“I heard he’s going to lose his job,” Josh said. “The principal is furious.”
“Even grownups can lose their way sometimes,” Libbie said. “Hopefully, one day, he’ll find his.”
She’d just brought the steaming cup of coffee to her lips when the next call came through. Although it was a local exchange, Libbie didn’t recognize the number. Normally she would let the call go to voicemail, but curiosity got the better of her.
“Hello?”
“Libbie Stark, this is Sylvia Quincy.”
Libbie halted all movement, including her breath. “Good morning,” she said, quickly recovering. “How are you?”
“Excellent. I want to let you know that I’ve heard nothing but amazing things about you. What’s more, as long as you make those puffs everyone’s raving about, you’ve got the job.”
Libbie swallowed a cry of triumph. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Quincy. You won’t regret it.”
“Come by tomorrow at four to see the space, and we’ll go over the menu.” She gave Libbie the address, although everyone in Lake Cloverleaf knew where the Quincys lived.
“I’ll be there. Thanks again.”
“Good news?” Josh asked.
Libbie’s smile was so wide that her cheeks ached. “Very good news. How would you two like to help me out on Labor Day?”
“You really want me to help?” Courtney asked. “I thought that was only to annoy Grandma.”
“Of course I want your help. You’ve been working with your dad all summer. You’re an expert employee by now.”
Courtney glanced down at her feet. “Are you sure? What if I mess up? It sounds like this is a big deal.”
Libbie crossed the room to kiss her daughter on the cheek. “You’re a responsible young woman, and I trust you.” Libbie could practically feel her daughter’s elation.
“Do I get to wear a tux?” Courtney asked.
“I don’t think so. It’s still summer, so I imagine the theme will reflect that.”
“If I have to wear a tux, I’m definitely working at the club that day.” Josh bit a banana in half.
“I think your boss is willing to be flexible.” It occurred to her that she could use more than two servers for a party as large as the Quincy’s. “What would you think if I asked Caeden Kitts to help out?”
“It’s not like he needs to work,” Josh said.
“I know, but I get the sense his parents would like to see him a bit more active.”
And she suspected this Labor Day party would have more than its share of artistic inspiration. The Quincy’s house was legendary.
Josh shrugged. “Fine with me. Let me know if you need anyone else. I bet I can ask some friends from the club.”
“Great, thanks.”
Libbie’s gaze drifted to Inga’s book on the counter, fully intact. Two weeks ago, her life seemed to be falling apart at the seams, and now she wasn’t sure if it could get much better. If this was the life of a witch, then it was time to fire up the cauldron because Libbie Stark was fully committed.
Chapter Eighteen
Mrs. Quincy treated her Labor Day party the way John Hammond treated Jurassic Park—she spared no expense. Although Libbie knew this would be the party of the season, she hadn’t realized exactly how big of a job it would be until she started planning. Thankfully, Mrs. Quincy wasn’t a difficult client. She seemed to delight in Libbie’s ideas and was flexible when Libbie suggested alternatives to Mrs. Quincy’s usual way of doing things.
In Libbie’s eyes, the Quincy house was one of the most impressive in town. If she could choose any house in Lake Cloverleaf, it would be this traditional American style, with its light blue siding trimmed in white. A balcony overlooked the front lawn, and two more balconies wrapped around either side of the house to take advantage of the views.
“Wow,” Courtney breathed.
Libbie smiled at her daughter. “I know, right?”
“You can have that wing when I live here.” Courtney pointed to the left.
“Good, that side has the better view.”
Mrs. Quincy greeted her at the door in a red and white print maxi dress and thonged feet. “There’s my crew.”
“Mrs. Quincy, I’d like you to meet two of my staff today. This is my son, Josh, and my daughter, Courtney. My sister Emily will be here shortly.”
“A family affair,” she said. “I like it. Come on in, dolls. I’m happy you’re here.”
They followed her through to the main kitchen and straight into the butler’s kitchen. It was smaller than the main kitchen, but still equipped with nicer appliances than Libbie had in her own house. In fact, they were nicer than anything at Basecamp, too. Libbie had nearly salivated over them when she’d shown up to finalize the menu a few days earlier.
“This is great. Thank you.” Libbie liked that she’d be able to work in the private kitchen because it cut down on distractions. She needed this party to go off without a hitch. It was one thing to land the job, but she also had to make it a rousing success.
“What’s this book?” Mrs. Quincy asked, noticing the black leather-bound book Libbie had placed on the counter. She made a habit of traveling everywhere with it now, in case inspiration struck her.
“I’ve been working on recipes for some unique cocktails. I like to have the book with me in case I get an idea while I’m working. Sometimes the ingredients I use in cooking end up in a glass of tequila.” She smiled. “I bet these would really wow your guests.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Is that so? I do like to wow people. I consider it one of my signature moves.” Her gaze flicked to the book. “I should probably let you stick to the script, but selfishly, I’d like to take one for a test drive.”
“I can make you one later. I’ll have time.”
Mrs. Quincy nodded approvingly. “I admire your confidence, Libbie. I’ll leave you to it then. Give me a shout if you need me.” She sailed out of the room, and Libbie went straight to work, issuing instructions to the kids. Emily arrived not long after and Libbie welcomed her with a warm hug.
“I really appreciate you helping out,” Libbie said.
“You’re my sister. If you need my help, I’m here.”
Emily took charge of instructing the kids on which trays to take out and when, and left Libbie to focus solely on the food. Halfway through the party, there was a slight bump when Emily reported there were no more crab puffs.
“Can you make more?” Emily asked. “People are raving about them.”
“I could, except I’m out of crab.” Libbie’s stomach lurched at the prospect of improvising, but she quickly brushed her fears aside. She’d spent most of her adult life improvising when life threw her a curveball, both as a mother and a chef. Many times a Basecamp special had gone awry, and Libbie had solved the problem. There was no reason to panic now.
“We have cheese, don’t we?” she asked.
Emily ran to the refrigerator and yanked open the door. “Gruyere and cheddar.”
“Perfect. I need both.” She knew she had everything she needed to make an alternative dish that would be just as well received. She barely noticed as the servers came and went; she was too intent on finishing the puffs and circulating them as quickly as possible.
The party was nearly over by the time she drew breath. It was a much bigger job than the others she’d catered, but she’d enjoyed every minute of it.
“Libbie, these puffs are heavenly.” Mrs. Quincy sauntered into the butler’s kitchen with a martini in one hand and a half-eaten puff in the other.
“Thank you.” Libbie opted not to tell her about the crab crisis since no one had seemed to notice the switcheroo.
“All your choices are spot on, and they look as good as they taste.” She popped the remaining puff in her mouth and sighed contentedly. “Better than sex. But don’t tell my husband.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“My dear, I am so thrilled with everything you’ve done. I’ll be spreading the
word all over town and in my salons. You’re going to be so busy between now and Christmas, you won’t be able to spend all the money you’re making.”
“That’s fine with me,” Libbie said. “I have two kids heading to college.” One sooner rather than later.
Mrs. Quincy glanced over her shoulder toward the main part of the house. “They’re doing a wonderful job out there. So polite and well-spoken. You should be very proud. You’re doing a lot right.”
“Thank you. There’s no higher compliment.”
“I’ll let you get back to work, but make sure you come out and mingle a little. Show your face to the guests. I’d be sure to introduce yourself to Holly Munson and Patrick Broderick.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “One throws an annual Christmas party, and the other does New Year’s. Trust me, you want them as clients.” She gestured with her fingers to indicate money.
“I appreciate the tip.”
Mrs. Quincy raised her glass before twirling on her heel and exiting the kitchen.
Libbie took a moment to digest the exchange. Mrs. Quincy was thrilled and would be recommending her services.
The party was a success.
She tipped back her head and inhaled deeply. Everything was going to be okay. She was going to be okay.
Better than okay, really. And it was all because she’d taken a chance and blown up her seemingly comfortable life. She’d thought it was a mistake that she’d regret, and instead it was turning out to be the best thing that ever happened to her, outside of her children.
How could I make that experience the best thing that ever happened to me?
A lone tear escaped as she realized that she’d done exactly that. This was so much sweeter than lemons into lemonade.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Courtney entered the kitchen wearing a concerned expression.
Libbie fished a tissue from her pocket and wiped away the tears. “Nothing, sweetheart. Everything is exactly as it should be.” She’d be able to pay the mortgage company, which meant she’d be able to keep a roof over their heads.
“Does this mean Mrs. Quincy is happy with you?”
Libbie enveloped her daughter in a tight embrace. “Mrs. Quincy is very happy with me. But, more importantly, I am very happy with me.”
Courtney smiled up at her mother. “I’m happy with me, too.”
Libbie felt a sense of relief. Just because she’d waited until she was forty-eight to lessen her anxiety didn’t mean she wanted that for her daughter. She wanted Courtney to grow up feeling confident and loved and, thanks to Inga, she knew they were on the right track.
By the time Friday night rolled around, Libbie was excited to see her friends again and share all that had happened during the week. It seemed like months had passed since their last cocktail club meeting. She’d been so busy that she hadn’t even had a chance to catch up with them over text messages.
Tonight, they met at Libbie’s house because the kids and Hercules were with Nick. Only Eliza lurked in the background, emerging from the shadows once the other women arrived.
“You’ve come to say hello, have you?” Rebecca crouched down to address the cat.
Eliza meowed and rubbed against her.
“She probably smells her sisters,” Libbie said.
“How are she and Hercules getting along?” Rebecca asked.
“Great, actually. She cries when he’s away for the weekend. Who would’ve suspected?”
Rebecca stroked the cat’s soft fur. “She’ll get plenty of attention tonight. Auntie Rebecca’s here to hang out with you. Yes, she is.”
“I thought you were here to hang out with us,” Kate said.
Rebecca resumed a standing position. “Can’t it be both?”
Libbie motioned to the table. “I have plenty of snacks, so I hope you’re hungry.”
“Screw the snacks,” Kate said. “Where are the cocktails?”
“Patience, grasshopper,” Libbie said. “I’m mixing something special.”
Julie grimaced. “You and your special cocktails. What about us? Why haven’t we gotten our magic?”
“You have it,” Libbie assured her. “It just hasn’t manifested yet. At least that’s Lorraine’s take.”
Kate gave her a prim look. “I’m sure mine will kick in soon.”
From her place at the kitchen counter, Libbie gave her friend a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure it will, too.”
“I don’t care if nothing changes for me,” Rebecca said. “Watching Libbie punch her way out of the cocoon has been glorious.”
“Here, here,” Kate said. “Get over here, Madame Butterfly. We want you present and accounted for.”
“Give me one second. I just got a voicemail.” Libbie’s insides twisted at the sight of Ethan’s name on her screen.
“I bet it’s Silver Fabio,” Julie said. “I can tell from that grin on her face.”
Libbie ignored them as she went into the other room to listen to his message.
“Hi Libbie. I’m respecting your space, but I wanted to let you know that I’ve reached out to both of my biological parents. I haven’t heard back yet, but, you know, that first step was the doozy. Anyway, that never would’ve happened if not for you, so thank you. I owe you one.”
Libbie sighed into the phone. The mere thought of Ethan took her breath away.
“Just go out with him, would you?” Kate hovered in the doorway. “What are you afraid of?”
Libbie met her friend’s gaze. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” She pulled up “Ethan” and sent a quick text. I’d like to take you up on your offer of dinner, if you’re still interested.
The reply was swift and immediate. Always interested in a woman who texts with full spelling and punctuation. Tomorrow night—dinner at my house?
Libbie smiled to herself and replied with, I’ll ride over on my broomstick.
“Someone looks pleased,” Julie said, as Libbie and Kate reentered the room. “Spill it, sister.”
Libbie tucked away the phone. “I will when there’s something to spill.”
“Just don’t spill the tequila,” Rebecca said.
Libbie resumed her place at the counter and eyed the recipe in her book.
“What are you mixing?” Kate asked.
Libbie shooed her friend away. “A witch never reveals her secrets.”
Julie perked up. “One for each of us?”
“Yes.” Libbie smiled as she prepared the zinnia-infused cocktail. She filled four glasses and made a sweeping gesture. “A Libbie Stark creation. I’ve named it The Inga.”
“What are you up to, Lib? Is this for hot flashes or something?” Rebecca asked.
“No, this one is for remembering an absent friend.” Libbie brought two glasses over, followed by the second pair.
“I know how we can remember an absent friend,” Kate said. “Why don’t we do a compliment circle?”
“Yes, let’s do one for Inga,” Julie agreed.
Libbie thought that was a wonderful idea. She sipped the cocktail and savored the balance of sweet and sour. “I’ll start. Inga was—and still is—an inspiration to me.”
“And you’re quickly following in her footsteps,” Kate added.
Libbie nudged her with an elbow. “This is Inga’s compliment circle,” she whispered.
“May my final witch form be as impressive as Inga’s,” Kate said.
“What makes you think this isn’t your final witch form?” Libbie asked.
“Because my book is as blank as Lucas’s face when I ask him where the remote is,” Kate said.
Libbie stifled a laugh.
“Whenever I think of Inga, I feel lighter. Happier.” Julie punctuated her compliment with a smile.
“Inga sparkled,” Rebecca said. “I think that Twilight lady got it all wrong. Vampires don’t sparkle. Witches do.”
Libbie glanced down at herself. “I don’t know. Am I sparkling?”
“Yes,” the others replied in unison.
Libbie
laughed and raised her glass. “To Inga,” Libbie said.
“To Inga,” the others repeated. They raised their glasses to join hers and clinked.
The next morning a happily hungover Libbie sat at the kitchen table with the laptop and logged into her bank account.
“What are you doing, Mom?” Courtney asked.
She smiled at her daughter. “Paying the bills.” It felt freeing to say those words out loud.
Courtney joined her at the table. “Why do you sound so happy about it?”
She typed in the full amount that she owed the mortgage company and clicked the button with a satisfied sigh. “Because it’s a good feeling to be able to take care of yourself.”
“That makes sense.” Courtney paused and scrunched her nose. “Will you still live in my mansion when you’re old?”
Libbie laughed. “I think I’d prefer to let you live your own life in peace. I’ll do my best to make sure I have the means to take care of myself.”
There would be plenty of time for that. Middle age wasn’t the end of the road.
For Libbie, it was only the beginning.
Don’t miss Bewitching Bitters, the next book in the Midlife Magic Cocktail Series!
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Check out my other books at www.annabelchase.com.
Special thanks to Deranged Doctor for the amazing cover and Wicked Pen and Andrea Fenton for editing.
Magic Uncorked: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Midlife Magic Cocktail Club Book 1) Page 18
