The Tea Shop on Lavender Lane

by Sheila Roberts

“Yes, kids.”

  “They’re okay.” He tried to kiss her again.

  “Spoken like a true family man,” she said. Men didn’t have biological clocks. Or if they did, theirs were set for a lot later in life.

  He sat up and looked at her, his expression serious. “So, is this kid thing some kind of deal breaker?”

  “Could be. I don’t want to wait forever to have a family, and I don’t want to bother with someone who isn’t ready for a commitment.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say I wasn’t ready for a commitment,” he protested. “But usually you take this stuff in steps.”

  “Okay, how about Step One—marriage?”

  “I’m not against it. But I’m not in a hurry, either. There’s plenty of time to worry about that after we know where we’re going.”

  “You seemed to have a good idea where you were going a minute ago,” she said.

  That made him smile. “I sure did, and you didn’t seem to mind coming along for the ride.”

  She pulled away again. “I don’t want to get taken for a ride,” she told him. “I’ve been there, done that, and it wasn’t fun.”

  He sobered. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not out to hurt you, Cec. I know how that feels. But I also know what it’s like to grow up with your parents living in two different homes. I don’t want to rush into anything and wind up like my parents. All they did was fight, and it wasn’t fun for me or my brother when they finally split.”

  “My parents loved each other,” she said softly. “It can be done.”

  “I realize that,” he said with a nod. “Let’s just take this slow, okay?” he added and moved in for another kiss.

  She stopped him with a hand to his chest. “Good idea.”

  “Hey, I didn’t mean everything.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t.”

  “But we’re done now, aren’t we?”

  Not only good-looking, but smart, too. She smiled sweetly at him. “Yes, we are.”

  Once Cecily was home and in bed she had a lot to think about. She was ready to be in a relationship with Todd, but was he ready to settle down? Would he ever be? She didn’t want to wait in limbo with no wedding ring in her future and no family. Todd seemed to be balking at both.

  But she’d dumped a lot of heavy stuff on him way too early. She could hardly blame him for balking. He was right; they needed to take it slow.

  And if he doesn’t want to take this where you do, what then? asked her sensible self. You know the signs. You’ve seen them before. The man is allergic to marriage.

  Allergies can be treated, she insisted. He can change.

  So can a poopy diaper, but who wants to?

  Still, she and her hormones had taken a vote, and the decision had been unanimous in favor of Todd.

  Her sensible self, who hadn’t been allowed a vote, now demanded, What are you doing?

  YOLO, she told that pain-in-the-patootie sensible self. You only live once, and I’m going to take a gamble on this man. I think it will pay off.

  Okay, but don’t come crying to me when you have to deal with the fallout.

  This time there’d be no fallout. She hoped.

  * * *

  Bailey had counted on not seeing Brandon. He was in town for only two days. A girl could avoid seeing anyone for two days, even in Icicle Falls.

  Not when that girl worked at the Icicle Creek Lodge. She’d left work before the late Friday check-ins and Olivia had given her Saturday and Sunday off, so she came in on Monday hoping against hope that Brandon and the irresistible Arielle had checked out the day before. But, no, here they came just as she was settling in behind the reception desk, the woman carrying nothing but her purse while Brandon lugged a suitcase, a backpack and a shopping bag from Hearth and Home.

  Bailey blinked in surprise as she took in the competition who’d walked away with her prize. The woman was blonde, and that was about all Bailey could say for her. Well, okay, she had big boobs, but heck, they didn’t look that much bigger than Bailey’s. She had a hooked nose, a sharp chin that made Bailey think of witches and a haughty smile. She knew how to dress; Bailey would give her that. Her blue sweater was cashmere, and she couldn’t have paid less than two hundred dollars for those jeans. Weren’t artists supposed to be poor and struggling?

  “Bailey,” Brandon greeted her as he set the luggage down. “I’m glad we got a chance to see you.”

  The irresistible Arielle raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Bails and I have known each other since we were kids,” Brandon explained and made the introductions.

  Arielle was underwhelmed.

  “Did you enjoy your visit?” Bailey asked, at a loss for anything else to say.

  “It was okay,” Arielle said with a shrug.

  Had she cast some sort of spell on Brandon? That was the only explanation Bailey could come up with for his fascination with her.

  “The place grows on you,” Bailey said. Except she hoped it wouldn’t grow on this woman. She’d probably kill every flower in the window boxes on the downtown buildings with that vinegary frown of hers.

  “I guess,” she said. She turned to Brandon, and the vinegar turned to sugar. “We should get going, babe.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” he said and picked up his load again.

  “Nice to meet you, Bittie,” she said to Bailey and swept off.

  “It’s Bailey,” Bailey called after her, but Arielle wasn’t paying any attention.

  “She’s something else, isn’t she?” Brandon said to Bailey.

  She was something else, all right.

  Eric appeared at that moment, and the two men gave each other a bro hug, complete with slaps on the back.

  Arielle had reached the door by now. “Brandon, come on,” she demanded irritably.

  “I’d better go,” he said.

  “Yeah, before she tightens the leash any more,” his brother agreed.

  Brandon just rolled his eyes and smiled good-naturedly. “I’ll catch up with you on the Fourth,” he said and hurried after Arielle.

  “What does he see in her?” Bailey asked as soon as the door had shut behind them.

  “Good in bed?” Eric mused, then looked embarrassed, as if he’d somehow insulted Bailey. “Sorry,” he said.

  “Don’t be. I was thinking that myself.” It was either that or the witch theory. “It won’t last,” she decided.

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” he said gently and then left her to stew in her own jealous juices.

  CHAPTER TEN

  By Wednesday Bailey was almost resigned to the finality of her romantic loss and was pouring herself into updating the lodge’s Facebook page with Muffin, Olivia’s cat, perched on the desktop, supervising.

  “You have to post more content,” she told Olivia.

  “Well, honey, that’s great, but I’m not sure what else we can put up. We have pictures of the rooms and the mountains and Icicle Creek. And our little furry queen of the lodge,” she added, petting Muffin, who purred appreciatively.

  “I think it would be great to post pictures of what we serve for breakfast. We can do that on the website and on the Facebook page and call it What’s For Breakfast.”

  Olivia’s round face broke into a smile. “That’s a lovely idea!”

  “Let’s start with tomorrow’s breakfast,” Bailey said. “What are you serving?”

  “My egg strata, rhubarb muffins and fruit salad. How does that sound?”

  As if Olivia needed her seal of approval. “It sounds yummy,” Bailey said, and for a wistful moment she wished she could be in the kitchen helping prepare that meal.

  No, you’re perfectly happy doing what you’re doing, she reminded herself. And posting the photographs she took around
the lodge was fun. Earlier that morning she’d posted a picture of lupine and gotten lots of likes. Food would get even more.

  “Pictures of food will definitely attract attention,” she told Olivia.

  “Yes, who doesn’t love food?” Olivia said and patted her round tummy.

  As Bailey had predicted, her post the next day of a plate filled with Olivia’s morning offerings drew plenty of likes and comments. One fan posted: I think I need to come to Icicle Falls for an eat-a-thon.

  Come on up. You’ll love it here, Bailey replied.

  Icicle Falls was a great place to live, and a woman could be happy here, no matter what kind of work she was doing. But the lingering aroma of bacon drifted out from the dining room to where she sat, making her hungry for something more than food.

  So what if she wasn’t catering? She was taking pictures of culinary creations, and that was almost as good. She looked at the breakfast picture again and sighed.

  “Tough day at work?” said a male voice, making her jump.

  She turned to see Eric approaching.

  “Hi,” she greeted him. “What’s the verdict on 308?”

  “I should have the toilet fixed by this afternoon, so go ahead and book the room for the weekend.”

  She nodded and made a note of that, the picture of efficiency.

  He cleared his throat. “So, you doing okay?”

  “Of course,” she said brightly, forgetting her momentary sadness. “Your mom is great to work for.”

  “Yeah, she is.” He hesitated, then asked, “So, uh, the work here, that’s okay? You don’t miss…your old life?”

  Bailey could feel the heat of embarrassment on her face. Of course he knew what had happened in L.A. Everyone in town did.

  “No,” she said firmly. “Not a bit of it.”

  He nodded shrewdly. “That’s why you’re looking at pictures of food and sighing.”

  She gave a little one-shouldered shrug.

  “I guess that’s better than sitting around sighing over my idiot brother.”

  She supposed he’d seen her do that often enough over the years. “He’s not the only man in the world,” she told both Eric and herself.

  “Not by a long shot. The world’s full of people. It’s stupid to waste time on the ones who don’t appreciate you.”

  That was good advice. In fact, it was downright wise. “Hey, you’re pretty smart,” she said.

  “Getting there.”

  “So, you know this from personal experience?”

  “You could say that.”

  Had Eric been where she’d been? She was about to ask when his mother entered the lobby. He gave the counter a goodbye tap and moved away.

  Bailey watched as he stopped to kiss his mom on the cheek. Eric was a good son. He’d be a good boyfriend, too. She needed an Eric Wallace, someone who wouldn’t skip off to Jackson Hole and take up with a snobby artist. Why couldn’t his younger brother be more like him?

  Because if he was, then he wouldn’t be Brandon. Sigh.

  You’ll find someone, she assured herself. Meanwhile, it was a beautiful, sunny day, and she had a nice job. She had a lot to be thankful for.

  “The picture of today’s breakfast is getting a whole bunch of likes,” she informed Olivia. Olivia had taken off her favorite kitchen apron, but she still had a smudge of flour on the side of her nose.

  “That’s nice to hear,” she said. “I’m ready for a break. Would you like to join me for a cup of tea?”

  “But if anyone needs me…” Bailey began.

  “Don’t worry,” Olivia said. “Anyone who needs us will ring the bell, and we can hear it in the kitchen. Anyway, by now our guests are all off shopping or hiking.”

  They had several remaining: three older couples and two middle-aged sisters who had come up on a whim. Just as Bailey was about to leave her post, the sisters walked through the lobby.

  “That was a great breakfast,” one, a petite fiftysomething brunette, said to Bailey.

  As if she’d cooked it. A small part of her wished she had. “Here’s the cook,” she said, pointing to Olivia.

  “We really enjoyed it.” The woman smiled. “It’s worth staying here just for the food.”

  Olivia murmured her thanks, and the women went up the floral-carpeted stairs to their room.

  “It’s always satisfying when people appreciate your hard work,” Olivia said as she led the way to the kitchen. “I’m sure you had plenty of people who appreciated what you made, too.”

  Bailey had. Every time she’d catered a party people had raved about the food. And she’d always picked up at least one new customer. Still, all those compliments together couldn’t stand up to the weight of what had happened with Samba.

  Bailey mumbled a yes and hoped Olivia would move on to a new subject.

  She was heading over to the little table set up with chairs in a corner of the big commercial kitchen when Olivia said, “You know what would be lovely with our tea? Scones. I think your mother told me you came up with a special scone recipe that uses lavender.”

  Just because Bailey was no longer catering didn’t mean she no longer liked talking about food. “I did. And it’s got white chocolate in it, too.”

  “I have some lavender buds. I use them for my sugar cookies. Let’s make some scones.”

  Baking with Olivia would be like when she was a kid, dusted in flour, rolling out cookies and hanging on Olivia’s every word about the secret of not overhandling the dough. Bailey smiled and hurried to wash her hands.

  By the time she was finished, Olivia had the ingredients assembled, and in a matter of minutes the treats were ready on the baking sheet.

  “I can hardly wait to try these,” Olivia said as Bailey slid them into the oven.

  “You’re going to love them,” Bailey promised her. Then, remembering her conversation with Eric and feeling nosy, she asked, “So, does Eric have a girlfriend?” Olivia looked at her hopefully, and she quickly added, “I mean, something he said made me wonder if he did or, um, used to.”

  Olivia sighed. “There was a girl in Cashmere he liked. It didn’t work out, though. He moped around over her for ages.”

  Bailey could identify with that.

  “But I think he’s finally put that behind him. At least I hope he has. He’s such a good man. I’d like to see him find someone special.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand why it’s so hard for you young people to settle down. When I was your age, we were all getting married at twenty. Young people today are too picky.”

  “I don’t know if it’s being picky,” Bailey said, “but once you’ve fallen for someone and it doesn’t work out…”

  Olivia patted her arm. “Brandon’s my baby boy, and I love him dearly, but he’s a twit. You’ll meet your Mr. Right. He’ll come along when you least expect it—mark my words.”

  Bailey couldn’t imagine finding anyone more right than Brandon, but she nodded gamely.

  “Now, let’s see,” Olivia said, “do we want to make some mock Devonshire cream to go with our scones?”

  Fifteen minutes later the scones were out of the oven, perfectly formed and golden-brown. Olivia set four on a pretty serving plate and suggested they go enjoy the comfy chairs in the lobby. Once she’d relaxed in a comfy, overstuffed chair, Olivia took one of the scones and bit into it. Bailey watched as her mentor chewed, then closed her eyes. “Delicious,” Olivia said. “Lovely taste combination.”

  Her praise was a balm to Bailey’s wounded soul.

  Olivia savored another bite, then said, “I hate to see your talents wasted here.”

  “Oh, they’re not,” Bailey assured her. A sudden, scary thought occurred. Maybe Olivia was trying to find a nice way to fire her. She launched into a list of everything she was doing
right. “I think the website looks really great, especially the food pictures. And I like helping people check in.”

  “You’re doing a wonderful job,” Olivia said, and Bailey breathed a sigh of relief. “But I think you’re meant for greater things than manning our reception desk.”

  Once upon a time Bailey, too, had thought she was meant for great things. Maybe she still was. Maybe she’d become a famous food photographer. Except that taking pictures of someone else’s culinary creations would be like settling for second best.

  “Don’t let one bad experience stop you from doing what you’re passionate about,” Olivia said. “You Sterling women are made of sterner stuff.”

  Well, her older sister was—that was for sure. Sammy had saved the family company. Sometimes Bailey wished she was more like her.

  “I don’t think I am,” she confessed. Otherwise she’d have stayed in L.A. and fought for her business. She’d have sued Samba Barrett. She’d have…done something. But no matter what she might have done, it would’ve been too late to save her culinary reputation. So what good did it do to be brave?

  “You are,” Olivia said. “We all get knocked down at some point in life. And that’s where you are right now. You’ve had a crisis of confidence. But I know you’ll pick yourself up and start cooking again. What you end up doing may not look exactly like what you did before, but you’ll find your way.” Now she pointed a finger at Bailey. “And when you see that path, when you get excited again, don’t let fear turn off the spigot. Let the energy flow. That’s what I did after my husband died, and look how well we’re doing.”

  “You make it seem so easy,” Bailey said.

  Olivia chuckled. “Oh, believe me, it’s not at first. You were so young back then, you probably don’t remember when George died.”

  “I do.” Bailey remembered Olivia seated at her mother’s kitchen table, crying, Mama with an arm around her shoulders. They’d all gone to the memorial service, and Bailey had spent a lot of time glancing over at Brandon, who’d been trying not to cry, sending him comforting thoughts.

  “I had no head for business, and sometimes I felt like I was drowning. You see, it was a dream we’d shared, something we’d planned on doing together. With him gone…” Olivia picked off a piece of her scone and studied it, then crumbled it between her fingers, watching the broken bits fall onto her plate.