself. I know Scott likes his job in the city, but it’s time for him to come home and take some of the responsibility off his father’s shoulders. He’s sowed his wild oats long enough.”

  I couldn’t tell if she meant I was his wild oats in this analogy or not, but I certainly hadn’t been sowed. Not recently at least and definitely not by Scott.

  “I’m sure he’ll do the right thing.” A generic response but the best I could come up with.

  She patted my hand. “I know he will.”

  Scott stuck his head in the door. “Are you two done gossiping about me yet?”

  Mrs. Lipmann giggled, her laugh not quite as infectious as earlier. I gave him a feeble smile and glanced at my watch. “It’s getting late, Scott.”

  He rolled his eyes. “And you have to work tomorrow. Making granola muffins for homeless hippies or something. I know, I know. We’d better get going.”

  He kissed his mother and shook his dad’s hand. “Remember what we talked about, son,” said Mr. Lipmann.

  Scott gave him a tight smile. “Like you’d ever let me forget?”

  “What was that about?” I asked as we climbed into the car.

  He shrugged. “Nothing. Family stuff. My dad wants me to help out more with his business.”

  “Your mom said something to me about it too.”

  “It’s not going to happen. Not right now at least. I’m too busy, and I love working for Burgess and Garrett. Big things are happening there, and I’m excited to be a part of it.”

  I let out a little sigh of relief. “Good for you, Scott.” Good for me too.

  He linked his hand with mine. “I knew you’d get on well with my mom. She’s a hoot. My dad’s a great guy, too, and I could tell they both really liked you.”

  I nodded, distracted. I couldn’t get a good read on M
rs. Lipmann. She may have just been chatty and conversational, but I felt like she had an agenda, and I was an unexpected complication.

  “They were both very . . . nice,” I said, stifling a yawn. “Sorry. We’ve been busy at the café lately. I’m kind of worn out.”

  “You work too hard.” He brought my hand to his lips, never taking his eyes off the road, and kissed my fingers one by one. “Can’t you imagine us like them someday?”

  “Like who?”

  “My parents. A big house in the country. A bunch of kids . . .”

  “Oh. Wow.”

  Suddenly, I felt claustrophobic, like the car closed in on me. I pulled my hand back to my lap and took deep, slow yoga breaths as I tried to calm myself down. The reaction was a physical, visceral sort of thing, and it took me by surprise.

  Scott didn’t seem to notice I was one step away from jumping out of the car and making a run for my life. He smiled at me, reaching for my hand again.

  “What size ring do you wear?”

  “Huh?”

  He laughed, caressing my left ring finger. “You have to know why I’m asking . . .”

  “No. I don’t.” I sounded harsher than I’d intended, but that was because I choked out the words over the wall of pure, raw terror filling my chest.

  He got quiet and let go of my hand. “Maybe we should talk about this later.”

  I turned my face and noticed with a sense of relief the lights of the city as they rushed past my window. We were almost home, but my hands remained clenched into little fists on my lap. I didn’t understand what had just happened, and I felt a little out of control, which frightened me.

  “Maybe that’s a good idea,” I said, my voice small and unsteady in the quiet interior of the car. “Let’s talk about it later.”

  When we arrived back at the café, he opened the car door for me and helped me out.

  I saw the hurt in his eyes. I’d hoped to avoid a discussion, but Scott, it seemed, couldn’t let it go.

  “What’s wrong, Fiona? Tell me. Please.”

  I stared up at him. In the moonlight, he looked like a lost statue of Adonis wandering the streets of the South Side. But Adonis didn’t belong here, and neither did Scott.

  “When did you and Brittany break up? Judging by the photos all over your parents’ house, it seems like it happened recently, yet you’ve never so much as mentioned her existence.”

  He ran a distracted hand through his hair. “She was my high school sweetheart. When we broke up, my parents took it pretty hard.”

  “But you still didn’t answer my question. When exactly did it happen?”

  He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. “A few weeks before I walked into your shop and fell head over heels for you.”

  I pursed my lips, folding my arms across my chest. “I’m a rebound?”

  He reached for me, putting his hands on my upper arms, his eyes searching my face. “No. It’s not like that at all. I caught her cheating on me with my best friend. I walked in on them. It was the worst moment of my life, but things had been different between us for a long time. We stayed together more out of habit than anything else, and I was ready to move on. Do you understand?”

  “I guess so.”

  His answer should have satisfied me, but it didn’t. I felt unsettled and irritated. It must have been pretty obvious.

  “But you’re still angry,” he said.

  “It isn’t about Brittany, Scott.”

  “So what is it?”

  I let out a long breath. “The granola muffins comment.”

  He let out an exasperated breath. “You’re seriously mad about that? It was a joke. Lighten up.”

  I wrapped my mom’s pashmina shawl more tightly around my shoulders. “No. I’m tired of the way you constantly devalue what I do.”

  He frowned, his brows drawing together, like he couldn’t understand my logic. “The cookie baking? Is that seriously your life plan? I thought you had actual goals, Fiona. Are you getting your MBA so you can bake?”

  The more his temper flared, the more mine rose to meet it. “First of all, I’m a good baker. Some people even call me an artist.”

  He snorted. “One of your mother’s many friends, I assume. So typical.”

  I glared at him. My heart pounded in my chest, and my cheeks felt burning hot. Even my breathing accelerated. I’d gone from mildly irritated to full-on furious in seconds. When I spoke, the words I said surprised Scott as much as they surprised me, but I couldn’t help it. They just came out.

  “I think we should take a break.”

  Scott seemed clearly confused. “What?”

  I let out a heavy sigh. “I need time to figure things out.”

  He tilted his head to one side, forcing me to look at his face. “What kind of things?”

  I heard the hint of tears in his voice, and it freaked me out a little. “You and me. This just isn’t working.”

  “But it was working. Perfectly. I don’t understand what changed. All of a sudden, you’re so different.”

  I couldn’t explain it either. I kept thinking about the curse of the Campbell women. Even though I knew it had to be a bunch of nonsense, it still made me nervous. My mom and Aunt Francesca both made mistakes that nearly ruined their lives. Was I on the same path? I hoped not, but I couldn’t be certain. I just knew this was the right thing to do.

  I folded my arms across my chest and tried to explain it to him as gently as I could. “Look, it’s not your fault, but I can’t do this right now. With Moses getting hurt and Anderson breathing down our necks . . .”

  All the anger went out of him in an instant. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and leaned against his car, his expression solemn. “I understand. Work has been crazy lately for me, too, but that’s no excuse. You’ve been under a lot of stress, and I should have been here for you. I’m sorry, Fi.”

  “Thank you.”

  He touched my cheek. “I’m not happy about it, but I’ll give you as much time as you need to get your head on straight. I know, eventually, you’ll see the truth.’

  “The truth?”

  “We’re perfect for each other, and we were meant to be together.”

  “Scott, I don’t know . . .”

  “I do, and you’ll figure it out too. But until then, I need to ask you a favor. Can we still be friends? It would mean a lot to me.”

  He held out his hand. I stared at it a moment before clasping it with my own.

  “Of course,” I said.

  He pulled me close to give me a hug. He smelled delicious. Part of me wanted to tell him I’d changed my mind, but I knew I wasn’t prepared to talk about rings and houses in the country and jobs at a meatpacking plant, and I wasn’t prepared to make any promises I couldn’t keep.

  Chapter Ten

  Moderation is definitely the answer,

  but what was the question?

  ~Aunt Francesca~

  It rained all day Friday, the perfect atmosphere for Madame Lucinda’s tarot card reading. Although she wasn’t a witch, she certainly liked to dress the part. Tonight she had on bat earrings and a broomstick brooch. She dyed her hair brilliant red, and sometimes for special occasions, she even wore a pointy witch’s hat.

  I’d known Madame Lucinda my entire life. Usually I dreaded her readings, but tonight I wanted to ask her if she’d heard anything more about what happened to Moses.

  As soon as I sat down, she started reading the cards. “I see a tall, dark, handsome stranger.”

  “You told me the same thing last time,” I said, giving her a dirty look.

  The wind howled outside as she continued to work with the cards. “No. I said a stranger was coming. Guess what? Now he’s here.”

  Lightning shot across the sky, brightening the dark shop and making me gasp. The fact Madame Lucinda insisted we illuminate only with candles added to the creepy, otherworldly effect.

  She turned over another card, and an ornately painted red heart glo
wed up at us. “Oh. Love,” she said. “You’re going to fall in love, Fiona. How nice.”

  “You said that last time too. Is this a rerun, or can we see a new episode eventually?”

  She ignored me and turned over the next card. It showed two naked people entwined in a romantic embrace. “Desire.” She gave me a saucy wink. “And that was definitely not in the cards before.”

  Kate peeked over my shoulder and inhaled sharply. “Gosh. It’s true. Are you hot for someone?” The question died on her lips when she caught me glaring at her.

  “Of course I’m hot for someone. Scott. Duh.”

  I still thought he was hot, so technically this couldn’t be classified as lying. Yes, I’d broken up with him, but I saw no need to broadcast it. I’d tell Kate later when we were alone.

  “Then why didn’t it show up before?” Kate asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

  I didn’t answer, mostly because Madame Lucinda had just revealed the next card, and it sent a chill up my spine. “A man with two faces?” I asked.

  Madame Lucinda’s green eyes met mine over the table. “Yes. Deceit.”

  “Oh, great. Well, thanks, Madame Lucinda. Delightful, as always. We have a few minutes before the people who signed up for a reading show up. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

  She looked surprised. “About the cards?”

  I shook my head. “About Moses. Have you heard anything regarding what happened?”

  “Nothing. Except . . .”

  “What?”

  She leaned forward. “Whoever did this to him was inside the café. They may have even attacked him right here.”

  “Why do you say that? Please don’t tell me the cards told you, because if you do, I’m never going to sit for another tarot card torture session with you again.”

  “Not the cards, silly. It’s common sense.” She gave me a steady look. “Where did your mom keep the scrub brush?”

  I thought about the long black streaks on the kitchen floor. The bag of crushed cookies. Realization hit as a sick wave of nausea passed over me. “In her office, behind the door.”

  Not only had someone hurt Moses in the café, but they’d dragged him to the door and thrown him outside like a pile of garbage. The idea horrified me, but now I also had other things to worry about. I gripped Madame Lucinda’s hand. “Things are bad enough here right now with Anderson and everything else. If people find out someone was attacked inside the café . . .”