Page 10 of A Touch of Spring Magic (Southern Love Spells #2)

T hat evening after a long workday that had all of them drooping even after they’d showered and changed and Grandma Millie had returned with groceries, Jessica sat in the hubbub of her sisters and Grandma Millie, laughing and talking and cooking, but for the first time, she felt lonely.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Grandma Millie slid her arm around Jessica as she made mocktails for all of them.

“I was thinking about Storm,” she answered honestly. “I feel like we should have invited him to stay. We’re all together cooking and having a good time, and he’s—” She broke off as she met Grandma Millie’s piercing green eyes—still sharp though she was nearing eighty. “Well, I guess I don’t know what he’s up to. I didn’t ask.”

Because it was family time. Surely, he’d understand that. But he didn’t have siblings, and he’d lost his parents when he’d been young. Her heart ached and guilt pinched.

“Maybe he had a hot date tonight,” she said, frowning, although it wasn’t fair that she didn’t like that idea. She didn’t want to date him.

“He’s not dating anyone,” Chloe called out. “I asked him because I saw how he was looking at you at the after-party at the Movable Feast.”

A few laughs, cheers and amused ‘ooooohs’ and ‘aaaaaahs, girl.’

Jessica flushed. “He wasn’t looking at me a certain way,” she said defensively. “I don’t even think I noticed him at the party so he probably didn’t notice me.”

Chloe laughed. “Prime example of protesting too much. And no one ever doesn’t notice you. You’re straight outta a Botticelli canvas.”

“I’m not.”

“Storm is a very handsome young man from a devout, hardworking family. He’s certainly helping you bring some order to this place,” Grandma Millie said, smoothing down the conversation. “He deserves happiness and a woman and family as devoted to him as he is to them.”

“He has been tireless,” she said in a low voice, ripping up a few mint leaves to sprinkle on the drinks and then adding the dehydrated and candied blood-red orange slice on the side of the doctored glass that was lined with crystalized sugar and spice.

“You were right. I really did need help with the hardscape and big picture. Don’t think I’m not grateful that you are all helping to pay him for his time,” she said.

Chloe dashed over and hugged her. “Of course. Anytime. I’m not paying as much as Sarah and Meghan, but Rustin comps him meals at the Wild Side to help pay for the construction work, and he’s kept the tab open for his grandparents as well.”

“I don’t want to take advantage of Storm,” Jessica said. “I’m providing breakfast and lunch for him and his crew when he brings them. I didn’t even want him,” she admitted. “I was afraid that he’d mansplain everything and boss and shoot down my ideas since he has a degree in horticulture and landscape design and all I have is me and a lot of experience and desire.”

“Doing and experience trumps a degree any day,” Chloe said staunchly.

“Says the teacher.” Grandma Millie smiled wryly. “Are you going to share those drinks, Jessica, or hoard them all night and try to pretend you don’t notice Storm as a man?”

“Grandma Millie.” Jessica was shocked. Even more so when she saw the quirk of a smile.

“Chloe is correct. You do protest far too much, dear.”

They took the drinks and appetizers out to the porch to watch the last of the sunset.

“I’m going to need to sit down with Mom and Dad to tell them what I’m doing,” Jessica admitted. “I’m surprised they haven’t come up here demanding answers.”

Chloe zipped her lips. “Your news to tell.”

“Lots of changes already,” Grandma Millie said. “Are you happy?”

“I am,” she admitted. “More than I imagined. I feel…like I’m the real me working outside, working so hard. I hurt and I’m exhausted many days, but I no longer have trouble sleeping and having Storm here to bounce ideas with—” She broke off. “But I won’t feel solid until I tell Mom and Dad. Let them have their say. I know they’ll be disappointed.”

She took a sip of her drink. “Maybe this Sunday dinner.” She dreaded the thought.

“Not this Sunday. They have an event in Charlotte, but soon, Jessica.” Grandma Millie covered her hand with hers. “Soon. And you won’t disappoint them by following your heart. They love you. They just want you to be secure and happy.”

“Dad or Mom never said to follow my heart,” Jessica said. “It was always focus. Set goals. Be smart. Don’t let anyone outwork you.”

“Good advice,” Grandma Millie said taking one of the spinach and delicata squash empanadas Chloe and Meghan had made.

“Are these from the book you found in my library, Chloe, dear?” Grandma Millie sounded way too innocent, and Jessica practically saw Sarah and Meghan’s ears vibrate to attention.

“No,” Chloe said. “I stole this and innovated it from something that Rustin makes with the fried Manchurian cauliflower appetizer the Wild side offered last month. I did use the book to make the scalloped and leek potatoes because we worked so hard today and need the carb coma energy boost, but if everyone falls crazy in love with me over dinner, I’m already taken. Cheers.”

They all clinked glasses. Grandma Millie smiled fondly at Chloe. It was wonderful to see Chloe so happy and confident.

“We’re already crazy in love with you, monkey,” Jessica said. “We don’t need an old mysterious cookbook.” Jessica looked hard at Grandma Millie who sipped her drink and looked out toward the darkened garden. Her expression was too innocent to believe. “Anything you want to tell us, Grandma Millie?”

Maybe it is a family heirloom.

She looked at Sarah and Meghan to see if they were thinking the same thing.

“Delicious drink, dear.”

“Speaking of the book.” Chloe picked it up from where she’d tucked it between her thigh and the arm of the Adirondak chair. “I thought tonight’s the perfect night to choose what party food we will make for my and Rustin’s party. We want bite-size food, easy to serve and tasty, but not fussy but not just Southern traditional. We want a pop of magic. Unexpected zest. Perhaps you can lead off, Grandma Millie. I’m sure you have a favorite,” Chloe said slyly.

“I don’t know what you mean child.” Grandma Millie took another sip of her drink and stared Chloe down like she was the dictionary definition for guilelessness.

Chloe frowned then laughed. “You win that round. But back to the book. If we all make something from it, then it will reflect the Maye and Cramer Families, and Lucas and Rebekah are going to make something too, and Clara’s inventing a celebration cocktail for us so it’s all in the family and on this beautiful historic property where we made so many memories, and Jessica is building her new future.”

Jessica sighed. No way she could work her way out of this ask, and judging from her sisters’ stunned expressions, they too knew they were caught. The book it was.

*

She should have expected the summons.

Better yet, she should have called her mom for the ‘lunch date’ so she could have told one parent at a time and not be double-teamed. But she’d procrastinated too long so she should consider herself lucky that only her mother called—because she never texted—at an inopportune time—of course she did. Jessica had spent yesterday afternoon digging holes for the small olive grove she was planting this morning, and while Storm had offered her at least one helper, the olive grove was something that felt very dear to her heart. She was planting the olive trees in two staggered circles around the mosaic, and Storm was going to repair the fountain they’d found. To keep with the Tuscan theme—and protect against deer—she’d plant lavender lavishly as a border.

It was her own design, and she was excited to execute it and see her vision come to life.

She swallowed her scowl at the interruption. “Of course, Mother. Where would you like to meet? Or shall I pick you up? What time?”

“You sound very pressured in your speech,” her mother said. “You’re out of breath. Did I interrupt anything?”

Her mother could convey more in a tone than the final winner at a Toastmasters’s convention.

“I’m working.” She kept the sugar in her mouth.

“Hmmmm, about that…”

Jessica closed her eyes. Of course her mother knew she was no longer gunning for the corner office in a prestigious downtown Charlotte accounting firm.

She wouldn’t have invited her to lunch today because ‘gunners’ didn’t take lunch unless they were asked to entertain clients.

“How about the Humble Goat?”

“That is a ridiculous name for a restaurant. As if a goat could be humble.”

“The food is flavorful and innovative and light. Lots of seasonal salads.” And it was in Cramerton, not Belmont, so the possibility of privacy existed.

“I am unclear what salad could possibly be in season in early March, but your father has a meeting in Charlotte, and he will drop me off on the way. Shall we say twelve? I have a meeting with the library foundation at two so that will give us plenty of time to chat. You can drop me off on your way back to…work.”

Jessica could practically hear the air quotes.

“Lovely.” Jessica looked down at her dirt- and mulch-smeared clothing. She was likely covered in dust from supervising the dump of the pea gravel that she’d hopefully be spreading by tomorrow—that was if she could get all the trees planted today and tomorrow morning—and she’d just lost a huge chunk of time and daylight.

Jessica peeled off her gloves and placed them on the handle of the wheelbarrow. She jogged over to where Storm and his two crew members were finished installing the railing on the gazebo. The hanging large egg-shaped chair had yet to be hung from the structural beam, and Jessica couldn’t wait to sit in it.

“Sorry,” she said to Storm, but all three stopped working and looked at her. “Familial duty calls. My mother wants to question my life choices over lunch. I made chili and corn bread for everyone.”

Gosh, she wished she were staying here for lunch.

Storm nodded. “See you when you get back. We’ve got the master plan and checklist in hand.”

Grey, a college friend who’d joined his crew for this project, looked at his watch. “Ten thirty is early for lunch,” he noted.

“I know,” Jessica began, defensively, but an hour to prepare for a lunch with her mother was barely enough time. Shower. Hair. Makeup. The outfit. Her stomach cramped a little just thinking about the expectations.

“Just a week plus out of my career, and I’m out of public-viewing-ready shape,” she joked weakly.

“Hey.” Storm peeled off his work gloves, tucked them in his back pocket and swaggered over. Really there was no other word for it. She could feel his body heat from his exertion. And for a mad moment she thought he’d touch her.

She wanted him to touch her.

And how much she wanted that scared her.

She held his gaze and her breath waiting, but he stopped a foot short. Closer than he’d stand to a stranger, but not intimate.

“You got this, Jay. Enjoy lunch with your mom. This is your place. Your schedule. We have our marching orders.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “But enough is never enough.”

His eyes darkened. “And often enough is better than enough. We’ll see you when you get back and out of your ladies-who-lunch body armor.”

Such a simple thing, and yet the tension crackling through her eased.

She loved her mother. She’d just never had the relationship with her that felt comfortable like she had with her sisters.

But she couldn’t give up trying, right?

“See you, boys.” She smirked and spun around trying to channel the attitude she’d need, but Storm caught her thick ponytail in his hand.

“Men,” he said near her ear, his warm breath a puff of sexy teasing. “All man,” he reminded her, as if she could ever forget.

And then she was free, her pony swinging behind her high and proud as she strode toward the house, reminding herself not to look back, but knowing he was watching. She missed the sensations of his hands in her hair, and the longing made her feel awkward, likely ruining the effect of her saucy attempt to capture his attention, make him miss her.

*

Her mother kept it to small talk until their salad entrées arrived. Jessica had been regretting her order of beet salad, goat cheese and candied pecans that seemed more suited to an appetizer since she’d become accustomed to heartier midday meals.

“Tell me again about your crazy plan.” Her mother made no effort to reach for her fork, and her still-sharp blue eyes drilled down.

“I don’t think it’s crazy.” Jessica found herself grasping for words.

“Jessica Maye, you attended UNC Chapel Hill and received an economics and business degree and then an MBA before earning your CPS certifications. You worked at a top accounting firm and were on a partnership track, and then, what happened? Were you fired?”

“Of course not.” Her appetite fled. “Well, yes.”

Her mother stared at her, clearly shocked.

“But Meghan’s helping me with the wrongful dismissal.”

“No Maye has ever been fired. Never.”

“It wasn’t fair, but I was already thinking about an exit plan. I wanted—”

“No sane woman walks away from a job like that unless it’s to raise her children, and last time I checked, no ring, no bun in the oven,” her mother interrupted.

That shouldn’t feel like a slap.

“I’m in no rush.”

“Women can’t behave like girls the same way men behave like boys into their mid-thirties. The good Lord does not provide that biological freedom. You’re thirty-one.”

Like she’d forget her age. Jessica stared down at her salad and tried to rein in her temper. But pique rolled in at her from all sides. Her perfectionist mother who had such a rigid outlook on life that had defined her for far too long combined with the laws of biology raced through her with the power of a blowtorch.

“Your looks won’t last forever.” Her mother’s voice softened. “You are still my beautiful baby girl.” A whisp of a smile graced her mom’s lips.

A compliment from her mom had always felt like treasure, but this one left her cold. She was so much more than her appearance. But still, this was her mother.

“You’re still stunning,” Jessica said honestly.

Wearing an iced-blue Chanel suit, her golden cap of blond hair perfect, and subtle makeup, gold and pearl earrings, and layered gold and pearl chains, her mother easily looked fifteen years younger than her age.

“Keeping up appearances gets harder, Jessica, not easier. You’ll know that soon enough.”

Her mother spoke briskly and then took a sip of her herbal tea—no sugar or caffeine for her mom ever, and Jessica tried to remember if she’d ever seen her mom drink a soda from a can or indulge in dessert, laugh out loud.

Her heart sank a little.

“Appearances aren’t the only thing that matters in life,” she said, sullen as a teenager.

Her mom’s stare burned through that statement.

“I hear that childishly unrealistic Chloe Cramer in your voice, Jessica, not you. I raised you better. You were homecoming queen and Miss Teen Gaston County. You would have won Miss Teen North Carolina if you’d competed.”

She still heard the longing in her mother’s voice, and she felt like everything inside her stilled. No rush of blood. No thrum of an eager heartbeat. She’d loved the pageants initially because her mother was all hers. Pleased with her. But she’d been alienated from her sisters, and really, herself. Every woman had started to feel like a rival.

For what?

Male attention? Her mother’s pride and acclaim? Other mothers’ envy?

“Why wouldn’t you ever treat Chloe like a daughter?” Jessica asked, shocking herself as much as her mother.

Her mother’s hand, halfway to putting the first small bite of a salad Nicoise to her carefully painted, mauve-pink lips, paused. A mild expression of annoyance flitted across the curated Botoxed and expertly lifted features.

“ She is not my daughter,” her mother said disdainfully, her cold eyes meeting Jessica’s startled ones. “Millicent chose to adopt and name Chloe, who was dropped off in a box like a stray cat, humiliating us all.”

She’d heard her mother distance herself from Chloe before, lightly dismiss her presence in the Maye life as if Chloe was another one of Grandma Millie’s good works, but somehow today it really hit. And she felt like she walked a tightwire. She too could fall from her mother’s grace if all she had was her beauty and corporate success to keep her aloft.

Her mother took a small bite. Delicately chewed. Dabbed at her lips with the linen napkin and glanced around the room at the other diners, before leaning forward and whispering.

“Is the firm in trouble? Were you laid off? Your father could use your expertise in the main office. He’ll talk to you tonight at dinner. Your father and I have been discussing traveling more. With you in the firm, he could groom you to take the reins. You could continue to build the Maye portfolio and influence.

“You can still garden on weekends. Hire staff and instruct them, though why you want to live on that overgrown farm all alone behind that spooky wrought iron…” Her mom shook her head. “But developing those last lots would be a much better business decision than creating a garden for people to troop around in. And you’ll need to get permission to use the back road into the farm. No way will the neighborhood association approve customers driving through the community on the way to your, ‘nursery.’” She made air quotes.

Her mother’s intent stare held her in place like a pinned beautiful butterfly corpse.

“But perhaps the botanical garden could be a gift to the county—keeping the Maye name of course. That adds a cache, and public works are quite admired by the Lindley family.”

“But I don’t…”

“Ransom Lindley II of the Charleston Lindleys and your father are putting a deal together for a prestigious boutique resort and development on Kiawah Island.” Her mother rolled over her protest and plans. “You could accompany your father down there for the next meeting. His son has joined the firm. It would be an excellent match. Two birds one stone.” She smiled, pleased, and took another sip of her tea. “I’ll tell Cook to expect you for dinner.”

*

“It’s perfect.” Storm stepped back and surveyed the rusted trellis she had purchased at a yard sale she’d seen as she’d driven her mother to the library. “Almost spookily thematic.”

“I know, right?” Jessica grinned at him. “I had it hanging out of the hatchback with a red tea towel Mrs. Benson loaned me. My mother was so outraged she couldn’t speak.” Jessica’s voice burbled with barely suppressed laughter. What would Ransom Lindley III think of that? “Who knew Mr. Benson had so many finds in his shop. You and I are going back there with your truck and trailer tomorrow morning because he has more garden art in his barn out on Hill Road in Mount Holly. His granddaughter said we’re welcome to prowl through.”

She realized she was being high-handed, arranging his schedule without asking.

“You don’t mind do you?” It occurred to her she should have asked rather than assumed and arranged, but she was excited by the possibilities that she’d seen in the barn. She couldn’t have found a more appropriate piece if she’d designed it herself.

“You’re the boss,” Storm said easily.

Something inappropriate from a Nicole Kidman movie popped in her head, flushing her cheeks.

“Whatever are you thinking?” he asked. “I’m intrigued.”

She had to tear her gaze away from his appealing masculinity and instead focus on the trellis.

“It’s exactly what I wanted. Exactly how I envisioned it.” She looked back at the trellis and touched the metal. “When the trees are planted and have a chance to fill out, it will be like a pathway to Tuscany. It was worth it to spend the extra money to buy the more mature trees.”

“They are still pretty puny,” Storm noted, looking at the two long rows of trees she’d lined up. “But let’s get these babies in the ground. I had Grey use the earth digger to dig the holes following the design so that we could get the trees in today and spread mulch before spreading the pea gravel tomorrow and we will have this section done.”

Jessica tried not to be relieved about not having to dig any more large holes today. They only had a couple hours of sunlight remaining.

“How was lunch with your mom?”

“Discovering the trellis was the only redeeming moment in the lunch,” Jessica said tartly, knowing she wasn’t being fair, but still feeling a little raw.

“That bad?”

“Always gotta push.” She tried to keep her voice light and followed her words with her palms playfully on his abs, but the total cut firmness under her hands stole her breath. “Push, push, push,” she chanted trying to break the spell while at the same time allowing herself to savor all that masculine strength and warmth.

Why had she been so stupid as to push him away senior year when he…

No. It wouldn’t have worked. She was too driven. Too convinced of her own mythology. Too sure she had so many great things ahead of her.

“Sorry I was a thoughtless twit of an idiot in high school.”

“We’re way beyond that. Water under the bridge,” his voice graveled.

The way the sunlight, slipping behind the trees illuminated the waves in his hair and high planes of his cheekbones, hollowing out cheeks that could have been the perfect magazine cover for any cologne—she would have bought it.

“Storm,” she began softly.

“Speaking of bridges…” He tucked his hands in his back pockets, and did she imagine a new distance? “I’ve been giving the water feature some more thought. The fountain is a beautiful focal point, and if we do go ahead and create a ‘stream’ that leads to the pond near the gazebo, we can build in a set of miniature falls visitors can follow down to the pond we’ll seed with water plants, koi and a have a few benches and a wall of bamboo for texture and intimacy.”

Intimacy.

The word heated her all over.

“It’s not that I don’t love the idea, Storm. It’s just that it sounds expensive, and water features need cleaning and maintenance and pumps that break down, and I won’t have time for everything on my own.”

“Who says you have to do everything on your own, Jessica Maye?”

“I’ve always felt on my own even when I’m not.”

“We need to work on that.” He traced her cheekbone. “After we plant an olive grove in Tuscany.”