Chapter Two: Crazy Angels

Chapter Two

Willow

CRAZY ANGELS

Performed by Carrie Underwood

The scent of citrus filled the air as I spread the icing in quick strips over the last batch of lemon-poppyseed scones. The motion was automatic, leaving my mind to explore the ideas I had for combining my miniature desserts with images of an old mosaic I'd taken this morning. Something about creating edible art was floating just out of reach. I itched to finish my shift so I could go home and play with it.

I dropped the frosting bag into the sink and shouldered the tray of scones, pushing through the swinging door between the kitchen and the café. The hiss of the espresso machine and soft chatter of college students greeted me. Hector's voice boomed out a name as I slid the tray into the display case alongside a variety of other pastries.

No miniatures in sight here…at least not yet. Just the possibility of The Tea Spot carrying my miniatures sent my heart cartwheeling around in my chest.

Hector's café was a favorite amongst residents, students, professors, and tourists because of its homemade goodies, unique teas, and specially blended coffees you'd never find at the average chain store. Not that Cherry Bay had any chain stores lining its streets. The town council adamantly refused to budge on the zoning laws preventing anything but locally owned businesses from existing inside the town limits.

When I'd first moved here with Mom almost six years ago, not finding the familiar shops and brands I was used to had been just one more loss. Now, I loved that the town supported their businesses and how the locals acted like one big family, watching out for each other. It was why, after finishing culinary school, I hadn't hesitated in returning to Cherry Bay.

I was happier here than I could remember being since before Dad had died. Every day, I had a hand in making the pretty treats sitting in the case, got to live in a town that felt like a fairy tale, and had people I called family welcoming me through the doors.

Hector joined me, examining the new set of scones. He had a few inches on my average height and was boxy all over. His arms and chest were muscled and contoured from years of pounding dough. Because he was in such great shape, he looked younger than the flecks of white in his black strands might have otherwise insinuated. The corners of his chocolate eyes crinkled when he grinned, which he was almost always doing, but they also told a story of heartbreak. I recognized the lines because they mirrored my mom's—grief had marked them both. The fact Hector could so easily smile even after all he'd lost was one of the things that had encouraged me to find my own happiness again.

"Those look perfect," he said, bumping my shoulder with his. "You're better at making my creations than I am now."

The pride in his words shed a warm glow over me, but before I could respond, he was called over to the register by our latest new hire. Ted was a college freshman who was there simply for the paycheck. When I'd first gotten a job at the café, five years ago, it had been for my love of baking as much as for the money. The Tea Spot had given me an outlet for my creativity, but more importantly, Hector and his daughter, Shay, had brought friendship back to my life.

I grabbed a dirty dish tub from the back counter and rounded the room, collecting empty cups and trash. I hummed along to the pop song drifting through the speakers. The lyrics were about today being a fairy tale, which fit the café perfectly.

From its eighteenth-century sideboards, white-washed tables, and gold marble counters to the hand-painted artwork, The Tea Spot practically shouted magical stories. The heart of the café was the mural taking up an entire wall. It was of a woman dancing amongst woodland creatures as a younger version of Hector, dressed like a prince, rode a white stallion across the flower-filled meadow toward her. It had been added to the café by Hector's late wife before cancer had taken her.

With the tub full, I twirled around, chatting with a customer here and there on my way back to the counter. I was still chuckling at the yoga instructor and his wife when a voice interrupted me, slithering through my good mood.

"Hey, Willow. Can I get a refill?"

I kept my smile fixed in place as I turned toward Poco. Perhaps it was the narrow slit of his eyes spaced too far apart or the slant of his nose with its tiny nostrils, but I often imagined a forked tongue flicking in and out of his too-wide mouth. Of all the regulars who came into The Tea Spot, he was the only one who made my skin crawl.

Not even his boss, Tall Paul, who everyone in Cherry Bay knew was involved in all sorts of criminal activities, made my fight-or-flight instincts spike to a fever pitch the way Poco did. It was ridiculous, considering the man had never been anything but nice to me. Plus, he tipped well whenever I helped him, and that was good for everyone.

"Absolutely, Poco!" I responded cheerfully, placing the tub on the counter before reaching for his reusable tumbler. "Traditional medium roast, like always?"

He nodded. I felt his eyes on me the entire time I topped off his drink from the large carafe. When I returned, I set the cup on the counter so I wouldn't risk touching him. Whenever I did, all my alarm bells jangled even stronger.

Poco's gaze slid down me, and I was grateful the apron I wore covered most of me. When his eyes returned to my face, they glinted with an interest I'd never take him up on—and not just because my skin prickled around him or because he was at least fifteen years older than me. I'd simply never take anyone up on that look unless they could accept the possible limitations of my life. While I saw nothing wrong with other people losing themselves in pleasure for one night, I wanted more than that for myself, and Poco certainly wasn't offering forever after. No matter how short of a time I had on this earth, I was determined to have what my parents once had—the kind of love that included dancing in the kitchen, tender touches, and doe-eyed looks.

"You've been back in town, what, a year now?" Poco asked. His tone seemed friendly, as if he was simply making chitchat, so why did it make me want to run?

"Ten months," I told him.

"Ten months and I haven't heard a whisper of you going out on a date with anyone. I think we should change that. You deserve a good time," he said with a smirk.

I bit my lip, trying not to snort at the knee-deep innuendos.

"I'm not really in a dating space, Poco, but thanks for thinking of me."

He shook his head, lips sliding wider, showing off those tiny teeth and making me imagine the slide of a forked tongue all over again. "I'll wear you down eventually."

I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes and, instead, gave him my best pacifying smile, saying, "Eventually isn't today."

He rapped his knuckles on the counter, dropped a couple of twenties into the tip jar, and then strolled out, whistling an upbeat song that somehow sent a chill over my skin.

"Need me to set him straight?" Hector asked, coming up behind me with a frown forming between his heavy brows as he watched Poco leave.

His protectiveness chased away the clouds Poco had brought with him. My smile was genuine this time when I pushed at the crease between his brows. "Not unless you feel like starting a war with Tall Paul." When he didn't relax, I added gently, "It's harmless, Hector, really. I can handle turning him down once a month from now until eternity if it keeps the peace. I'm rarely out front anyway."

Since I'd returned from culinary school, I'd taken over the baking of the pastries five days a week, which meant I rarely left the kitchen. I no longer had to put Poco off every day like I once had. It also meant coming to work when the skies were still dark, but I loved the quiet time spent creating. Plus, I was off by noon, leaving plenty of time to play around with my own ideas at home.

When Hector still didn't look convinced, I eased up on my toes, kissed his smooth cheek, and said, "Thanks for offering to defend me. Mom will be singing your praises when I tell her."

And that finally did it. His entire face softened, and a faint blush stole over his face.

My heart squished.

Now, if I could only maneuver them into finally going out on an actual date.

It had been almost six years now since Dad had been killed, and the dark of those first few years was finally leaving us. These days, I caught more and more glimpses of the laughing, upbeat Mom I'd grown up with rather than the sober, serious human who'd barely survived day by day.

It was time for Mom to reach out and take what was in front of her. I wanted to do the same, but I hadn't found my Hector—a man who would completely dote on a partner. I'd heard enough stories from Shay about her parents to know he'd do just that. Sophia had been gone fifteen years, and Hector was still as single as my mom. They both deserved to have love shine in their lives again, and Shay and I were determined to make it happen.

I went back into the kitchen, my mind whirling with ways to thrust Hector and Mom together as I cleaned up my mess from the last batch of scones. After I took the garbage out one more time, I stepped into the office and stuffed my apron into the bin of linens before heading to the small set of lockers lined up on the wall for employees.

I pulled the clip from my long hair and let it swing down below my shoulders, reveling in the freedom after hours of having it pinned tight under a plastic cap. I grabbed the white chiffon maxi-skirt I didn't need but loved and pulled it on over my leggings. Gauzy fabrics always lifted my spirits, and if they hadn't been a hazard in the kitchen, I would live in them.

As I slung my patchwork bag over my shoulder, I caught sight of myself in the mirror behind Hector's desk. My cheeks were flushed, emphasizing the line of freckles over my nose, but the upward curve of my lips finally felt natural instead of forced. Even my pale, gray eyes seemed brighter. Like Mom, I was finally letting myself be happy again.

Our nightmare was over. For six years, no one had found us here. I was living the dreams I'd promised myself I'd make come true and marking off the joyous experiences on my bucket list one at a time. The heaviness of our past had slid away.

I ducked my head through the swinging door to the café and hollered goodbye. Hector's returned volley followed me out the door.

When I'd walked to work that morning, the fog had been thick, but now the sunshine had finally broken through, and the gentle warmth coasted over me. The quiet, damp of the predawn hours had been replaced with the noisy rush of lunchtime in a small town. The heady scent of cherry blossoms filled the air. The pink-and-white petals lined the cobblestone streets from Bonnin University to the far end of Main Street where the asphalt took over.

A fragrant petal twirled from the sky and landed on my skirt, blending in with the sheer fabric and making me feel like I was actually wearing spring. This was my favorite time of year in Cherry Bay, when the soft lights and vibrant colors shimmered over the old stone, brick, and iron buildings.

Founded in the seventeen hundreds, the town had existed in near anonymity until the college was built on the bluff overlooking the Potomac in the 1940s. Now, the charming little haven ballooned each fall from several thousand permanent residents to nearly ten thousand as students and academics from around the globe filtered in.

I inhaled the scent of the flowers mixing with the scent of coffee from the café and garlic from the Italian restaurant across the way before strolling toward home. I passed the yoga studio Mom and I kept swearing we were going to join and crossed the street at The Prince Darian Tavern before rounding the corner onto our street.

Here, the cheery hum of downtown disappeared, allowing another fairy-tale image to take over. Once thatched-roofed cottages faced rectangular Colonials of shiplap and warm red brick. It was like someone had drawn a line along the cobblestones and declared one side of the road belonging to the Elizabethan times and the other to the Southern gentry.

Mom and I lived in the last cottage at the end of the street where it butted up against an old cemetery. The down payment on the house had been made by the U.S. government before the mortgage had been tossed in Mom's lap. She'd scrambled to make the payments while building a new career for herself after the Marshals had declared her old one off-limits. Giving up nursing had felt like one more loss, but now she loved teaching science at the high school.

I stopped at the iron gate in our stone wall, turning my face toward the sun, closing my eyes, and letting the rays dance over me. The song of the birds and the buzz of the bees flitting around our haphazard garden only added to the glow I felt deep inside.

When I opened my eyes, my gaze landed on the manicured yard across the street. At least the construction on the white-and-gray Colonial had finally stopped. Whoever had bought the house had all but gutted it. For six months, hammers and saws had rung out, making my daytime nap more difficult than usual. With my alarm going off at two each morning, I often needed a few hours to catch up on my sleep when I got home. It was that or I drifted off before dinner, which was the only time I got to see Mom during the school year.

As I pushed open our gate and stepped onto the river rock path, the door of the Colonial opened behind me. An old habit I'd mostly shaken had me ducking into the shadows of our willow tree where I could watch and not be seen.

A man in his late twenties emerged from the house. He was tall and lean in a way that screamed corded muscles and tight control. His wide shoulders were pulled back straighter than I'd ever seen anyone hold themselves. He had deep brown hair with just a hint of a wave that caused the edges to curl over the collar of his gray jacket. The dark locks glistened with undertones of black and silver in the sunshine.

He twirled a set of keys around a long finger, a baseball cap in his other hand, as he jogged down the brick path to the sidewalk, where he jerked to a quick stop. He looked both ways along the street before finally sending his eyes in my direction. I had a quick impression of a strong nose and square jaw before a penetrating gaze landed on the shadows of the willow tree.

While I knew he couldn't see me, my heart still skipped a beat and I retreated farther. Something about the intensity of his look caused my pulse to thunder in my veins. It wasn't the fight-or-flight instinct I experienced with Poco. This was…tantalizing. A quiet dare. As if he could tempt my soul right out of my body if I let him.

For several long seconds, he stayed as still as I was, a strange mirror of opposites, before sliding the baseball hat on, tossing his keys from one hand to the other, and striding toward downtown. His denim-clad legs ate up the cobblestones at a pace even my long ones would have had a hard time keeping up with.

As my pulse slowed from its frantic beat, something tickled at the back of my mind about him. It was as if I knew him, and yet I was positive we'd never met. I would have remembered that soul-luring gaze.

Was he living in the Colonial or visiting? Did he have a wife and kids who'd moved in with him, or was he staying in that big house all alone? Was he working at the college?

I stopped my runaway thoughts. It was none of my business. If there was one thing Mom and I were good at, it was respecting people's privacy, because we needed the same in return.

I shook off the wild tumult his appearance had caused and made my way down the path to the cottage. The flowers needed watering, and the weeds needed to be pulled, but thoughts of the mosaic and my miniatures were calling to me.

I'd decided to start by printing an edible photo of the mosaic onto a layer of fondant, and then I'd stack carefully crafted miniature tarts and pies and other treats along the top until it became a three-dimensional version of the original. It would be a challenge, and I hadn't worked all the details out yet, but anticipation had me itching to begin.

I loved working for Hector and was grateful that he'd encouraged me to attend culinary school, but these days, I found myself craving more from my career. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life only making Hector's recipes, only creating treats gobbled up with barely a momentary glance.

I wanted to create art in the form of food.

I wanted it to be appreciated viscerally—with all your senses.

Desserts that would be remembered months after seeing and tasting them. I wanted people to tell stories about them to their friends, as if reliving a beautiful memory. A mark that would be left behind even if I no longer was here.