Page 2 of The Magical Tea Shop
Ivy let out a huff. Like she didn’t know that. Still, Hollister’s Bakery was busier than the Ivy Way Tea Shop by far, and Holly worked constantly. Her sister actually adhered to a ten-year plan. Amazing, really. Ivy preferred living in the moment, making the most out of each and every day. “Let’s make a bet.” The words fell from Ivy’s mouth before she could reconsider.
“You’ll lose.”
“Not this time.”
Holly smirked. “You always lose.”
“So what are you worried about?”
“Hmm, I’ll bite.” Holly took a bite of a scone sample from the glass counter. “What do I win when you lose? And how do we know when you’ve lost?” She waved the remaining bit of scone in the air.
Ivy pursed her lips. “By the end of the month, I’ll increase my business 30%andbe in a committed relationship.”
“And this is why you lose.” Holly laughed and popped the last bit of scone in her mouth.
“It could happen.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “In twenty-eight days? Your timeline’s too short, with too many indeterminate variables that’ll burn you.”
Ivy resisted the urge to stomp her foot, or better yet, stomp on Holly’s foot like Holly stomped on all her dreams. “Tell you what, if you win, I’ll clean and close up your shop for a month and if I win, you’ll clean and close up mine.”
It wasn’t fair, of course. Holly’s bakery mess was much worse than Ivy’s tea shop mess, but it didn’t matter because this time Ivy would win. She glanced at the heirloom cookie press hanging from its emerald-green ribbon in a place of honor on her wall.
What if it wasn’t just a myth?
What if the stories were true?
What if fate was just waiting on her to take the chance?
It might even be fun. Ivy loved fun.
With a nod, Ivy breezed past her sister to where Hazel Bestwick was seated with the other three members of the Hazard Historical Society, Ivy’s favorite customers. If anyone would choose to be in her corner, it would be that crew, four pillars of the community who believed all things possible, and one of whom was her great-aunt Lydia. Like Ivy, the outwardly austere Lydia loved fun.
Ivy arrived at the table in time to hear Hazel’s snarky view on their latest hire. “She’s the unfortunate embodiment of her name. Would lightning strike her if she smiled? Who wants a tour with a downer docent?” Hazel’s eyes glinted, daring her cronies to contradict.
“Lots of people,” said Marjorie Hopewell, whose positive outlook and bright copper curls, courtesy of Cece’s Salon for the last twenty years, kept the historical society on track. “Malory Stone’s tours are informative, her delivery concise, and they are exactly one-hour long. I joined a tour of Oleander House just last week, and she did a marvelous job. Honestly, she could do a marvelous job for you, too, Hazel, if you’d just write down your script. Then you wouldn’t have to give all those tours of your Gilded Age Mansion all by yourself.”
Hazel harrumphed and fluffed her white, lavender-tinted hair. “I like giving tours of Sundial Sands. I’m not ready to retire.” She peered through her spectacles at Ivy, her expression begging for a change of topic.
Ivy graciously handed out her list of specials. “We have fresh-baked chocolate chip scones today”—she smiled at Seymour Throckmorton who gave a nod, causing his shock of white hair to rise and fall with the motion—“along with cinnamon rolls from next door and my very own ginger molasses crinkles.” Ivy closed her eyes for a moment as an image of Jaxon flashed through her mind.
“Ooh, I love those,” said Hazel. “Do you have a new tea blend for us to try? The last one, well.” They all exchanged a pained glance.
Ivy winced. Tea blends were an art she had yet to master. “I do. This one is a mint Darjeeling blend with a touch of rooibos. My Darling Mint To Be.”
They exchanged another glance. Marjorie’s bright smile faltered a bit. “You might want to work on the name.”
“Just bring some of everything,” said Hazel, eyes bright in anticipation at an imminent selection of treats. “And I’m certain you’ll create the perfect tea blend yet.”
Ivy nodded and hesitated, not sure how much to share of her conversation with Holly and the daring idea she’d just had.
“What is it, dear?” asked her aunt, her back ramrod straight. Her short, pixie-cut hair was colored the same walnut brown it had been her whole life.
Ivy opened her mouth, then lost her nerve. “I’ll be right back.” She scuttled away, doubting the wisdom of bringing them in on her plan. What if they weren’t discreet? The entire town could be laughing at her by sunset, and then there would be Holly’s inevitable scorn. She chewed her lip as she assembled their order. She needed another opinion, or several.
Should she confide in them? Would they think her absurd? Did it matter?
Holly retreated back into her side of the storefront to assist her employees with filling orders. The bell on Holly’s shop door chimed and chimed again, with a constant influx of customers coming in to buy doughnuts and bear claws and loaves of sourdough. If Ivy didn’t sell Holly’s apple tarts and cupcakes in her tea shop, would she have any customers? Really, who couldn’t make their own pot of tea? Still, the scones and cookies were her own unique recipes which she didn’t share with Holly. The scones especially, served with clotted cream, were a local favorite and made the tea party experience special.