Page 30 of The Magical Tea Shop

Odd.

She shivered. A chill lingered, leaving wisps trailing through her shop like a living thing. Ivy rubbed her arms. She’d forgotten all about the dream until now. She stared at the cookie press. It had been murky, the dream. Her tea shop magically infused with mist, sparkling in moonlight. She had tried to leave because in the dream she was supposed to be somewhere, meet someone, but she couldn’t find her keys to unlock the door. She would spot them, first on the counter by the register, but when she reached for them, they weren’t there. Next, they were in a saucer, then on a table. She’d flitted about trying to catch them. It had been a merry chase until she’d stopped trying. Until she’d known, intuitively, where they were hiding.

She’d lifted the lid from her ivy-patterned teapot, and with no more desire to leave, removed the keys and made a pot of tea. When the cookie press whispered to her, she’d stopped to listen. It whispered again, but she couldn’t make out the words. She’d known somehow that she wouldn’t be permitted to leave her shop until she baked more cookies. The press rattled, and rattled, harsher and harsher, until she’d reached for it.

Ivy reached up, her hand moving toward the cookie press, still lost in the dream. But the instant her fingers touched the cool metal, all memory of the dream flitted away like a feather in the wind.

Ivy shook her head. What happened next? The members of the Hazard Historical Society were the pillars of the community and the wisest people she knew. Every single one told her not to bake more cookies. She should heed their advice. But her fingers lingered on the press. She traced its indentations with searing fingertips.

It was just baking cookies. It couldn’t go wrong every time. Not if she planned. Not if she was careful. Not if it was meant to be.

Chapter Twelve

Ivy didn’t botherto spruce up for her date this time. The simple cotton dress she wore to work would be suitable for dinner at the diner. It was too late now to go home and change. So, she touched up her makeup. Good enough. She grabbed her little clutch purse and strolled catty-corner across the street to the diner, arriving just as Kyle, dressed in pressed jeans and a collared shirt, met her at the entrance, his timing impeccable.

Longtime waitress Dina greeted them with a raised brow. She ushered them to a booth smack dab by the front window where everyone in town could see them out together, and provided them with colorful, new menus.

As Ivy perused the menu, she was thrilled to discover Pedro had taken her advice and added Mexican entrées. She tried to ignore Kyle pulling wet wipes from a package and wiping down the entire surface of the table, along with the salt and pepper shakers and hot sauce bottles. She tried to recall if he did that when he came into the tea shop. She hoped not. She was careful to keep everything spotless. Everything was clean at the diner too, so she didn’t know what Kyle’s problem was.

Dina must’ve informed Pedro that Ivy was out front because he materialized to describe the specials. That was when everything went skidding sideways.

The instant Pedro saw Kyle with Ivy, he bristled like a paranoid hedgehog. Next, he swaggered—really, that was the only word for it—up to their booth. He rocked up on his toes and back, up on his toes and back, all the while, his deep-set eyes shooting carving knifes at Kyle.

Kyle smirked. He slid his hand across the newly wiped-down table to clasp Ivy’s. His large hand encompassed hers.

Ivy gave his hand a light squeeze and tried to extricate her fingers. Kyle held on. His thumb caressed her knuckles. She tugged. He held.

She expected steam to rise off Pedro like in a cartoon, he was so hopping mad at Kyle’s gesture. The madder Pedro got, the smugger Kyle grew, and the more enthusiastically he caressed her fingers.

Ivy was ready to jerk her hand free and create a scene when Pedro mumbled a curse that Ivy recognized from her high school Spanish, and began to denote the specials. His focus remained on Ivy as if they were the only two people in existence.

Every offering sounded fantastic, and Ivy got lost in his detailed descriptions. Enchiladas suizas with freshly made tomatillo salsa, carnitas tacos with pineapple-mango salsa, and beef fajitas with grilled sweet onions, green and red bell peppers, habaneros, and jalapenos.

With her attention on Pedro, Kyle’s grip on her hand grew tighter and tighter.

Ivy’s mouth began to water, despite the tension sparking in the air and her immediate need to extract her hand from Kyle’s grasp. If the date was only about the cuisine, it would’ve been perfect.

As soon as Pedro finished, Kyle inserted himself. “That all sounds delicious. What would you like, sweetling?”

Sweetling?Ivy could’ve sworn Pedro grew an inch in indignation.

Before she could speak, Kyle said, “Bring all three. Let’s share shall we, sweetling? That way we can enjoyeverything together.” His emphasis on the last two words only served to antagonize Pedro even more.

Just when Ivy thought Pedro would suggest he and Kyle go out back to settle the score, Pedro found his professionalism. He took a breath, gave a brisk nod at Kyle, and beamed at Ivy. “I can’t wait to cook for you,” he told her.

When Pedro turned, Ivy snatched her hand back. “Sweetling? Really, Kyle?”

Kyle shrugged. “You don’t like sweetling? How about ‘dearheart’ or, I know, ‘babe’?”

“Babe makes me think of Paul Bunyan’s blue ox. Just stick with my name, okay? I like my name.”

Kyle waved to the people passing on the street, no doubt so they would see him with Ivy. She sighed. Next the gossip grapevine would have them planning their wedding. “Sure, dearheart,” Kyle said in his off-hand way, and launched into a description of his new truck. Leather seats, custom hubcaps, sunroof, whatever. Ivy could not care less. But Kyle was determined to share the great deal he gave himself on it, since he owned the Chevy dealership. Next, the conversation became a detailed description of every car in the lot and the wheeling and dealing aspects of his job.

Ivy hid a yawn while her mind scampered off on a tangent, considering dearheart as an endearment. Dearheart made her think of a hunter pulling a throbbing heart from a stag, blood dripping down, like something from a Grimms’ fairy tale. Not the most romantic of images, to be sure.

Heaping platters of food arrived. Dina had to bring each one out separately, they were so overloaded. Kyle began to serve portions onto both their plates, as if he knew what Ivy preferred. It was all Ivy could do to keep Kyle from personally attempting to hand-feed her the chips and salsa, not to mention the tacos. He would make up a fajita taco adding extra salsa to it and hold it up to her mouth expecting her to take a bite. She barely resisted the urge to wrest it from his hand. He was doing it to tick Pedro off. She could feel Pedro watching them from the kitchen. She finally just focused on the enchiladas suizas. She liked those best anyway.

Dina hovered near the edge of the table, clearly enjoying the show. She could barely contain her laughter. She kept slyly winking at Ivy as if all this machismo was of great benefit.

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