“That sucks so much. People are so damn cruel.”
“Everything’s a joke. I mean, I’ll be honest. I’ve laughed at memes, and I never really stopped to think that there was a real person behind them.”
“True. The internet gives everyone that sense of distance, and they feel so empowered to say things they’d never dream of saying to your face.”
Now she turned to me, eyes bright and fiery. “Right? Like that woman who live-tweeted the whole thing. She must have been less than six feet away from me, but she was super sneaky, taking photos and quoting my entire conversation. I saw a picture of her from her morning TV-show appearance. I remember her sitting at the next table.”
“Who even thinks to do something like that?”
“A lot of people. I mean, I’m a New Yorker. I grew up eavesdropping on conversations. But there’s a difference between listening because you’re curious or nosy and publicly posting a private conversation.”
“Yes, a huge difference. But it will blow over. People have extremely short attention spans.”
She nodded but still looked agitated. “That’s what Audrey said. I know it’s true, it just feels like it never will.”
I wished I could wave a magic wand and make it all go away. Since that wasn’t possible, I did the next best thing. I took her to my favorite donut shop—a tiny roadside shack that made the donuts fresh and dipped them to order when the shop was open, but had bags out for purchase on the honor system when they were closed. “Town legend…apple cider donuts.”
“It looks like they’re closed.”
I shook my head. “Not to worry.”
I drove up to the wooden box at the far end of the building, reached out, lifted the flap and extracted a brown paper sack. I pulled open the change drawer on the dashboard and plucked out a five dollar bill, then slipped it into the slot on the side of the box.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Her eyes were wide with disbelief. “No one comes and just steals all the donuts? Or the box of money?”
“Nope.”
“Amazing.”
I opened the bag, pulled out one of the small, cinnamon-sugar confections, and gave it to her. “No, these are amazing.”
She took a bite and let out a groan that traveled directly from my ears to my cock on some super-highway of audible lust.
“I think I’m in love.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Told you they were good.”
“I’m going to have to really step up my game with my menu, if this is what counts as roadside food here.”
“If the menu items you mentioned the other day are any indication, I think you’ll be fine.”
“I hope you’re right.”
I drove around the town green, pointing out the local diner and a few small shops, then headed to the main road where the grocery store and pharmacy were. “There are a few banks farther down this road and eventually you’ll get to a medical park with an emergency clinic and a dentist and a bunch of other services.”
“Hopefully, I won’t need any of that.”
I wanted to tell her that her energy and aura looked healthy, but I was well aware that what skills I had were no substitute for traditional medical care—and more importantly, I didn’t want to freak her out. I’d grown up learning how to “see” things like auras and read their meanings, but that didn’t mean other people took kindly to the idea. I liked the way she looked at me now and didn’t want to do anything to wreck that.
The supermarket was fairly empty for a Sunday afternoon, and we strolled the aisles together, me lazily pushing the cart as she browsed. It felt almost unnervingly comfortable. As if we were an old married couple rather than people who’d known each other less than two full days.
She reached for a small jar of maple cream and held it up. “What’s this?”
“It’s delicious, that’s what it is. Have you ever had whipped honey?”
She nodded. Her hair was in a high ponytail today, taming her curls, but the loose strands around her face danced along her cheeks and jawline. I had an intense urge to tuck them behind her ears but kept my hands to myself.
“It’s like that, only maple. No other ingredients, just pure maple syrup whipped into submission. It’s amazing spread on toast or bread, it melts into pancakes or French toast, and some people like it on a turkey or ham sandwich. I put it on grilled pork chops sometimes.”
She placed three jars in our cart. “Sold.”
“What are your plans for all that?”
“You will literally be the first to know. No idea at the moment, but it’s definitely a local thing, so I’ll work it into the menu some way or another.”
I loved the idea of my home housing her test kitchen. I loved the idea of pretty much anything that would allow us to spend more time together.
“What’s the best place to get other things? Like really local stuff.”
“Hitting all the farmers’ markets is definitely a good idea. Some of the local general stores carry things from different parts of Vermont or New Hampshire. Small smokehouses’ products, candies and granolas, that kind of thing.”
“Cool. Do you know what’s in season right now?”
“Hmmm…asparagus, arugula, garlic scapes—love those—oh, and brambles.”
She side-eyed me. “What’s a bramble?”
“Um, I think it’s blackberries, raspberries, and marionberries? It’s what’s in brambleberry pie.”
She laughed. “Okay, so it’s a catch-all term for those types of berries?”
“I guess? Honestly, I didn’t realize it was a regional term.”
“Any other fruits, or too early for that?”
“Oh, cherries, especially the sour ones which are really good for pies. Strawberries, maybe, might be another few weeks. Depends on the year, but they’re the tiny ones, and they’re super flavorful. Blueberries won’t be ready for a few more weeks. Boysenberries are at some farms.”
“It’s a good thing we’re at a grocery store, because you’re making me hungry.”
The feeling was mutual. Only I didn’t just want food.
9
Phoebe
I’d always been an excellent multitasker who handled stress like a champ. But then I hit a wall, and that impact occurred about ten seconds after I finished unpacking my groceries.
In the past seven days I’d managed to pack up my apartment, secure a new job, travel to middle-of-nowhere Vermont, unpack the same belongings, tour my job site, and stock my kitchen. Not bad in the grand scheme of things. But after hitting that wall, I sank to the floor in an exhausted heap.
The hardwood felt cool against my legs, but not in a soothing way, and I shivered in spite of the fact that it was probably still in the low seventies. I pulled my knees up close to my chest and rocked.
I’m going to be fine. I can do this. I’ve made my own way my entire life, and I just need to do it again at Speakeasy.
A breeze drifted through the open living room window, fluttering the sheer curtains and making the windchimes by the front door tinkle melodically. The sun was setting, low enough it was hidden by the trees, giving the room a peachy glow, like candlelight. It’s beautiful up here. The restaurant looks like it could be amazing. Everyone I’ve met has been ridiculously nice. Especially Sam.
Sam.
Just the thought of his name warmed me. And I wasn’t a get-all-warm-and-fuzzy-at-someone’s-name kinda gal. What the fuck is that about?
I wanted to analyze it and rationalize it away, but instead my brain provided me with a slide show of images of his face, his hands, his abs, the way his hair bounced when he walked and curtained his features when he ducked his head to laugh. And that laugh. My lower half had a Pavlovian response to the sound, as if it was a reminder of the importance of Kegel exercises. I contracted without meaning to and let out a laugh. Before I could give it more thought, or even think about releasing the pleasant tension building between my legs, there was a knock at the door.
There
was no question in my mind who it was, and not just because I didn’t know anyone else in town—I just knew it was Sam. Jesus. Did he somehow hear me thinking about him? My cheeks heated as I scrambled off the floor, straightened my clothes, and then opened the door. Sure enough, there he was, looking positively delicious in well-worn jeans and a black T-shirt. Kegel.
Stop it.
Kegel.
Goddammit.
“What’s up?” If he couldn’t hear me thinking about him before, he could probably hear my heart pounding now.
His brow furrowed for an instant, as if he truly was picking up on the weird vibe I was emitting, but he shook his head and gave me a slow smile—one that made my insides melt like cheese under a blazing salamander broiler. “I’m heading to the shop to sort a new shipment and put together the rest of the resin displays. So I’m gonna be out for at least a few hours, and I thought you might like to borrow the clawfoot tub.”
“Borrow?”
“As I said, the house is unlocked, and I left some things for you in the downstairs bath—Epsom salts, some essential oils, a few crystals. I thought you might be in the mood to relax after everything. You have the whole place to yourself. Well, you’ll have to lock Puck out of the bathroom. He’s got a bit of a water fascination and zero personal boundaries.”
I giggled. “You didn’t have to do all that. I was going to take a shower and crawl into bed.”
Sam’s shoulders rose and fell as another easy smile graced his gorgeous face. “Whatever makes you happy. Just wanted to let you know your options. If you do decide to try the bath, close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. Then choose the crystal that you’re drawn to the most and put it in the tub while the water’s running. Just a little extra calming. And help yourself to the leftovers in the fridge. I meant to send you home with some last night.”
“You’re the best Landneighbor ever. Cinnamon rolls, rides, dinner, now this?”
“Be sure to leave a Yelp review.” This smile came with a flash of his perfect teeth. More melting. And I didn’t even like teeth.
“I will. As soon as I take myself off the self-imposed internet ban.”
He winced. “Sorry, didn’t mean to stir that up.”
“Don’t apologize. You’ve taken my mind off everything more than I could have imagined.” The heat crept back into my cheeks.
“My pleasure. And on that note, I’m off. I’ll be gone at least three hours, so take your time. There’s shampoo and conditioner and bodywash too if you want to shower after, just be careful if you use the oils, the tub can get a little slick. And seriously, help yourself to anything you want if you’re hungry.”
“You’re really angling for those Yelp stars.”
He smiled broadly enough to reveal a dimple. Jesus. A perfect goddamned dimple, on his right cheek. His head dipped and the curtain of hair quickly covered it, then he turned and sauntered off, leaving me to stare at his ass. Maybe a bath would clear my head and stop me from feeling like...what? What exactly was this feeling? I didn’t do butterflies. But something was buzzing around in my stomach…and heart. It must be stress. And all this fucking fresh air. Baths were supposed to release toxins, right? Maybe a good long soak would drain these toxic, lusty, gooey feelings right out of me.
Or maybe I’ll wind up masturbating in his tub.
10
Sam
I wasn’t kidding about having a fuck-ton of work to do. The overhead lights in the back room of Crystal Persuasion slowly brightened as I surveyed the room. There were shipments from three vendors, including the crates of geodes I’d ordered for the local Cub Scout troop for a crack-your-own afternoon next weekend. And Lily had delivered three gorgeous new resin display pieces I still had to set up.
Warmer weather meant more people out and about. Locals stopping in to browse and vacationers passing through on their way to Burlington or the Ben & Jerry’s factory. This was why I’d spent the past month getting the shop updated. But now that it was the final push, all I could think about was whether or not Phoebe was right that second getting naked in my house.
I knew I was acting like a giant perv, and I didn’t care. I couldn’t help it. I’d known her all of thirty-six hours—not that I was counting—and in that time, she’d managed to turn me inside out. The past five years I’d worked pretty hard at not catching feelings, but the moment our eyes met, I felt things I hadn’t let myself feel in years.
No. This was one big bad idea. She’d moved to town for a new job, not to hook up. And if I was reading between the lines correctly, she’d left in a hurry with a huge mess in her wake and feelings about relationships that likely rivaled my own. I’d be nothing but a complication.
I grabbed a crowbar and loosened the lid on one of the crates, but that didn’t stop my brain from creating an image of her lowering herself into the bathtub—my bathtub—clouds of steam obscuring her perfect…
Stop it. Just fucking stop it.
For the next two hours, I managed to distract myself with work. The new displays looked fantastic, and the larger pieces were all set up out back—they always sold better when people could see them shimmering in natural light, and no one was going to steal hundred-pound samples. I was about to head out when a small box caught my eye.
I scanned my order sheet. I’d already received everything I’d ordered and my next shipment wasn’t due until Thursday. I turned the box over and saw a small label with an Etsy link. Odd.
My boxcutter slid through the sparkly packaging tape, and I withdrew a small velvet pouch. Inside were polished palm stones—rose quartz, carnelian agate, lapis lazuli, green aventurine, garnet, rhodonite—and a selenite wand, along with a small scroll of paper. I unfurled it.
Call in your soulmate with the crystal love collection kit. Place the stones beside your bed, under your pillow, or in a pocket to draw your soulmate to you.
My tarot pull flashed into my mind, and I couldn’t keep the scowl off my face. What was going on here? I fished through the packing peanuts and found a small postcard asking if Crystal Persuasion would be interested in featuring love kits, made with stones cleansed under the full moon.
No thanks. We sold all this stuff already. I performed sunlight and moonlight charging and clearing. Plus, in the case of this kit it wouldn’t even be necessary, because leaving any stone touching selenite had the same cleansing effect. People who made kits like these might mean well but they weren’t even well-versed enough in crystal healing to make sense. And I certainly didn’t need to draw in my soulmate, thank you very much.
I shoved everything back into the box and stowed it beneath the work bench. Out of sight, out of mind. At least that was the plan.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about the message and the tarot cards. I muttered to myself as I drove to my grandmother’s house. She’d asked me to swing by to change the batteries in the two smoke alarms she and Iris couldn’t reach.
I found a note on the front door.
Iris and I went to Chuck and Lottie’s to play gin rummy. I left you a tourtière and some butter tarts. Don’t forget to drop off the crystals for the party craft table.
Love you
XO
She and Iris claimed they were too old to run the shop anymore, but since I’d been back in town, they’d been out later than me most nights and were definitely socializing more than I ever did. It was nice to see them both enjoying themselves, but I was pretty sure the whole “too old to handle the shop” thing was bullshit.
I made quick work of the battery changes, put the ladder away, and headed home with the food.
I’d been gone over three hours but couldn’t help but hope Phoebe might still be at the house. I chased away thoughts of her in the tub the best I could. It was honestly just nice to have company. I hadn’t felt especially lonely the years I’d been traveling. I made friends in each new place. Friends with benefits at a few of the places I stayed around a while. But something about being back in my hometown, alone in a big hou
se, made me feel lonelier than I’d felt in a long time.
I pulled into the driveway and noticed lights on in the kitchen. Had she left them on or was she still here?
My heart kicked up a notch as I grabbed the bag of food and headed inside. The scent of bacon filled the mudroom, and I could swear I smelled something baking. I kicked off my shoes and peered into the kitchen. Phoebe was dancing around in pajama pants and a black tank top, her long hair piled atop her head. She had earbuds in and hadn’t heard me. I knew I should let her know I was here, but I couldn’t resist watching. Her hips rolled in a figure-eight pattern and then popped from side to side, her head bopping as she whisked something in a mixing bowl.
She was the sexiest creature I’d ever seen, and my entire body responded to every move she made.
I gave a cough and took a few steps toward the kitchen. She startled and removed the earbuds. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” I placed the bag with the meat pie and tarts on the center island.
“No, I’m sorry. I meant to be done before you got back.”
I surveyed the kitchen. The oven was on, and I smelled lemon. “Whatcha makin’?”
“I was planning to leave you breakfast for tomorrow morning. To thank you for the cinnamon rolls and dinner. And the use of your tub. That was the best bath I’ve had maybe ever.”
Cue naked bathtub montage. Stop it. “Oh good. Did you use any of the extras?”
“I did. I put in amethyst crystals and ylang-ylang, and it was heavenly.”
“This kitchen smells heavenly. What’s in the oven?”
“I made you lemon-raspberry scones, which are almost done, and I’m about to put an asparagus, bacon, asiago egg bake in the oven. You can eat it hot or cold.”
“That all sounds amazing. You didn’t have to do any of that, you know. Not that I’m complaining.”
“I wanted to. You’ve been so helpful, and I want you to know how much I appreciate it.”
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