The Enchanted Garden Cafe (South Side Stories Book 1)

by Abigail Drake

  Before Matthew even showed up for acoustic night, my stomach had tied itself in knots, and I felt jittery and flushed. I realized with disgust I was excited to see him and worried because we’d fought at Pamela’s. I was a mess.

  We left the windows open so a breeze could blow through, and it felt lusciously cool on my hot skin. I changed my clothes three times before deciding on an outfit, a black miniskirt with a shimmery gray sleeveless blouse. Sexy without being too obvious. By the time I finally dressed, I was extremely irritated and running late. I pulled my hair back into a low ponytail and flew down the steps.

  Turning the corner into the kitchen, I ran right into Matthew. He wore a pair of faded jeans that hung low on his hips and a white T-shirt. His hair, silky and loose, brushed against his shoulders. He carried a bag in his hands, and I almost squished it.

  “I’m sorry,” we both blurted it out at once and then laughed.

  He took my hand in his, and my heart did a little flip-flop in my chest. It was ridiculous how much he affected me.

  “I was a jerk,” he said. “You aren’t shallow or spineless. You’re one of the strongest, nicest, and most amazing people I know.”

  My cheeks burned. “You were kind of a jerk, but I got mad because I knew what you said was possibly, partially, somewhat right.”

  Matthew’s lips curved into a smile. “You’re admitting I was right?”

  “Partially. Somewhat.”

  “But right?”

  “Yes. Scott was wrong about Pamela’s, and I should have stood up to him.”

  Realizing he still held my hand in his, I pulled it slowly away. Matthew stared at me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. “This might be a personal question, but why are you with him anyway?”

  “Well, I’m not, actually. Not anymore at least.” The words came out in a rush. I glanced up to gauge Matthew’s reaction, but I couldn’t read him. His face showed no emotion.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I broke up with him. A few days ago.”

  “Why?”

  “Good question.” I tucked a lock of hair behind my head. “I thought he was perfect for me. I dated him because he was what I thought I wanted, but I was . . . wrong.”

  “Is that twice now? Or three times?”

  I looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “You were wrong about me, wrong about the tattoo, and wrong, it seems, about your boyfriend.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “The jury’s still out on the first one.”

  “Well, I think we’re making progress. I haven’t seen the kitchen bitch in . . . well . . . days.”

  I tried to look stern, although it was hard not to smile at the impish gleam in his eyes. “You’re going to make me mad again. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  Matthew grinned. “Making you mad is half the fun.”

  I tried to shoo him out of the kitchen, but he took the bag he carried and handed it to me. “For you.”

  Looking inside, I grinned. “Hot dogs? No way. You definitely know the way to my heart.” I had no idea why those words came out of my mouth. I wanted to kick myself.

  There was an awkward silence, and his cheeks got even pinker than mine. “Well, I’d better go and set up . . . ”

  “You brought four. Come and help me eat these.”

  I poured him a big glass of iced tea, and we chatted as we ate like we’d never fought. Matthew didn’t carry a grudge, yet another thing different about him. Scott was a world-class pouter.

  Silently, I chastised myself for even thinking that way. I needed to stop comparing them. It wasn’t fair to either of them, especially Scott, who wasn’t around to defend himself.

  I spent the evening listening to Matthew play and helping Chad with the smoothies. Mom worked the register and acted as hostess. We kept the office locked and our eyes out for strangers, but all went well. Several people showed up with guitars on their backs, and some were good, but no one compared to Matthew. We had an even bigger crowd than last week, and many of the women stared at Matthew with wide-eyed admiration. It made me ill. I wanted to spit in their smoothies but held myself back.

  I didn’t want to analyze my feelings for Matthew but couldn’t help listing the pros and cons in my head. Scott came out the winner on paper every single time, but when Matthew was around, what looked right logically didn’t seem to matter anymore. It was confusing.

  Chad kept staring into space and sighing forlornly. Once the rush for smoothies died, I handed him a shot of rum. “Drink up. You need it, buddy.”

  “Thanks,” he said, “but alcohol isn’t the answer.” He drank the shot anyway. One of the most admirable things about Chad was the way he never listened to his own advice.

  “I spoke with Kate today,” I said, and Chad looked at me in surprise. “I know, I know. It isn’t my policy to interfere, but can I give you my opinion?”

  “Yes. Please,” he said, his brown eyes huge in his face. “I have no idea what to do. What did she tell you?”

  I needed a shot of rum as well. I took it and slammed my shot glass on the counter. “She has feelings for you but is scared about getting too serious.”

  Chad poured himself another shot. We made two kinds of daiquiri smoothies tonight, banana and strawberry, so we had plenty of rum on hand. A good thing.

  “But I want to get serious. I want to do this the right way.”

  I blew out a sigh. “Just sleep with her for now. She’ll come around, eventually.”

  Chad’s eyes grew huge in his face. “You think I should?”

  “Yes. Tell her you’ll take her any way you can get her.”

  Chad looked uncomfortable. I wasn’t exactly thrilled with this conversation myself. “I guess I should call her.”

  “Do it.”

  He went into the tearoom, and I realized Matthew stood in the doorway. He’d heard every word I’d said.

  “You’re giving relationship advice?” he asked.

  I winced. “Was I wrong? I don’t want to mess things up for him.”

  “It sounded like good advice to me,” he said with a wink before heading back to the main room.

  Chad returned to the kitchen with a huge grin on his face. “Kate wants me to come over. Immediately. Do you mind cleaning up?”

  I shook my head. “Go quickly—before she changes her mind.”

  Chad flew out of the café. I had a smile on my face as I tidied the kitchen and wiped it down. My efforts had turned out better than expected.

  I made strawberry-daiquiri smoothies for Mom, Matthew, and myself and carried them out on a tray. Matthew’s eyes twinkled when he saw my apron. I looked down and read it, feeling a blush coming on. “Kiss the Cook.” Just my luck. Mom would have said I broadcasted my inner desires with subliminal choices. Maybe she was right.

  “Do you want to sit in the garden?” he asked.

  I nodded. I’d lost the ability to speak.

  The crowd cleared out quickly, and soon we were alone on the bench next to the fountain. I’d taken off my apron and sat sipping my smoothie. I had no idea what to do next.

  “Your mom says this fountain is magical.”

  I rolled my eyes, relieved to have something to talk about. “Sadly, I think she actually believes it.”

  “Tell me about it. Please.”

  Matthew leaned back, his arm resting on the bench behind me. It felt cozy. It also felt wrong. I’d barely broken up with Scott. Even the twinkle lights seemed to mock me from the trees. I scooted away from Matthew and took another sip of my smoothie.

  “Mom insists the fountain is linked to an ancient Mayan prophecy about a place with three rivers meeting at one point.”

  “Like right here. The three rivers meet downtown.”

  “Exactly. The Mayans said beneath such a place was another river, a secret one, with magical powers. She thinks this fountain is fed by that mystical, hidden river.”

  “And what are the magical properties
?” Matthew’s eyes looked very dark in the dim light of the garden.

  I let out a nervous laugh. “No idea. It’s a bunch of nonsense.”

  “Let’s test it. We’ll each take a sip of the water, close our eyes, and make a wish.” Matthew got up from the bench, pulling me to my feet.

  I tried to yank my hand away. “No. Unless your wish is for intestinal parasites, I strongly suggest you don’t drink it either. I’m sure it’s teeming with bacteria.”

  Matthew held fast and led me closer to the fountain. “You’re secretly afraid it might be magical, and your mom might be right. It bothers that lovely, logical brain of yours.”

  I scowled at him. “Not it at all.”

  He cupped his hands, gathering some of the water as it gurgled out of the fountain. “Prove it. Take a chance, Fiona.”

  “Famous last words,” I muttered as he lifted his hands to my lips. I closed my eyes and took a long sip. Cool and refreshing, it didn’t taste contaminated at all.

  “Yum,” I said.

  Matthew took a drink and looked at me in surprise. “It is good. I thought it would taste like rusted pipes and sludge.” I swatted his arm, and he rubbed it, pretending I’d hurt him. “Ow. Stop beating me up and make your wish before the time runs out.”

  “What time?”

  He sighed. “Magic doesn’t last forever. Don’t you know anything? Close your eyes and make a wish.”

  As I made my wish, squeezing my eyes shut tight, Matthew pulled me into his arms. He felt so warm and strong, and somehow, we fit together perfectly. Like the last two missing parts of a large, complicated puzzle.

  I lifted my chin, my eyes still tightly shut, as his lips met mine. In some ways it seemed familiar, liked we’d kissed a million times before. In others, it felt new, strange, and sort of magical. But this was real magic. Not a made-up story like the fountain, or a scam like the tarot cards, or something invisible and unreliable like the golden orb in my chest. This felt as solid and as tangible as the stones beneath our feet.

  Matthew was hesitant at first, gentle. But when I responded with a soft moan, wrapping my arms around his neck, his kiss changed into something deeper. I tangled my fingers into his hair and pressed my body against his, filled with an urgent need to be as close to him as possible. Soon our kiss became something wild and hungry and a little out of control. My entire body ignited with some sort of internal fire, and I felt ready to combust. I wasn’t myself anymore. I was a stranger. And I’d never experienced anything like it in my whole entire life.

  It felt right. Predestined. Special. Not random at all. As our tongues engaged in a wicked dance, he groaned against my lips, his mouth sweet and hot. I ran my hands over his broad shoulders and his arms, desperately wanting to touch him. He did the same, and we acted like two starving people offered a full-course meal.

  The sound of distant laughter from the alley behind the garden jolted me back to reality. I jumped away like I’d been stung, putting my fingers to my lips as tears filled my eyes.

  He took a step toward me but stopped at the look on my face. “I’m sorry, Fiona,” he said softly, his breathing still a bit unsteady. “But the fountain is magic. That kiss was exactly what I wished for.”

  He looked like he wanted to kiss me again, and I was afraid I wouldn’t stop him if he tried. I turned and ran back into the kitchen and straight up to my room. When I peeked out my window, Matthew stood in the garden, his face tilted up to the night sky. He looked so lost and all alone, I wanted to go back out to him, but I knew exactly where it would lead. Instead, I let the curtain fall and crawled into bed fully dressed. Hours later, I finally fell asleep, but all I could dream about was Matthew’s kiss.

  It was what I’d wished for, too, which made everything so much worse. Falling for a guy like Matthew Monroe was not what I wanted and not what I’d planned, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself, and it terrified me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Music is the food of love.

  ~Aunt Francesca~

  The next morning, I awoke before dawn. When Mom got up, I’d already made coffee and put together her breakfast. A spinach quiche. I didn’t feel like eating, though. I only wanted to cook. I was sticking the quiche into the oven when she walked into the kitchen.

  “Fiona, are you all right?” Her hand went to my head to check for a temperature.

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Poor baby.” She patted my cheek. “You have dark circles. Do you want to do yoga with me outside? It might make you feel better.”

  I shook my head. “I’ll get to work in here. I made a quiche for you. It’ll be ready by the time you’re done.”

  “Thank you, dearest.” Her sweet face wrinkled into a worried frown. “What happened?”

  Part of me wanted to cry on her shoulder about Matthew, but I didn’t. I had to face this on my own.

  “Is it about the shop?”

  I’d forgotten all about Anderson Solutions and the problems with the shop when Matthew gave me the kiss that shook me to my core. Pretending might make it easier, though, so I nodded. “Rosie said people want me to speak at the meeting. I don’t know what to say.”

  She patted my arm. “You’ll figure it out. Speak from your heart. It’s where the answers lie.”

  She went outside to do her sun salutation, and I stayed in the kitchen, focusing on the cream puffs and the party preparations to make myself feel better. The morning raced by, and soon it was almost time for the tea ladies to arrive. I ran upstairs to put on a pale-pink dress from Second Hand Sally’s. Sleeveless and snug through the bodice, it flared into an elegant skirt. Sally had given me a crinoline to wear under it because she said it improved the line of the dress. The weather was still cool enough that the crinoline wouldn’t be too itchy. I slipped on a pair of silver sandals, put a narrow silver belt around my waist, and pulled my hair into a French twist.

  I ran down the steps to the kitchen and skidded to a halt at the sight of Matthew at the island eating quiche. He wore jeans and a charcoal-gray shirt, which hugged the muscles of his chest and arms. I knew exactly how muscular his chest and arms were. I’d had my hands all over them last night.

  Our eyes met, and we both froze. I looked away first. Mom watched us with interest but had the courtesy not to say anything in front of Matthew. “Fiona, you look lovely. A vision in pink.”

  She was a vision herself. She’d pulled her hair into a thick bun at the nape of her neck and wore a pale-green A-line dress and low-heeled pumps. Her earrings, made by African tribal women, were long and dangled to her shoulders, but the rest of her outfit looked extremely conservative and normal.

  “You look pretty too,” I said.

  She glanced down at her dress. “I sewed it myself from an old pair of drapes, like Scarlett O’Hara. Isn’t it a riot?”

  Matthew laughed, and she gave him a little hug. “Matthew agreed to come and play for the ladies again. He’s such a doll.”

  I pursed my lips. “How . . . wonderful.” Matthew raised one dark eyebrow at me but didn’t say anything. I brushed past him to walk out the door. “I’d better get the tables set up.”

  “There’s no need. Matthew already did it. Isn’t he a dream?”

  I glared at her and mouthed the words “Stop it” over Matthew’s head. She frowned.

  “I think you’re overly tired, Fiona. After all, you woke up at the crack of dawn. Matthew looks exhausted too. Why don’t you rest in here while I organize the linens, and then we can carry out the food together?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. She strolled right out of the room, leaving me alone with Matthew. I stood in the middle of the kitchen, not sure what to do.

  Matthew got up and walked toward me. He was so close I smelled the scent of soap on his skin. I wanted to lean into him, but instead I took a step back.

  “Are you upset about last night, Fiona?”

  “Yes, I’m upset. I shouldn’t have . . . we shouldn’t have . . .” I wrung my hands.


  Matthew reached for them and held them in his big warm ones. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

  I looked at him in shock and pulled my hands away. “Yes, we did,” I hissed. “I barely know you, and I dallied with you in the dark.”

  Matthew bit his lip to keep from smiling. “We dallied?”

  “It isn’t funny. I don’t normally do this sort of thing, especially with people like you.”

  “People like me?”

  “Musicians. Artists. Ne’er-do-wells.”

  “Ne’er-do-wells? First, we dallied and now I’m a ne’er-do-well?”

  He found this way too amusing. I scowled at him. “Stop teasing me. I realize you’re charming and handsome and extremely adorable, but I’m not dating someone like you. I refuse. I have no time for that in my life. Are we clear?”

  Matthew took a step back, his face suddenly shuttered and cold. “Crystal.”

  “Good.” I grabbed an apron, the one with “Kitchen Bitch” on it. Matthew snorted as I tossed it back and picked up another. This one said “Desperate Housewife.” Ignoring the snarky look on Matthew’s face, I put it on.

  Kate and Chad came into the kitchen hand in hand. They both came to a halt when they saw the expressions on our faces.

  “Who peed in your granola?” asked Kate.

  The rest of the morning was a blur. We had the largest number of reservations ever for our tea party, and Mom had wisely asked both Chad and Kate to come in and help. I worked in the kitchen. Chad and Kate carried the food and tea outside. We would serve our normal Earl Grey and English Breakfast, but my mom had added a Vanilla Rooibos and her own mix called Love is in the Air. A nice blend with a hint of lemon and citrus. She insisted we all try it, although I was less than enthusiastic.

  “There’s nothing in here, right?” I asked.