The Tea Shop on Lavender Lane (Life in Icicle Falls) Page 3

  “Right,” he said.

  Next thing she knew she was seated behind him on the bike, holding on for dear life as they rumbled off down the road. No wonder men loved motorcycles. Feeling that power under you as you sped down the highway—it was like an aphrodisiac.

  Just what she didn’t need. He hadn’t told her where he wanted to take her, but she had her suspicions.

  Sure enough, partway down River Street he stopped the bike in front of a two-story house with a neglected patch of lawn. The porch light was on, spotlighting the fact that the place was obviously in bad shape. Thirsty for paint, it was an eyesore in a popular old neighborhood of Victorian and Craftsman-style homes, some of which had been around since the thirties, most of them restored. Fixed up, it could be really cute, Cecily thought. A fresh coat of white paint, some green trim, a rocker on that front porch...

  To her surprise, the inside of the house looked good, with photographs of mountain scenery on cream-colored walls, area rugs scattered over hardwood floors and expensive leather furniture. Funky ceramic art topped the mantelpiece—a raccoon holding a beer bottle and a biker elephant and his lady wearing Harley jackets, sitting astride a motorcycle with two flat tires.

  “This is nice,” she said, taking it all in.

  “I can guess what you were expecting,” he said. “I’ll get to the outside of the place this summer. How about another Coke?”

  “Sure.”

  He walked around the corner into the kitchen, then reappeared carrying a couple of glasses and a can of pop. “The big-girl version this time?” He went to a liquor cabinet in the small dining area and pulled out a bottle of rum and held it up, the expression on his face a dare.

  “Okay,” she agreed. “But if you’re thinking it’ll help you seduce me, you’re wrong.”

  He poured their drinks and returned to where she stood checking out one of the photographs. “You really think I need help?” he asked, his voice a purr as he handed her a glass.

  He was standing so close she could smell his aftershave, feel the heat coming off his body. Her heart rate picked up.

  Part of her wanted to grab him and wrap her legs around him, but caution made her step away and position herself in front of another picture. Like the one she’d just been studying, it was a masterpiece of camera special effects, this one showing a mountain flower in sharp full bloom with Sleeping Lady Mountain a soft blur in the background. “Did you take all these?”

  Now there he was, right next to her again. “Yeah.”

  “They’re really good.”

  “Don’t sound so shocked. I have other interests besides my business.”

  She cocked her head. “Yeah?”

  He went to the couch, sat down and patted the cushion beside his. “Yeah.”

  She joined him—at the other end, simply to prove she wasn’t going to be some easy lay. “You have quite an eye.”

  He shrugged. “I was an art major in college.”

  “How could an art major...” She stopped midsentence, realizing it would be insulting to ask how someone with real talent could end up owning a seedy tavern.

  He’d seen where she was going, though, and finished the sentence for her. “...wind up owning a tavern? It’s a sound business investment. Anyway, I get a kick out of the place. And I still dabble in photography and painting.”

  “The Neanderthal in lederhosen on the side of the building,” she said.

  “Self-portrait,” he joked.

  “An art major,” she mused. “I never would have guessed.”

  “You probably never would have guessed a lot of things about me. But then, that’s because you’ve been too busy running away from me.”

  “So, if a woman doesn’t fall all over you, she’s running away from you?”

  “We’re not talking about a woman. We’re talking about one woman. You.” He set his drink on the coffee table and scooted over, closing the distance between them.

  She cast her gaze around the room, looking for something else to comment on. Of course, that would only postpone the inevitable. What was she doing here?

  He rested an arm on the back of the couch and began playing with her hair, stirring up her nerve endings.

  She took a long drink of her rum and Coke to settle them down. It didn’t work.

  He removed the glass from her hand and gently nudged her chin in his direction. “I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I first saw you. Are you gonna let me?”

  And then, assuming the answer would be yes, he did just that, and her nerve endings went from stirred to shaken. Oh, she was in trouble. Against her better judgment, she was falling hard for this man. She felt his hand drifting along her midriff, moving upward, and her nerve endings went into delirium. If she didn’t stop this right now, she never would. And she wasn’t ready to make that leap yet. She had to be sure.

  She pulled away. “That was quite a kiss.”

  “You’re quite a woman,” he said and started to move in for more.

  She placed a hand on his chest. “I think I’ve had enough fun for one night.”

  “Don’t like to kiss on the first date?” he teased.

  “I’m not sure playing pinball at your tavern and then coming over here for a grope fest counts as a date.”

  “Who groped? You never let me get that far.”

  “It’s time for me to go home,” she said and stood.

  He stood, too. Now they were just a breath away from each other. He reached up and began playing with her hair again. “Have I mentioned that I’m a sucker for blondes?”

  And she was a sucker for having someone play with her hair. But she wasn’t about to be suckered by Todd Black—at least not tonight. “Thanks for sharing,” she said and removed his fingers from her hair.

  “And you are truly the most beautiful blonde I’ve ever seen.”

  Men had been telling her she was beautiful since puberty, and she wanted more than someone who was turned on by her appearance. She wasn’t interested in a relationship where sex was the driving force. Although, if that kiss was any indication, sex with Todd Black would be amazing.

  Stop it! she scolded herself. To him she said, “I’ve heard that before.” And it didn’t move her. She needed to be with a man who wanted more.

  “I bet you have. I bet men have been telling you you’re beautiful since the day you got your first training bra.”

  She frowned at him. “That was poetic.”

  “I try.”

  “Try harder. I’m not looking for someone to sleep with.”

  “Aw, and I put clean sheets on the bed and everything.”

  Cecily frowned at him again. “Can’t you ever be serious?”

  “Yeah, actually, I can. You’ll have to go out with me, so I can show you my serious side.”

  “It’s a little hard to date when I work days and you work nights, doncha think?”

  “I own the place. I can take a night off. I can take tomorrow night off. Let’s go out to dinner. Zelda’s, and a movie after.”

  She should derail this train before it went any farther down the track. Instead, she said, “All right. Zelda’s, and a movie after. With popcorn. Don’t cheap out on me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He put his hand to the small of her back and gently steered her toward the front door. “Come on, Beauty. Let’s get you out of here before the beast ravishes you.”

  And before her nerve endings betrayed her.

  Who was she kidding? They already had.

  The ride back to The Man Cave on his Harley didn’t calm them down any. Todd Black in leather, seated astride a big rumbling machine, was like a romance-novel cover come to life, and the minute she climbed on behind him, her zing-o-meter took another hit. What was she doing? Who was in charge here, anyw
ay, her brains or her hormones?

  As if she needed to ask that question? Oh, boy.

  * * *

  Bailey’s bank account was dwindling, and she was down to her last catering job.

  The detective hired by her L.A. lawyer had learned that the doctors found no evidence of food poisoning when Samba Barrett came in and played her General Hospital scene. Big surprise. Bailey’s lawyer had sent Samba a letter threatening to sue her for slander and that had been enough to shut up her collagen-plumped mouth as she made the late-night talk TV circuit. It was one thing to be a tragic victim. Quite another to get taken to court for being a fake.

  Sadly, it was all too late to bring back Bailey’s customers.

  You still have the Amora Bliss baby shower, she reminded herself. That would have several Hollywood people at it, and if all went well, maybe she could rebuild her reputation.

  Or not. Saturday morning, the day before the shower, Melinda Spooner, the hostess, called her. “It turns out we’re not going to need you,” she said.

  Seriously? She was canceling the day before the event? After Bailey had purchased the food, begun making preparations? “But I’ve already started on the baby bootee cakes,” Bailey protested. “And they’re adorable.”

  “I’m sure they are, but we won’t be needing you.”

  This woman was an actress friend of Bailey’s high school pal Bitsy (also an aspiring actress—in Los Angeles, who wasn’t?). It was enough of a connection that Bailey felt she could fight to keep this gig. “Melinda, does this have anything to do with what happened at Samba Barrett’s party?”

  There was a betraying moment of silence before Melinda spoke. “No, of course not.”

  “You know Bitsy wouldn’t have referred you to someone incompetent,” Bailey pushed. “And you know you can’t believe everything you read in the Star Reporter.”

  “I know. It’s just that, well, uh, Amora’s having labor pains, and we’re not sure if she’ll even be around for the party tomorrow.”

  “I thought she wasn’t due for another two months.”

  “They’re premature.”

  Right.

  “I’d better go,” Melinda said. She ended the call before Bailey could say anything more.

  Bailey looked around her rented commercial kitchen at the piles of fruit, waiting to get made into salad, the fresh herbs, the half-decorated little cakes, and burst into tears. And then she called her big sister.

  Samantha answered on the first ring. “How are you doing?”

  “Horrible,” Bailey sobbed. “I lost my last client.”

  “Okay, that’s it, end of story. You’re coming home.”

  “I can’t afford to come home.” She also couldn’t afford rent. Or food. Heck, she couldn’t afford to breathe.

  “Oh, yes, you can,” Samantha said briskly. “I’m going online and buying you a ticket. You can stay with Cec.”

  That was her big sister, making decisions for everyone. It was in Samantha’s nature to take charge.

  But that was exactly what Bailey needed right now. It seemed she was no longer able to run her own life.

  “I’ll call Cec. You start packing. Okay?”

  Bailey had so wanted to make a success of her catering business. She’d had everything all planned. She’d begin as a caterer to the stars and move from there into having her own restaurant and becoming a star herself, a celebrity chef with restaurants in L.A. and Vegas. That dream was dead.

  “We’ve all missed you,” Samantha said. “You belong in Icicle Falls. Come home.”

  Home. Suddenly, that was the sweetest word in the English language. Her family would dress her emotional wounds with encouragement and wrap her in love, and she desperately needed a dose of love.

  She sure wasn’t feeling it in L.A. “Get me out of here as soon as you can,” she said. Dorothy was right. There was no place like home, and the sooner Bailey got there, the happier she’d be.

  * * *

  “Todd, I don’t know what we’d do without you,” Millie Halverson said, handing Todd a glass of iced tea.

  He took it and wiped his sweaty brow. “Aw, Mrs. H., there you go, swelling my head again.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible,” the old woman said with a smile. “I really do appreciate you coming over to help me. That lawn is too much for me with my darned hip.”

  Not just the lawn—the whole house, he thought, but he didn’t say anything. Sadly, the time would come soon enough when the Halversons would have to admit defeat and give up the place. And now that her husband had had a stroke, Todd expected it was imminent. So far, the Halversons had been holding on with all their might.

  He didn’t blame them. It was a great old place. And talk about a perfect location. The house was on a street that was now zoned commercial, and it sat right around the corner from the block the locals called Foodie Paradise, which housed everything from Sweet Dreams Chocolates and a spice shop to Bavarian Brews, the town’s favorite coffee shop.

  Once upon a time this had been a neighborhood filled with families raising their children, but the families had moved on. Some had left during the years the town was struggling economically; others had relocated farther out when Icicle Falls began to prosper, building bigger houses in other parts of town, selling their places to businesspeople anxious to open shops and take advantage of the tourist boom.

  Like his house, this one had been around for at least a century and was showing its age. Over the past couple of years, since he’d gotten to know the couple, he’d done some minor repairs, but the kitchen needed updating and the whole place needed painting. Although Todd had offered to do that, Millie and Mike had declined. He suspected it was because of money and had wanted to pay for the paint, but they’d still said no. Hard to accept help, even from someone who’d become a friend.

  “If we’d had a son, I’d have wanted him to be just like you,” Millie said.

  Too bad his old man wasn’t around to hear that. He looked at her in mock surprise. “I’m not?”

  She smiled at him, shaking her head. “You’re such a cutup. But I do want to talk to you seriously when you’re done. If you’ve got a minute.”

  “For you? Of course.” She nodded briskly and hobbled into the house, while he went back to mowing her lawn, wondering what she wanted to talk about.

  He found out half an hour later when he’d finished, and she invited him inside to sit on her worn, blue velvet sofa.

  “Mike and I have been talking. We think it’s time for assisted living, for both of us.”

  “Aw, crap.” They’d wanted to stay in this place until they died. Not practical, of course, but Todd still felt bad for them.

  He remembered how his grandpa had fought the whole business of aging, tootling around in his Caddy, trying to take out half the population in his small town. After Gramps had run a stop sign and T-boned a truck, Mom had finally convinced him to turn over his car keys, but it had sent him into a depression that lasted for three months. The only thing that pulled him out was getting rides to the senior center from the widow down the road who drove a 1950 MG. Cruising around in a sports car with a sexy seventy-year-old had eased the pain.

  What was going to ease the pain for the Halversons? They didn’t have any kids. All they had was each other, and with Mike barely recovering in the nursing home, Todd wasn’t sure how long that would last.

  “We were hoping you might like to buy the house,” Millie said timidly.

  Just what he needed—another old Victorian to fix up.

  She must have seen his hesitation. “We’ll give you a good deal.”

  “Millie, I don’t want to screw you guys over. But, well, I’ve got a place.”

  “I know,” she said. “But only last fall you were talking with Mike about finding some mor
e business investments. And this is commercially zoned.”

  Except that he couldn’t see himself setting up some fussy little shop. “Aw, Millie, I appreciate the offer but...”

  “Prime location. You could rent it out to someone wanting to have a shop.”

  Of course, she was right. He’d be a fool not to scoop this place up. “What do you want for it?”

  The number she gave him was pathetically low. Good Lord, did the woman have no idea what property values were in Icicle Falls these days? “Uh-uh. I’m not out to steal from you.”

  “Well, then, make me an offer.”

  He did.

  She shook her head. “Too high.”

  He had to laugh. “Mrs. H., you do know that this isn’t how you do a real-estate deal? The idea is to get the most money you can.”

  “You’ve been awfully good to us since Mike had his stroke—even before. We’ve talked it over and we’d like to help you a little.”

  “You’ll need that money,” he said. “Assisted living isn’t cheap.”

  “We have money, dear,” she told him. “We just need to unload this house.”

  Yeah, right. Who did she think she was kidding? He named another figure, and she countered. At last he threw out a final number he thought he could live with. It was still a bargain, but at least not so much of a steal that he’d feel like a robber. “And that’s my final offer.”

  She nodded. “Done.”

  “Do you want to talk to your husband about my offer?” Not that Mike could talk so well these days.

  “No, I have power of attorney. Anyway, we’ve already discussed this. He’ll be relieved. I’ll have our lawyer draw up the papers. If you can arrange financing, we can get this settled pretty quickly.”

  “There’s no rush,” he assured her.

  She smiled sadly. “Oh, yes, there is. My sister and her husband are coming here next week to help us move. We found a lovely place in Bremerton.”

  “Oh.” He sat back, shocked.

  She smiled sadly at him. “Mike’s not getting any better. There was no point letting grass grow under our feet.”

  “I’d have kept mowing it,” he said, trying to lighten the moment.