• • •
DASH and I stepped onto the covered boardwalk, which ran in front of many of the businesses on Poppyville’s six-block-long main drag. My footsteps echoed hollowly on the worn planks, reminiscent of the Old West sounds of the California gold rush that had formed the town in the 1840s. Within moments we’d reached my old, battered Wrangler.
“Come on, big guy.” I boosted Dash into the passenger seat and went around the back to the driver’s side. As I stepped out to the street, a squeal pierced the air. My head jerked up, and I whirled to see an SUV headed straight for me.
Big. Black.
And coming way too fast.
My mouth dropped open in disbelief. Dash barked, frantic and loud, teeth bared. For a split second, a distant sliver of my brain hoped he wouldn’t follow his canine instinct to herd the monstrous chunk of metal away from me. Then the roar of the engine blocked out all sound and thoughts.
Including my common sense. At the last moment, I leaped back between my vehicle and the one next to it. Pain jabbed through my knee where I’d banged it on the fender. Tires screeched by on the pavement, and the driver honked.
Honked. At me.
My hand flew up, middle finger extended. The windows were tinted, but I caught a flash of light hair and dark, wraparound sunglasses in the passenger-side mirror before the Cadillac—it was an Escalade, I saw now—raced through the empty crosswalk leading to the playground in Raven Creek Park and veered onto the winding road that led south of town. It had a California plate, and I made out a six and a five in the number. It wasn’t a vehicle I’d seen around town, though.
Tourists.
“That’s the kind of visitor we can definitely do without,” I said to Dash, my voice quavering from the flood of adrenaline. He gazed in the direction of River Road with worried eyes.
Rubbing my knee with a shaking hand, I frowned. There was only one stoplight on Corona Street, and that was at the other end where it intersected the county road that went out to the highway. The speed limit downtown was a tame twenty miles an hour, and hatched crosswalks guided the frequent foot traffic from corner to corner. The Cadillac would have picked off at least a few of the milling pedestrians if it had barreled down the entire length of Corona like that. Luckily, it had turned onto the main drag less than a block away. Amazing how it had picked up so much speed so quickly.
I could have died.
The thought popped unbidden into my mind. With a deep breath, I shook it off, hauled my four-foot-ten frame behind the wheel of the Wrangler, and started the engine.
Scents & Nonsense was at the very end of Corona, just before the park with its fitness trail, picnic areas, river access, and playground. I parked in the lot across the street so as not to take up one of the spaces in front of the boardwalk and reached into the back for the bags of hazelnut mulch. Over the seat back, I saw an old Volkswagen Westfalia camping van complete with a pop-up top parked in front of Flyrite Kites next door to my shop. It reminded me of the one my brother, Colby, drove.
Thinking of Colby—who was actually my half brother—made me smile. We were closer to each other than either of us was to my half sister, Darcy. Still, I hadn’t seen him much after he’d ditched his degree in economics and the world of high finance to take to the open road at the age of twenty-three. He’d found his bliss wandering from town to town across the United States, supporting himself with odd jobs and custom woodworking. Three years later, we stayed in touch mostly by e-mail, text, and frequent phone calls. It was high time he planned a visit home.
The thought had no more flitted through my brain than I saw the bumper stickers on the van. The THIS IS HOW I ROLL decal was right next to a stylized picture of a phoenix with POPPYVILLE SUNBIRDS underneath.
The van didn’t just look like his. It was his. Colby was back!
I dropped the mulch and jumped out of the Wrangler. Dash at my heel, I ran across the street to my shop, flung the door open, and stood on the threshold with a grin so big it almost hurt.
My brother turned from where he was standing in front of the register, a devilish grin spreading across his sweet face. “Surprise.”
I launched myself at him. He caught me in a warm bear hug, lifting me easily off the floor and swinging me around. Dash ran in excited circles, while Nabokov hissed feline disapproval of such antics from the windowsill.
“Careful of that candle display, you two,” Maggie Clement admonished with a happy smile. She was well padded, pushing sixty, and mothered everyone around her. “I’d hate to see your family reunion break the merchandise.”
Colby set me down but kept his hands on my shoulders. “Hey, you. I probably should have called first, but I wanted to surprise you.” His eyes flashed beneath the brim of his baseball cap. A fringe of dark hair poked out around his ears.
“Hey, yourself.” He smelled of wood shavings and peppermint. I reached up and jabbed at his brown beard. “What’s this thing?”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course that’s the first thing you’d notice.” He stepped back, and it registered for the first time that he had a companion. “This is part of my surprise. Ellie, meet Larken Meadows. Larken, this is my weirdo big sis, Elliana Allbright, aka Ellie.”
I felt myself color. “Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry. It’s just that I haven’t seen Colby for such a long time, and this is so unexpected . . .” I trailed off.
Her serious gaze met mine, hazel eyes flecked with gold and framed by long lashes. She smelled of tender new shoots of green and rich soil warmed by sunshine. Her hair was the color of peanut butter, long and straight and parted in the middle. Her tanned skin was flawless without any hint of makeup. She looked at me for a few beats—probing, assessing—before a brilliant, crooked grin bloomed on her face, creating an off-center dimple and revealing a slight overbite.
“Hi, Ellie. Nice to meet you. Colby’s told me a lot about you.”
Her sudden smile was so contagious that I felt my own grin widening. But when I spoke, I sounded like I was just learning to speak English. “I, uh, nice to meet you, too.”
Colby laughed and leaned toward Larken. “She doesn’t know how to say that I never told her about you.”
“Stop that,” I protested, and held out a hand to Larken. “Welcome to Poppyville. I’m only sorry that you had to make your first visit with my very rude brother here.”
“I’m not,” she said, and the look she gave Colby was so adoring I almost didn’t take it seriously. But she was earnest, very earnest. I had a feeling gravitas was Larken’s default mode. However, I sensed it came from being grounded, not staid, from a position of quiet dignity rather than sternness.
God knew she’d have no luck being stern with my brother. And grounded? He could definitely use some of that in his life.
“Maggie here was saying you have a big interview tomorrow,” Colby said, ambling over to the coffee urn. He helped himself to a cup of dark roast and one of the lavender shortbread cookies Astrid had brought over that morning.
“Oh, no. Oh, Colby, Larken, I’m so sorry! He’s going to be here at nine in the morning, and there’s going to be a photographer, and my house is so little, and—”
He held up his hand. “Relax. I might be your rude little brother, but I never intended to impose on your hospitality like that.”
“Are you staying in the van?” I asked, unable to keep the skepticism out of my voice.
Larken laughed, a lovely sparkling sound. “Believe me, we’ve spent plenty of time in that van. And I love it!” she added pointedly as she took the steaming mug Colby offered her. “But we’re indulging ourselves and staying at the Hotel California.”
My shoulders relaxed. “Nice! How long will you be in town?”
The two lovebirds exchanged a significant look. Finally, Colby said, “To be determined.”
I frowned, but before I could pursue it, Maggie r
eached under the counter and grabbed her tote bag. “Sorry, Ellie, but I’ve got to run. See you day after tomorrow?”
I nodded. “Sounds great.” Maggie was taking the next day off to spend with her grandkids, but luckily Astrid would be able to woman the shop while I was busy with Blake Sontag. Heaven knew my assistant deserved a day off from both of her jobs, as hard as she worked.
Colby drained his coffee. “We’re going to get out of your hair, too. I want to show Lark the house we grew up in.”
“But you just got here,” I protested. “Have you had a chance to go out to the Enchanted Garden?” I cultivated a garden behind my shop, which my customers and friends loved to sit in.
Larken shook her head.
“You’re in for a treat,” Maggie said as she headed for the front door, already gathering her bleached blond hair into a practical bun for her shift at the Roux Grill.
I followed her and flipped the sign in the front window from OPEN to CLOSED.
“Oh, now, I don’t want you losing business,” Colby said. “Not on my account.”
I waved away his objection. “It won’t take long to show you around, but I don’t want to be disturbed.” Quickly, I wrote a note that said I’d be back in fifteen minutes and stuck it on the door.
CHAPTER 2
I LED them past the locked display case of perfumes, where LED under-shelf lighting lent a warm glow to the collection of intricate, colored glass bottles. We wound around tables piled with scented soaps and bath salts, soy candles, and drawer sachets. Larken paused to finger a sample of ginger-spiced body whip and remarked on the scented play clay in the children’s section.
“Mmm. Citrusy.”
“There’s no age limit for aromatherapy,” I said. “Pink grapefruit boosts self-esteem and helps with concentration, so I use it in a lot of my products for kids.”
My brother rolled his eyes.
Larken punched him lightly on the arm. “Behave.”
“I guess it does sound kind of la-di-da when I put it that way.” I laughed and opened the glass door to the patio in the back of the shop.
“Bah. He’s the same way about my interest in wildcrafting,” she said. Wildcrafting was the practice of gathering plants from their natural habitat, for food or for medicinal purposes.
When my eyes cut toward Larken, Colby grinned. “That piqued your interest, didn’t it? I knew you two would get along.”
We stepped outside, skirted the grouping of comfy rocking chairs and the porch swing hanging from the pergola, and paused where the flagstones met a blanket of luxuriant moss beneath the stained glass birdbath.
“Holy moly,” Larken breathed.
Her eyes raked over the space between where we stood and my tiny house nestled at the back of the lot. Terraced beds marched above and below a mosaic retaining wall, overflowing with herbs and scented flowers. Nabokov—Nabby—the Russian blue shorthair who had come with the storefront, followed us out and made a graceful beeline for his favorite perch atop the wall. A blowsy Don Juan rose tumbled over the north fence, a tiny sparrow’s nest firmly clasped among the thorns. A narrow path wound among thriving beds of jasmine, larkspur, and butterfly weed circled a small grassy area where a round table and wicker chairs invited visitors to sit with a cool drink and take in the verdant surroundings, and ultimately ended at an asymmetrical boulder hunched in the center of the space.
The words ENCHANTED GARDEN were etched into its rugged face.
Larken stepped off the patio with an expression of awe, trailing her fingers along the birdbath and smiling at the collection of finches, wrens, blue jays, and one intrepid woodpecker gathered at the many feeders. Then her gaze lowered. Her eyes widened, and her breath caught.
“Ah. You found the fairies,” I said.
Colby frowned.
“Don’t worry, little bro. I have yet to see any actual pixies out here.” Though after some of the things I’d experienced in the garden, I probably wouldn’t have been surprised if one suddenly popped up and waved at me. I pointed at the whimsical miniature garden tableau Larken had spied. It was landscaped with ferns for trees, baby tears as ground cover, and bordered with sweet woodruff that extended to a lichen-covered rock with an eight-inch door set into the side. A tiny wooden bench invited the wee folk to sit and rest a bit, and a diminutive tire swing swayed temptingly. “I do like to provide them accommodations, though.”
“There are more of these?” she asked, moving farther away.
“All over. See that path?” I pointed to a tiny winding track I’d created from smoothed shards of sea glass. “If you follow it through the lavender and around that stand of delphinium, it will take you to a gnome door in the apple tree.”
There were similar doors, some only five inches high, a few twice that size, set into rocks, the fence I shared with Flyrite Kites, and the stone edging of the mint patch. And near them were tiny gardens that I’d carefully crafted, containing more ferns trimmed into teensy trees, juniper starts towering above dollhouse-size Adirondack chairs, low-growing woolly thyme, dwarf mondo grass, and English boxwood bonsai. I had planted the first diminutive scene under the hummingbird feeder, but it ended up being so adorable and had been so much fun that I just kept creating more throughout the Enchanted Garden.
Larken followed my directions, Dash trotting ahead of her, and stopped next to the ancient gnarled trunk of the fruit tree.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend?” I quietly hissed at my brother. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had the chance. We talked at least once a week.
She looked over. I smiled and waved. Hands clasped, she gazed down, a small smile on her lips. I could sense the earthiness of her soul, and imagined the smells of rich, wet soil and pine straw.
“It has to be serious if she’ll put up with traveling in that van of yours,” I continued.
Next to me, Colby shook his head. “It’s . . . complicated. We’ve known each other for a while, but only recently decided to take it to the next level.”
Ritter’s face passed across my mental movie screen.
“Ellie, this is adorable!” Larken called.
“Girls,” my brother muttered.
I nodded. “The kids love it.”
“I wasn’t talking about the kids.”
I grinned up at him. “Okay, maybe a lot of us don’t grow out of a love for dolls and miniatures, but don’t try to tell me you’re not a twelve-year-old boy at heart. A twelve-year-old boy on a perpetual camping trip.”
He laughed. “You got me there.”
But Larken had turned to look at us, and I saw immediately that she’d heard—and my words had cast a pall. A sudden empathetic light-headedness made me sway on my feet. With an effort, I steadied myself.
She loves my brother, but she’s unmoored. She needs roots. Deep roots.
Without warning, a breeze caught up a shimmering whirlwind of pink hydrangea petals. They swirled around her, caught in her hair, gently buffeted her cheeks, and then settled back down to the ground. Her mouth opened in an O of surprise.
I smiled. Since creating it, I’d learned the Enchanted Garden was more than just a few words etched into a rock. It was a place alive with possibility and rich with botanical intelligence that went beyond heliotropism.
And Larken was an earth-soul who had instantly connected with that energy.
Colby was oblivious, of course. That was just as well. I went over and broke off a calendula flower, then stepped briskly toward the apple tree. Crushing it slightly between my fingertips, I sniffed its light perfume. My dizziness abated, and I knew the scent would help comfort Larken.
Handing it to her, I said, “Take a whiff.”
Eyes wide, she obeyed. Her shoulders relaxed, and I, too, felt more solidly connected to the ground beneath my feet.
“Boy, you weren’t kidding when you said your house
was tiny,” Colby said, looking past us.
My home was covered with hand-hewn cedar shingles, and the door had been crafted of scraps from a demolished barn. On each side of the door were neat, four-paned windows. Old-fashioned geraniums trailed from the window boxes beneath them.
I turned toward him. “You’re the one who gave me the idea, you know. It’s three hundred twenty square feet, but that’s plenty for Dash and me.” The tiny house movement was about living simply in a small space. The small, green footprint had appealed to my environmental side, and since starting Scents & Nonsense hadn’t left me with much money after the divorce, the price was right.
We went in, and I gave them a quick tour.
“Here’s the kitchen, small but efficient. That’s a combination washer/dryer, and in the bathroom I have a shower set over a deep Japanese-style tub.” I pointed out all the built-in shelves and cupboards, the storage features of nearly every piece of furniture, the dining table and desk that folded away into the wall, and the set of chairs that stacked together to make an end table for the foldout love seat.
“But this is my favorite part.” I put my hand on the tight, circular staircase that led to the loft bedroom above. Shelves spiraled upward beneath the steps, chock-full of books on horticulture, aromatherapy, and perfumery. “I get to climb a bookshelf to go to bed every night.”
“Magical,” Larken breathed, reaching for a book.
But when I saw which one had caught her eye, it was all I could do not to snatch the volume out of her hand. It was my gamma’s garden journal, a handwritten and hand-drawn record of her many decades of wisdom, both botanical and life-earned. To the best of my knowledge, no hands but hers and mine had ever touched the tattered cover.
Colby looked at his watch. “We’d better get back. You might have a customer waiting, Ellie.”
I breathed a sigh of relief as Larken returned the book to its home without opening it. “You’re right,” I said. “But I feel like I barely got a chance to see you.”
“I’m going to show Larken around town this afternoon,” he said. “How about we meet for dinner tonight?”
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