Page 37 of The Magical Tea Shop

Ivy threw herself into deep cleaning the kitchen as a favor to Holly. If she went the extra mile first, maybe Holly would reciprocate. Ivy gave a snort. Sure, that would happen. Still, if it never did, she would do this anyway.

After two hours the space was sparkling and spotless. Ivy brought out the chilled cookie dough. A storm raged now, rattling the windows. She loved how the air fair crackled with electricity. Despite being up in a ponytail, tendrils of Ivy’s hair began to float free from the static in the atmosphere, reaching up toward the ceiling. She smoothed them down, but it did no good. Strands clung to her hands, refusing to be tamed. Ivy jerked her ponytail holder out and set the strands free.

The intensity in the air around her built until she tingled with it, the fine hair on her arms raised, her skin sensitive. As much as she smoothed her hair down, it still floated free.

She took a breath, rolled her shoulders, and willed herself to relax. She shoved hair away from her eyes. Static crackled. It all made sense. Change should be felt.

She washed her hands and threw a net over her hair—really, it was behaving badly tonight. She rolled out the dough and cut perfect circles in it, placing each one on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Forcing order onto the chaos, she pressed the beautiful pattern into them. Lovingly, she dusted each one with cardamom.

Letting herself feel the beat of the percussive storm, she danced her way between the counter and the oven. She baked sheet after sheet after sheet, each time placing her cookies carefully on a rack to cool.

The tea shop smelled amazing. The scent of sugar, nutmeg, and cardamom gave her a little high and she breathed in deep, drawing the scent into herself, enjoying every aspect of cookie baking. When the last cookie was set on the rack to cool, she took a moment to rest, head on her arms at the center table, and fell asleep to the sound of heavy rain.

Ivy awoke to calm. She stood and stretched, hearing her joints snap from sitting awkwardly for too long. It felt splendid. She rolled her head side to side, loosening the muscles in her neck before checking on the cookies.

Every cookie turned out perfect, flawless, enticing.

At least this time the lights had stayed on. She hadn’t been in the dark about anything. Tonight had been about control—small miracle, that. She had accepted the chaos and embraced it, and the lights had stayed on. Because this time her Very Special Cookies would work.

This time, they would do exactly as she’d wished.

Chapter Fourteen

Jaxon knew heneeded to get on with his life. Talking with Ivy last night was wonderful, but not fair to her. He’d almost kissed her. Just because she listened. Was he so hard up for female companionship that the first sympathetic ear caused him to move in for a kiss?

Lame.

Ivy didn’t know he was leaving. He’d almost told her before Montgomery flew off like a shot. He needed to be honest, but every time he tried to break the news that he was selling the building, something intervened.

He ran a hand over his face. All that would have to be sorted later because he had overslept and was late for his breakfast meeting. Derrick Cross was not a man accustomed to waiting.

Cross was key to his escape from Hazard. They’d agreed to meet at the diner before heading to the Realtor’s office to finalize the details of the sale. They also had much to discuss pertaining to his new job at the Boston office. But first, breakfast.

Jaxon entered the diner to a smaller crowd than usual.

The large crowd, apparently, was across the street at the tea shop. A young waitress with dark hair and deep-set eyes, that he recognized as Pedro’s sister, offered to seat him but he waved her off when he spotted Cross in a booth studying the menu. Jaxon paused. Derrick Cross looked out of place sprawled on the worn upholstery of the booth, his height and long legs ill-suited to the cramped seating. Despite his posture, his outward appearance was otherwise impeccable. Dark hair cut in an austere style, he wore a suit and radiated professionalism, even as his dark eyes flicked over the menu in decided displeasure, his lips turned down in a grimace. Jaxon slid in across from him.

Derrick put down the menu and frowned. “You’re late.”

Jaxon raised a brow and glanced at the clock over the counter which read eight a.m. exactly.

When the waitress hurried over, Jaxon ordered huevos rancheros while Derrick launched into a complicated order of eggs over-hard, bacon extra crispy but not charred, fresh fruit instead of potatoes, and then groused over their lack of dark rye. Jaxon chuckled at how precise and detailed Cross was over breakfast.

At Derrick’s glower, he hid his laugh with a cough.

Really, if the man was this particular about breakfast, what would he be like to work for? The thought was sobering. Still, he wouldn’t report directly to Derrick at the Boston firm, would he?

Jaxon shoved that concern aside for later consideration. They were here to talk about the sale. This was a personal sale for Derrick, not part of the Boston firm business at all.

Jaxon suddenly found himself reluctant to discuss it. He wanted to talk about the job instead.

“This town.” Derrick shook his head.

“Don’t you like it?”

“I want to improve it. You must admit it needs help. A beautiful location with potential, but the buildings need updating.”

“My building’s in great condition.”

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