by Jess Vonn
“It must have been so hard, losing him at such a young age,” she blurted out. As someone who’d lost not one but two parents, she felt a deep need to offer empathy to others with a similar story, even if it was a decade too late.
She watched his facial expression harden as he slowly clenched then unclenched his hands.
“Was my mom talking to you about him?” he asked with an unnatural, forced calmness.
Winnie set down the thermos, her appetite suddenly gone. Stupid, nosy brain.
“Uh, no,” she said, because she couldn’t lie. It’d get back to Rhonda, which would create a whole new set of problems.
“Did someone bring him up to you?” he asked, his gaze penetrating. With every second it became more apparent that his father might be the topic he least wanted to talk about. She wanted to rewind, to go back to two minutes earlier when his delicious food was filling her body and his hand was invading her skirt.
“No, not exactly,” she said, squirming where she sat on the desk.
He stayed quiet, waiting for her to spill it. He’d figured out her tendencies by now.
“I asked Evie if she knew what the story was with your dad.”
She watched him swallow hard and cross his arms, but he didn’t speak. Fueled by mounting guilt, she rattled on.
“She didn’t want to tell me at first. She thought I should ask you about him.”
He let out a small, humorless laugh.
“I kept on her though, until she told me…” She cleared her throat nervously. “…the basics.”
“The basics?” he repeated. “At Dewey’s, I’m sure.”
Winnie’s cheeks warmed. She hadn’t even thought about the public nature of her and Evie’s conversation until that very second. But how could she have known what a scandalous story she was requesting? For all she knew, Cal’s dad had remarried and lived a boring life as an accountant in New England.
“Yes.”
“I’m sure the rest of the diner enjoyed getting a refresher on the sad story. It was the primary grist of the gossip mills for years. How thoughtful of you to remind them all of the skeletons in the Spencer family closet.”
“Cal, I’m sorry, I had no idea – “
“You set the ground rules, Briggs,” he interrupted, standing up now. He wasn’t angry. He hadn’t even raised his voice. But his warmth and humor were long gone, which was somehow worse.
She stood too, so he didn’t seem quite so imposing. Something about his irritation made him seem half a foot taller.
“What do you mean?”
“No digging through each other’s baggage. That was your rule.”
“I—” she started, but he interrupted again. And she didn’t have a good response anyway. He was absolutely right.
“I don’t know if it makes me feel better or worse that you didn’t even bother to ask me about it.”
She shook her head, knowing that she was within seconds of tears.
“I figured you would have brought it up if you wanted to talk about it,” she said, her voice shaky.
He let out another small, sad laugh.
“Exactly.”
Ugh. She was officially a prying jerk.
“I didn’t mean to overstep, Cal. I just wanted to know a little bit more about you. I’m sorry.”
“Some of us have chapters in our lives we’d just as soon keep shut. I doubt that’s the case for someone like you. I’m sure you’ve had a charmed, uneventful life with two perfect parents who always did and said the right thing. Who were always there for you, no exceptions.”
That’s when the tears finally fell, as he jabbed his finger right into the center of her pain without even intending to. In that way, they were even, and she silently accepted it as penance. When he noticed she was crying, his face softened.
“Hey,” he said gently, which only worked to increase the tear output. He sighed as he brushed the wetness away with the back of his thumbs. “Look. You’ve got work to do, so I’ll leave you to it. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”
She nodded, unsure what to say. Unwilling to acknowledge the fear and insecurity fluttering in her heart. This couldn’t be the end. Not when it had just started to get so magical. He put his finger beneath her chin and tipped her face up so that she was forced to meet his gaze.
“Eat something,” he said sternly, though the care behind his words made her heart squeeze. Calmed her down a little. “And lock up behind me.”
With no goodbye hug or embrace, he made his way out of the office. Winnie sat at her desk, dazed, not quite able to process the quick turn of events. She couldn’t overthink what had happened, or what her and Cal’s status was. She had work to finish tonight.
All she’d now knew for sure was that it was impossible to avoid relationship baggage. Even if you tried to, you’d just end up tripping over it eventually— and falling flat on your face in the process.
~-~-~-~-~-~-
An extra-large coffee and an enormous pumpkin spice muffin from Dewey’s the next morning made Wednesday a bit easier to manage despite Winnie’s lack of sleep the night before. She was more than exhausted when she finally made it home at eleven, but anxiety about her kerfuffle with Cal made falling asleep next to impossible. The only benefit of her insomnia was a bit of time to finally start combing through the copies of annual Bloomsburo budget reports that the city clerk had begrudgingly handed over.
She was no accountant, but even at first glance, some oddities and troubling patterns jumped out of the numbers. Winnie needed to get to the bottom of it. For as little as she wanted to go into the office this morning, she’d much rather be there than at city hall this morning as the community woke up to find news of the exorbitant fee hike on the front page of the paper. She winced a bit, worrying about the shadow the news would cast over Cal’s day. But then she took a moment to appreciate the fact that Betty Jean would have someone else to harass for once.
So she was dragging this morning, but she felt determined to tackle her to-do list with gusto. She would have done just that if it weren’t for that blasted office phone.
Winnie slowly began to realize that being the editor-in-chief of a small town paper was basically like one continuous game of Whack-a-Mole. No matter what else she had to do, huge chunks of her days were spent dealing with unexpected things at unideal times: pancake dinner sabotage and missing-in-action mayors and the passing of policies that were far from the best interest of the community, just to name a few.
And before she’d even managed to clear out her inbox, the first task Winnie tackled each morning at the office, Gloria appeared around the corner, with the newest ‘mole’ to whack.
“Winnie, there’s a call for you. It’s Poppy Hughes.”
“From the Teal Tea Hutch?” It was one of Bloomsburo’s most charming Main Street attractions, a cozy tearoom with authentic sweets and fancies. Winnie had yet to meet Poppy, or to visit the spot.
“Yes, that’s the one. But the thing is, Poppy’s quite hysterical.”
“Is she upset with the paper? Did we screw up an ad?”
Winnie sure hoped not. The Teal Tea Hutch was one of the paper’s largest local advertising accounts. They had taken out a full-color, full-page ad in the upcoming special section and her publisher would kill her if she did something to compromise that relationship.
“No, she’s not upset with you. But she wants your help.”
Winnie could hardly get a word in edgewise when Poppy came on the line. Her voice was a barrage of panicked shrieks and only a few dramatic words came through: sabotage, ruined reputation, vengeance.
“How quickly can you be here to help me sort this all out?” Poppy finally asked, breathlessly and desperately.
“I’ll be right over.”
Winnie grabbed her notebook and camera and flew out the door, speed-walking her way down the side street that met up with Main Street. Luckily The Teal Tea Hutch was just a few blocks away. So determined was Winnie to get over to the shop and
figure out what the fuss was all about that she didn’t even notice the figure approaching the business from the opposite end of the sidewalk.
As she walked up to the door, however, she saw a man’s arm block the entrance.
“Briggs,” a familiar voice said.
Her stomach flip flopped when she looked up to see Cal no more than a foot away from her, looking smart in a pair of grey jeans and a lightweight black V-neck sweater with a white T-shirt underneath.
“Oh, hey, Cal,” she said, tucking her hair nervously behind her ear and looking at the ground, avoiding his green eyes in case she didn’t like what they communicated. She felt nauseous, not knowing where they stood.
“I’m sorry. Again,” she muttered into the pavement.
“I know. I am, too.” His voice was somber, uncharacteristically so. But not angry. She couldn’t tell if his resignation stemmed from her inquiries last night, or the hassle with the city council vote, or both.
She looked up.
“I overreacted. I apologize.”
“No, I didn’t mean to pry, Cal, I just –”
“It’s okay.”
“We’re okay?”
He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Let’s just stick to the ground rules,” he said.
She nodded, too eagerly. But her need for things to be right between them was all consuming. Being at ease with Cal Spencer had quickly become one of the most energizing aspects of her life, and she needed it to resume ASAP.
“I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“Briggs. That’s enough. Please don’t promise away all your naughtiness.”
Her eyes looked up once more and saw mischief there. Relief washed over her.
“I—” she began, but she never had the chance to finish the promise. Just then the tea shop door flew open to reveal a sixty-something woman.
“Thank goodness you’re both here,” she said. With well-coiffed salt-and-pepper hair and designer heels, Poppy Hughes was impeccably dressed with a sophisticated Helen Mirren-esque air, despite the panic in her eyes. “You two must help me get to the bottom of this.”
Stepping inside, it became instantly apparent why The Teal Tea Hutch was such a local favorite. The décor could be best described as vintage eclectic. The walls were painted different shades of teal, and the shelves and built-in hutches were brimming with retro embellishments. Victorian-esque art hung on the wall next to the occasional antique stitching sampler. Quirky, one-of-a-kind chandeliers hung over each table, several of which were filled with happy customers, and upbeat classical guitar music piped gently through a sound system.
“This place is just wonderful,” Winnie commented as Poppy finally took a seat at a table in the back with a laptop set up on top, looking out of place in the quaint shop.
“Thank you, dear. I’m so sorry. I haven’t even introduced myself yet. I’m Poppy Hughes.”
“And I’m Winnie Briggs.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you. We all think you’re doing such nice work at the paper.”
“Oh, that’s kind of you to say.” Winnie’s cheeks flushed.
“And do you know Cal Spencer?” Poppy asked hurriedly, her anxiety obvious as she forced her way through formalities. Winnie looked up into his face, which now featured a toned down version of his familiar ornery grin. She was relieved to see its return, even if it was somewhat subdued.
“Yes, uh…” Winnie said awkwardly. “We’ve met.”
Surely his mind was also in that moment showcasing a highlights reel of just how intimately they’d gotten to know one another.
“Well sit, sit. I don’t know where to begin.” Poppy cried, running her hand through her short silver hair.
“Just take a breath, Poppy. I’m sure whatever it is, we can work it out,” Cal offered gently, putting his hand affectionately on her forearm. Winnie could see Poppy relax. It had never occurred to Winnie before that Cal could actually be a soothing presence. Perhaps if Winnie’s libido were as “seasoned” as Poppy’s, it’d be a different story.
Poppy took a deep breath before continuing. “Well, as Cal knows, but you may not, Winnie, my tea room has a fairly positive reputation in the area.”
“Not just in the area,” Cal interjected. “This is a tourist destination. People drive well off the beaten path to experience Poppy’s hospitality.”
Poppy beamed at Cal, and suddenly it occurred to Winnie that there may be no libido too seasoned to be completely immune to his handsome charm.
“That’s definitely the impression I’ve been given,” Winnie added.
“Well, as Cal could tell you much more eloquently then me, we’ve really been working to increase the shop’s online presence. It’s one of his initiatives at the Chamber, and it’s been a definite success.”
Winnie looked at Cal, who smiled humbly.
“He’s hosted all these wonderful trainings to get our local businesses online. I’m active on social media sites, I post on tea room forums. I even network with B&B listservs, since we share a similar audience.”
Winnie was impressed. It made her feel like a jerk, but she’d been so consumed by Cal’s handsomeness and charm that she hadn’t given much thought to his professional capabilities. Suddenly it dawned on her what someone young and technologically savvy could offer a small town in the middle of nowhere in terms of publicity and marketing. Cal was clearly good for Bloomsburo.
“But perhaps most importantly, Cal has encouraged the food and entertainment people to get on Howl,” Poppy continued.
“That’s the website with the restaurant reviews?” Winnie asked. She’d heard of it, but never visited.
“The user reviews can really drive business,” Cal explained, turning technical. “People trust reviews written by what they perceive to be real people. It feels more authentic than an establishment bragging about itself. Word of mouth marketing is really making a big difference for many small town attractions.”
Poppy nodded. “I’ve run some promotions that encourage customers to get online and write a Howl review for The Hutch.”
“They’ve been through the roof,” Cal explained with obvious pride, “by far the highest of all the Bloomsburo establishments.”
Poppy suddenly groaned in frustration, her hands running through her hair again.
“That seems like a good thing,” Winnie offered. “I don’t understand what the distress is about.”
“I can’t even say it out loud,” said Poppy. “You just have to look.”
She slid her laptop in front of Winnie. Cal scooted his chair closer, putting his arm across the back of Winnie's chair so he could lean in and see the screen. The gesture was so simple, yet so suddenly intimate, and she feared she might get taken away with the subtle scents of his delicious cologne. Her every cell charged at his proximity. She didn’t dare look his way.
On the screen was the Howl page for The Hutch, but the average customer rating was listed as only half a star out of five.
“You were just averaging four and a three-quarter stars last month,” Cal said in disbelief. His arm pulled away from Winnie's chair and reached across her body to grab the mouse, which she had been operating.
“May I?” he asked, his perfect face so close, but so uncharacteristically serious. Winnie nodded quietly. He began reading some of the anonymous reviews.
The pastries were stale and the service was lacking. Don’t waste your time going off your route for this place. Big letdown.
Poppy let out another groan as Cal finished reading the quote. It was clear how much of her own sense of self was wrapped up in the teashop’s reputation.
Highly overrated. Tea was bitter, and had an unpleasant aroma. The snooty owner acts like you’re inconveniencing her by ordering, then she’ll mess up your bill to try to make some extra money.
“You of all people, Cal, know that I only serve the very best tea available!” Poppy cried.
Winnie looked at Cal, who was nodding in ag
reement with Poppy. “My mom’s own blends,” he explained. Winnie failed to see how anything produced by Rhonda Spencer could be anything less than fantastic.
Bathrooms were filthy. Waited 20 minutes just to get a menu, then they were out of our first three choices. Disappointed, and won’t be back.
Poppy pushed her chair away from the table and pointed a stern finger at Winnie.
“Will you do me a favor, Winnie?” she asked, though it was phrased much more like a demand than a request. “Go and look in that bathroom.”
Winnie looked at Cal for help. Was she serious?
Cal shrugged.
“I mean it,” Poppy ordered like a stern schoolmarm. “Stand up. Walk over there.” Then her voice softened. “Please. For my sanity’s sake.”
Winnie pushed off her chair and walked over to the pale teal door marked “Ladies’ Room.” She opened the door and actually gasped. She’d never in her life considered a public bathroom to be beautiful, but that was the only word to describe the private room. The walls, a serene eggshell blue, were as well decorated as the rest of the shop, and there was even a sitting area near the sink, complete with a wicker love seat covered in big throw pillows in coordinating patterns. Recessed lights on the ceiling and a small rock fountain in the corner created a soft, inviting effect, and the entire room smelled delicately of oranges.
Winnie came back out.
“Well?” Poppy asked desperately.
“I noticed one major problem,” Winnie started.
“What?” Poppy gasped, eyes bulging.
“It’s far too pretty to pee in,” Winnie said. “But if you are willing to rent it out as a tranquil day spa, I’d sign up immediately. I could bring some books in there. You could deliver some fresh scones. It’d be paradise.”
Poppy couldn’t help but laugh with relief.
“I’m sorry I shouted at you,” Poppy apologized. “I’m just so upset.”
“Clearly these reviews are inaccurate,” Winnie said as she resumed her seat next to Cal. She could sense the frustration coiling in his body and it tied her own stomach into knots. Surely he felt responsible for how this well-intentioned PR initiative had turned sour. Her desire to reach out and stroke his back, to give him some sort of physical comfort, was staggering.