The Tea Shop on Lavender Lane

Chapter Two

Not for the first time, Cecily asked herself what she was doing as she walked into the murky interior of The Man Cave on a lovely spring Friday evening. It was, of course, a rhetorical question. She knew what she was doing here. She’d been moving in this direction ever since she’d hit town and encountered Todd Black. It had been only a matter of time until she gave in and agreed to do more than trade insults with him.

It was eight o’clock, and the place was full, mostly with men. The mechanic from Swede’s gas station was playing pool with Billy Williams and one of Billy’s cowboy pals, Jinx Woeburn, as well as a skinny woman with long, stringy hair wearing Daisy Duke shorts, cowgirl boots and a tight tank top. A couple of bikers and their babes stood in a corner, playing darts and drinking beer. The rest of The Man Cave’s patrons were lined up along the bar, draped over drinks, watching a baseball game on the TV that hung over the array of booze bottles. They ranged in age from men in their twenties to grizzled old guys looking to get out of the house for a while. The vibe here sure was different from the bar at Zelda’s. That place buzzed with success and hospitality. The Man Cave was more of an “Aw, what the hell” kind of retreat.

The clack of pool balls acted as a rhythm section for Trace Adkins’s “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk,” which was blasting from speakers in all four corners of the tavern, and that competed with the noise of the baseball game playing on the TV. The place smelled musty, as if no one had thrown open a door or a window in months. The pinball machine, Todd’s excuse for luring her over, sat in the far corner with an out-of-order sign on it. So much for his invitation to come in and show him what sort of pinball wizard she was.

She felt several pairs of male eyes on her as she walked in. This was nothing new. She’d always attracted male attention. But here, in this tavern, she felt as if she were the one in the tight tank top instead of a conservative pink sweater and loose-fitting jeans. This place, it was just so...ugh.

Todd had been behind the bar helping his bartender, Pete, but at the sight of her he came around and started moving toward her. He was dressed casually in jeans, loafers and a black T-shirt. It wasn’t so tight it looked spray-painted on like the one Bill Will was wearing, but it clung enough to let a girl know he was sporting some splendid pecs beneath it.

He smiled at her, sending a jolt through her that ran all the way from her bra to her panties. What was it about this man? Did he have pheromone overload?

She shouldn’t have come. If he kissed her, that would be it; she was bound to do something stupid and get her heart broken for the third time.

Well, she had a great excuse to leave. There was no sense staying if the pinball machine was out of order.

“You’re looking especially pretty tonight,” he greeted her, taking in her pink sweater. “Why do I look at you and think cupcakes?”

She motioned to his black T-shirt. “And why do I look at you and think devil’s food?”

Of course, he wasn’t insulted. Her comment served only to produce a grin on that handsome face of his.

She didn’t give him a chance to say any more. “I might as well go. Your pinball machine is broken.”

“No, it’s not. I just put the sign up there to keep everybody else off it.”

She shook her head. “You could’ve put up a sign that said Reserved.”

One dark eyebrow shot up. “What does this look like, Schwangau?”

Good point. The Man Cave was hardly an upscale restaurant.

He nodded toward the bar. “What would you like to drink?”

“Coke.” If she were at Zelda’s she’d have indulged in some girlie drink like a Chocolate Kiss or a huckleberry martini, but his place was no Zelda’s. Anyway, it was a given that an evening of verbal sparring with Todd Black would require her brain to be in top working order. She wasn’t about to cloud it with alcohol.

“Rum and Coke?”

“Just Coke.”

“You live dangerously, Cecily Sterling.” He held out some coins and said, “Go on over and warm up. I’ll get the Cokes.”

“Thanks. Don’t mind if I do.” She took the coins and walked over to the corner. It was a vintage model from the seventies called Pin Up—a sexy name for a game with a bowling theme. This was going to be fun. By the time Todd joined her she’d studied the landscape of the machine and was ready to rock and roll.

He set their drinks on a nearby empty table and said, “Okay, let’s see how long you can go.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go first? I’ll last a lot longer than you,” she taunted him.

He leaned in close, his breath tickling her ear. “You have no idea how long I can last.”

That hit her zing-o-meter. She made a determined effort to ignore it and turned her back on him. “Okay, you had your chance.”

She positioned herself in front of the machine, standing straight. Then she put the ball in play, waiting patiently, not overworking the flippers, nudging the machine enough to get it to work with her but not to the point where it would tilt and end her game. The play went on. And on. Oh, this was fun!

At some point she became aware of the fact that she’d gathered a crowd. And soon the crowd began whooping and clapping. It finally messed up her concentration. Her game ended, and she stepped back from the machine with a frown.

“That was something else, Cec,” Bill Will said reverently.

“Impressive,” Todd admitted.

“I thought this was broken,” one of the bikers said, glaring at Todd.

The man wasn’t much taller than Todd, but he was twice as big and he looked like a block of cement with legs. And attitude. Weren’t most bikers these days supposed to be nice, middle-aged men? Dentists who’d always wanted to own a Harley? Maybe this particular specimen hadn’t gotten the memo.

Todd wasn’t fazed by the customer’s ire. He merely shrugged and said, “I guess she fixed it.” He motioned to the game with his hand, and the big guy pushed his way up to it.

“That was convenient,” Cecily teased. “Now you don’t have to compete with me.”

He grinned. “I can think of other things I’d rather do than compete.”

Zing! So could she. Meanwhile, Jake O’Brien’s new hit song, “Hot and Bothered,” boomed from the speaker.

Todd picked up her glass from the table and handed it to her. “The darts corner is empty. Wanna give it a try?”

“Try is about all I can do,” she said.

She proved it right away. She could barely hit the dartboard, let alone the bull’s-eye, and he beat her soundly.

He was about to give her some pointers when things got noisy over at the pinball machine. The big biker was not happy, and the whole room (with the exception of the TV and the music coming through the speakers) got quiet. Cecily watched as Bill Will, his buddy and the tank top chick casually moved away to the relative safety of the bar. The men on the barstools hunched even lower over their drinks. Meanwhile the biker animal was swearing and pounding on the machine. Bad pinball etiquette.

“He’s going to break that,” Cecily predicted. If her big sister, Samantha, had been here she would’ve fearlessly strode over to the creep and let him have it. Cecily was not her sister.

Todd didn’t have a problem, though. He went to the bar and had a quiet word with his bartender, Pete, then strolled across the tavern to where the gorilla’s friends stood nonchalantly watching as he tried to beat up the pinball machine. Trying to get in touch with her inner Samantha, Cecily followed, not sure what she’d be able to do if things got ugly.

“Sorry, pal, but I’m gonna have to ask you to stop beating on that,” Todd told the man. “It can’t take that kind of abuse.”

The biker stopped, and the way he scowled was clearly a challenge. “The machine’s rigged.”

“What, to favor women?”

Now the biker gorilla loomed over Todd. “Are you trying to make me look like a dick?”

“Not at all,” Todd said easily. “It looks like you don’t need any help with that.”

A couple of the older patrons at the bar snickered. Everyone else in the room braced for the fight that was about to begin.

The biker poked Todd in the chest. “I don’t like smart-asses.”

“And I don’t like jerks. I guess we’re not gonna be friends, so you may as well leave.”

Todd’s antagonist puffed out his mammoth chest. “Yeah? Who’s gonna make me?”

“The cops. We already called them.”

“We haven’t done anything,” protested one of the biker chicks.

Todd nodded. “So far, you’re good to go. I suggest you do that.”

The big man stood for a moment, obviously torn between his desire to pummel Todd and the wiser choice, which was to leave. Finally with a snort of disgust, he smashed his beer bottle on the floor, turned around and marched out of the tavern. His companions followed him out.

Todd shook his head and went to his back room. A few minutes later he returned with a broom and dustpan and a garbage pail.

That was when Tilda Morrison and Jamal Lincoln, two of Icicle Falls’s finest, made their entrance. Cecily watched as he stood talking with them, still unfazed by his close encounter with Godzilla. The man had nerves of steel. He also wasn’t above doing his own menial labor. There was more to Todd Black than a gift for flirting.

“That little confrontation was either very brave or very dumb,” Cecily said after Tilda and Jamal had left. She took the dustpan to hold it for him.

“You can’t wimp out with guys like that. Otherwise they eat you for lunch.” He smiled. “Anyway, it’s easy to be brave when you know the cops are on the way.”

“I suppose,” she said dubiously. “Although he could have done some damage to you before they got here.”

“Could have but didn’t.” He cleaned up the last of the mess and took back the dustpan. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Where?” she asked.

“Someplace where I don’t have to stop what we’re doing to mop up beer. Let me get my stuff out of the office.”

Talk about assuming that she was up for whatever he suggested! Well, maybe she was, since she hadn’t protested.

He disappeared into the nether regions to stow away the broom and garbage, then reappeared wearing a black leather jacket and carrying two motorcycle helmets. After talking briefly with Pete, he walked over to Cecily and handed her one. “Want to take a ride?”

She’d run into Todd around town more times than she cared to count, but she’d usually seen him in a truck. Why was she not surprised to learn that he rode a motorcycle?

“So that’s why you weren’t afraid of that guy. You’re one of them,” she teased.

“Right,” he said.

Next thing she knew she was seated behind him on the bike, holding on for dear life as they rumbled off down the road. No wonder men loved motorcycles. Feeling that power under you as you sped down the highway—it was like an aphrodisiac.

Just what she didn’t need. He hadn’t told her where he wanted to take her, but she had her suspicions.

Sure enough, partway down River Street he stopped the bike in front of a two-story house with a neglected patch of lawn. The porch light was on, spotlighting the fact that the place was obviously in bad shape. Thirsty for paint, it was an eyesore in a popular old neighborhood of Victorian and Craftsman-style homes, some of which had been around since the thirties, most of them restored. Fixed up, it could be really cute, Cecily thought. A fresh coat of white paint, some green trim, a rocker on that front porch...

To her surprise, the inside of the house looked good, with photographs of mountain scenery on cream-colored walls, area rugs scattered over hardwood floors and expensive leather furniture. Funky ceramic art topped the mantelpiece—a raccoon holding a beer bottle and a biker elephant and his lady wearing Harley jackets, sitting astride a motorcycle with two flat tires.

“This is nice,” she said, taking it all in.

“I can guess what you were expecting,” he said. “I’ll get to the outside of the place this summer. How about another Coke?”

“Sure.”

He walked around the corner into the kitchen, then reappeared carrying a couple of glasses and a can of pop. “The big-girl version this time?” He went to a liquor cabinet in the small dining area and pulled out a bottle of rum and held it up, the expression on his face a dare.

“Okay,” she agreed. “But if you’re thinking it’ll help you seduce me, you’re wrong.”

He poured their drinks and returned to where she stood checking out one of the photographs. “You really think I need help?” he asked, his voice a purr as he handed her a glass.

He was standing so close she could smell his aftershave, feel the heat coming off his body. Her heart rate picked up.

Part of her wanted to grab him and wrap her legs around him, but caution made her step away and position herself in front of another picture. Like the one she’d just been studying, it was a masterpiece of camera special effects, this one showing a mountain flower in sharp full bloom with Sleeping Lady Mountain a soft blur in the background. “Did you take all these?”

Now there he was, right next to her again. “Yeah.”

“They’re really good.”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I have other interests besides my business.”

She cocked her head. “Yeah?”

He went to the couch, sat down and patted the cushion beside his. “Yeah.”

She joined him—at the other end, simply to prove she wasn’t going to be some easy lay. “You have quite an eye.”

He shrugged. “I was an art major in college.”

“How could an art major...” She stopped midsentence, realizing it would be insulting to ask how someone with real talent could end up owning a seedy tavern.

He’d seen where she was going, though, and finished the sentence for her. “...wind up owning a tavern? It’s a sound business investment. Anyway, I get a kick out of the place. And I still dabble in photography and painting.”

“The Neanderthal in lederhosen on the side of the building,” she said.

“Self-portrait,” he joked.

“An art major,” she mused. “I never would have guessed.”

“You probably never would have guessed a lot of things about me. But then, that’s because you’ve been too busy running away from me.”

“So, if a woman doesn’t fall all over you, she’s running away from you?”

“We’re not talking about a woman. We’re talking about one woman. You.” He set his drink on the coffee table and scooted over, closing the distance between them.

She cast her gaze around the room, looking for something else to comment on. Of course, that would only postpone the inevitable. What was she doing here?

He rested an arm on the back of the couch and began playing with her hair, stirring up her nerve endings.

She took a long drink of her rum and Coke to settle them down. It didn’t work.

He removed the glass from her hand and gently nudged her chin in his direction. “I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I first saw you. Are you gonna let me?”

And then, assuming the answer would be yes, he did just that, and her nerve endings went from stirred to shaken. Oh, she was in trouble. Against her better judgment, she was falling hard for this man. She felt his hand drifting along her midriff, moving upward, and her nerve endings went into delirium. If she didn’t stop this right now, she never would. And she wasn’t ready to make that leap yet. She had to be sure.

She pulled away. “That was quite a kiss.”

“You’re quite a woman,” he said and started to move in for more.

She placed a hand on his chest. “I think I’ve had enough fun for one night.”

“Don’t like to kiss on the first date?” he teased.

“I’m not sure playing pinball at your tavern and then coming over here for a grope fest counts as a date.”

“Who groped? You never let me get that far.”

“It’s time for me to go home,” she said and stood.

He stood, too. Now they were just a breath away from each other. He reached up and began playing with her hair again. “Have I mentioned that I’m a sucker for blondes?”

And she was a sucker for having someone play with her hair. But she wasn’t about to be suckered by Todd Black—at least not tonight. “Thanks for sharing,” she said and removed his fingers from her hair.

“And you are truly the most beautiful blonde I’ve ever seen.”

Men had been telling her she was beautiful since puberty, and she wanted more than someone who was turned on by her appearance. She wasn’t interested in a relationship where sex was the driving force. Although, if that kiss was any indication, sex with Todd Black would be amazing.

Stop it! she scolded herself. To him she said, “I’ve heard that before.” And it didn’t move her. She needed to be with a man who wanted more.

“I bet you have. I bet men have been telling you you’re beautiful since the day you got your first training bra.”

She frowned at him. “That was poetic.”

“I try.”

“Try harder. I’m not looking for someone to sleep with.”

“Aw, and I put clean sheets on the bed and everything.”

Cecily frowned at him again. “Can’t you ever be serious?”

“Yeah, actually, I can. You’ll have to go out with me, so I can show you my serious side.”

“It’s a little hard to date when I work days and you work nights, doncha think?”

“I own the place. I can take a night off. I can take tomorrow night off. Let’s go out to dinner. Zelda’s, and a movie after.”

She should derail this train before it went any farther down the track. Instead, she said, “All right. Zelda’s, and a movie after. With popcorn. Don’t cheap out on me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He put his hand to the small of her back and gently steered her toward the front door. “Come on, Beauty. Let’s get you out of here before the beast ravishes you.”

And before her nerve endings betrayed her.

Who was she kidding? They already had.

The ride back to The Man Cave on his Harley didn’t calm them down any. Todd Black in leather, seated astride a big rumbling machine, was like a romance-novel cover come to life, and the minute she climbed on behind him, her zing-o-meter took another hit. What was she doing? Who was in charge here, anyway, her brains or her hormones?

As if she needed to ask that question? Oh, boy.

* * *

Bailey’s bank account was dwindling, and she was down to her last catering job.

The detective hired by her L.A. lawyer had learned that the doctors found no evidence of food poisoning when Samba Barrett came in and played her General Hospital scene. Big surprise. Bailey’s lawyer had sent Samba a letter threatening to sue her for slander and that had been enough to shut up her collagen-plumped mouth as she made the late-night talk TV circuit. It was one thing to be a tragic victim. Quite another to get taken to court for being a fake.

Sadly, it was all too late to bring back Bailey’s customers.

You still have the Amora Bliss baby shower, she reminded herself. That would have several Hollywood people at it, and if all went well, maybe she could rebuild her reputation.

Or not. Saturday morning, the day before the shower, Melinda Spooner, the hostess, called her. “It turns out we’re not going to need you,” she said.

Seriously? She was canceling the day before the event? After Bailey had purchased the food, begun making preparations? “But I’ve already started on the baby bootee cakes,” Bailey protested. “And they’re adorable.”

“I’m sure they are, but we won’t be needing you.”

This woman was an actress friend of Bailey’s high school pal Bitsy (also an aspiring actress—in Los Angeles, who wasn’t?). It was enough of a connection that Bailey felt she could fight to keep this gig. “Melinda, does this have anything to do with what happened at Samba Barrett’s party?”

There was a betraying moment of silence before Melinda spoke. “No, of course not.”

“You know Bitsy wouldn’t have referred you to someone incompetent,” Bailey pushed. “And you know you can’t believe everything you read in the Star Reporter.”

“I know. It’s just that, well, uh, Amora’s having labor pains, and we’re not sure if she’ll even be around for the party tomorrow.”

“I thought she wasn’t due for another two months.”

“They’re premature.”

Right.

“I’d better go,” Melinda said. She ended the call before Bailey could say anything more.

Bailey looked around her rented commercial kitchen at the piles of fruit, waiting to get made into salad, the fresh herbs, the half-decorated little cakes, and burst into tears. And then she called her big sister.

Samantha answered on the first ring. “How are you doing?”

“Horrible,” Bailey sobbed. “I lost my last client.”

“Okay, that’s it, end of story. You’re coming home.”

“I can’t afford to come home.” She also couldn’t afford rent. Or food. Heck, she couldn’t afford to breathe.

“Oh, yes, you can,” Samantha said briskly. “I’m going online and buying you a ticket. You can stay with Cec.”

That was her big sister, making decisions for everyone. It was in Samantha’s nature to take charge.

But that was exactly what Bailey needed right now. It seemed she was no longer able to run her own life.

“I’ll call Cec. You start packing. Okay?”

Bailey had so wanted to make a success of her catering business. She’d had everything all planned. She’d begin as a caterer to the stars and move from there into having her own restaurant and becoming a star herself, a celebrity chef with restaurants in L.A. and Vegas. That dream was dead.

“We’ve all missed you,” Samantha said. “You belong in Icicle Falls. Come home.”

Home. Suddenly, that was the sweetest word in the English language. Her family would dress her emotional wounds with encouragement and wrap her in love, and she desperately needed a dose of love.

She sure wasn’t feeling it in L.A. “Get me out of here as soon as you can,” she said. Dorothy was right. There was no place like home, and the sooner Bailey got there, the happier she’d be.

* * *

“Todd, I don’t know what we’d do without you,” Millie Halverson said, handing Todd a glass of iced tea.

He took it and wiped his sweaty brow. “Aw, Mrs. H., there you go, swelling my head again.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” the old woman said with a smile. “I really do appreciate you coming over to help me. That lawn is too much for me with my darned hip.”

Not just the lawn—the whole house, he thought, but he didn’t say anything. Sadly, the time would come soon enough when the Halversons would have to admit defeat and give up the place. And now that her husband had had a stroke, Todd expected it was imminent. So far, the Halversons had been holding on with all their might.

He didn’t blame them. It was a great old place. And talk about a perfect location. The house was on a street that was now zoned commercial, and it sat right around the corner from the block the locals called Foodie Paradise, which housed everything from Sweet Dreams Chocolates and a spice shop to Bavarian Brews, the town’s favorite coffee shop.

Once upon a time this had been a neighborhood filled with families raising their children, but the families had moved on. Some had left during the years the town was struggling economically; others had relocated farther out when Icicle Falls began to prosper, building bigger houses in other parts of town, selling their places to businesspeople anxious to open shops and take advantage of the tourist boom.

Like his house, this one had been around for at least a century and was showing its age. Over the past couple of years, since he’d gotten to know the couple, he’d done some minor repairs, but the kitchen needed updating and the whole place needed painting. Although Todd had offered to do that, Millie and Mike had declined. He suspected it was because of money and had wanted to pay for the paint, but they’d still said no. Hard to accept help, even from someone who’d become a friend.