Page 12 of A Touch of Spring Magic (Southern Love Spells #2)

“I don’t believe it. I simply don’t believe it.” Sean Patrick Ryan Maye, her father, paced in front of her.

She’d asked to come over after Sunday’s church service.

Her mom had made a light lunch, but no one had gone anywhere near the table.

“Why would you put up with that? Why didn’t you consult me?”

He’d asked this too. She’d predicted his anger and frustration but not his bewilderment. That hurt had kept her quiet, probably seemingly appeasing, and yet, other than the fact she should have come clean a couple of weeks ago, Jessica still felt in the right.

“They can’t treat you like that.”

“I know,” Jessica said, again, although her company’s behavior was not at all the point, although the settlement Meghan was negotiating had reached ridiculous numbers, but Jessica veered back and forth between taking the money or becoming a whistleblower.

Meghan thought she could do both, and although she and Sarah had offered to accompany her to speak to their parents, Jessica knew this was best to do on her own.

“It’s going to be all right, Daddy,” she said softly while her mother fidgeted with her glass of chardonnay—an unexpected afternoon beverage, showing how unsettled her mother still was, and for that Jessica felt sorry.

“I acted when I shouldn’t,” she admitted. “But I did nothing wrong other than discover that several employees were helping to launder money and embezzling small amounts from clients. The numbers never lie, you taught me that.” She wanted to reassure him, find common ground.

“The guilty should pay, not you.”

They’d gone over this.

“Sit, Daddy. You’ll wear a hole in Mama’s favorite Turkish rug.”

He made a sound.

“The partner responsible was fired.”

“The one who fired you?”

“Yes. He was let go. So were the three others involved. Meghan is negotiating a severance package for me, but I…”

“You should have your job back. You were up for partner, but they hired that nepo baby straight out of Wharton.”

Jessica had no idea her father knew the term ‘nepo baby.’ And while she’d been upset that Drew the III had taken what she thought she’d earned, she was now relieved.

“Daddy, please sit. I love you. I do. But I want you to hear me. I don’t want my job back,” she said as he all but collapsed on the couch near her mother.

“And I don’t want to be the CFO of your company. I want to start a nursery. I want to restore the Cramer gardens—even create a botanical garden that could be open to the public sometimes.”

He stared at her aghast. “A nursery? Plants. On a prime piece of real estate? The lots alone would bring in over six million and that’s low-balling.”

“I know but it’s our family history, Daddy. The Mayes and the Cramers started off as farmers. Thousands of acres. All of that’s gone but this, and Grandma Millie’s family farm. I have so many memories there with Meghan, Sarah and Chl…”

“I don’t want to hear it.” He stood up. “Preposterous. My mother never should have done such a thing. Putting property in trust to the four of you? It will cause problems for all of you. Mark my words.”

Jessica sighed but stood up. All in all, this had gone better than she’d anticipated. Storm was right. Better to face your dragons or demons and turn them into allies. She wasn’t there…yet, but she would be.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Daddy. I am. But the four of us are closer than ever and if we have problems, we’ll solve them together.”

She hugged her father and was gratified that after he stiffened in surprise, he patted her shoulder, muttered something she couldn’t quite understand and then he hugged her back.

“Job’s there if you change your mind,” he said, not meeting her gaze.

She wouldn’t, but she didn’t want to break all the rules in one go. “I’ll keep it in mind. Should we have lunch?”

*

“You need help with anything tonight?” Storm asked.

“You offering to be my sous chef?” Jessica leaned against the rusted industrial grid fencing that already had roses, honeysuckle and jasmine starting to climb up the grid pattern. She’d added planters hanging off the top to add color and texture to soften the line, but what she really needed was time. The jasmine was a hold-out from before and would soon be battling for control, but for now, she wanted the greenery. She’d worry about pruning after the party.

It was early May, and she had been working full time on redeveloping the garden ‘far beyond its former glory,’ according to Grandma Millie, for more than two months. And even though she’d been working every day, the changes still gave her goose bumps, chills and all the ‘feels,’ as Chloe would sing out, clap her hands and jump around every time she came over after a full day of teaching to help out.

Her sisters had also put in hours, and Jessica was used to Rustin coming over on his days off to help Storm and his crew build the ambitious new river-style water feature that added cohesion to the garden design. It was a gift that she could see him now and talk to him and feel nothing but happiness for Chloe. No more regrets. No more awkward.

“I probably wouldn’t be half bad,” Storm drawled. “I’ve watched you in kitchen since late February, and I’ve been using the recipes you gave me for my grandparents, so I’ve been eatin’ good.” He stretched and patted his still-taut tummy, and she wondered if the rush of hormones and longing would ever stop. Seriously if she touched him once for every ten times she stopped herself from reaching out, they’d be in a permanent lip-lock.

“You make yourself sound like a feral animal.” She hip-checked him.

He pretended to stagger. “Seriously, I know you’ve got a night of cooking some mysterious concoction for Chloe and Rustin’s shower tomorrow.”

“Several mysterious concoctions,” Jessica admitted, “since the engagement party has morphed into a shower celebrating the couple. The guest list has expanded and is a bit more party now that we have a couple of food trucks setting up as well as a cocktail hut in the gazebo that will even teach a few vintage craft cocktail demonstrations, in keeping with Chloe and Rustin’s theme of ‘Belmont Community Roots.’”

“So you don’t need help?”

She didn’t need it, but she wanted it. She was hyperaware that her time of seeing Storm daily was winding down. She’d come to rely on his knowledge and skills, but also his calm and ever-present sense of fun. He balanced her intensity and tendency to hyper-focus and spitball all the things that could go wrong, without making her feel dismissed. But one line in one of the recipes she was prepping and baking tonight had her convinced she needed to be alone.

She was still hyperaware that he had shut her interest down a couple of months ago because he felt she was just playing. She wasn’t sure how he felt about her now as the dang man exuded good cheer and contentment while she was seething with sexual frustration. But she wasn’t willing to risk casting a spell. Who knew how the book worked—if it did.

Mix the filling ingredients into the torte pastry, watched by an unbiased eye.

She wasn’t sure what that meant if anything—if one of her sisters was around, would the savory mini tarts not taste good because none of them were unbiased? Or if she found an unbiased eye—definitely not Storm’s—would someone fall crazy in love with her at the party?

It could be anyone, and that had unmitigated-disaster potential slathered all over it.

“No, I’m good.” She smiled brightly.

“I’ll be here early for touch-ups in the garden—there’s a few areas in the maze that need to be filled in. Want to walk it with me—and you can boss?”

She laughed. “I do love a good boss-up opportunity.”

“Your strong suit?”

“Too much?” she asked, suddenly curious. She’d always been head of every committee starting in middle school through college. Joining her accounting firm at her father’s strong recommendation had felt daily like she was being slapped down for too many ideas and enthusiasms and told to wait her turn, listen and be a team player while sidelined.

She hadn’t realized how she’d let her corporate career impact her personal self-esteem, even as her professional confidence blossomed until she’d been cut loose.

“This is your business, Jay. You’re building your future. You damn better stay in the arena.”

She felt like a light bulb went off in her body. He got her. She got herself. She didn’t have to explain.

She reached out and touched his hand. She wanted to say so much, but she needed to keep her head and heart on straight so Chloe and Rustin could have the engagement party/bridal shower of their dreams. She didn’t want to start her own drama that would impact putting on the perfect party.

“Thank you, Storm. Thank you for these past few months—your work, your ideas, your help, your steady presence…” She was getting teary. “Thank you.”

She let go of his hand, but he continued to watch her, clearly weighing something he wanted to say. Part of her wanted to wait to see what was, and another part—a smaller part—urged caution. She still had to make dozens of pastries and crusts tonight, and while they might be her favorite, she didn’t want anything messing with her baking mojo like going melty over a guy, whose feelings for her might still be permanently lodged in the friend zone, but some days she felt he was holding back, and she’d debated—flirt and encourage or play it safe?

After the party, maybe it was time to revisit.

Ugh focus on Cramer-Maye Nursery and Botanical Gardens.

Yup, she finally settled on a business name and Meghan had helped her with all the licenses and legal requirements. She even had a website and had been documenting the changes and plantings and cats for her new social media accounts.

But looking at Storm, and the expression in his eyes, made her feel a spark of bold that had felt missing for years and then intermittently this spring as her vision sprang literally to life. She was tired of playing it safe. After the party, she was going to talk to him.

“See you tomorrow,” she said softly, wanting to say so much more. She walked toward the house peeling off her gloves and hoping he was watching her walk away.

*

Jessica rolled out one continuous rectangle or pastry. Meghan wanted to make sweet mini tortes and fruit pies, but Jessica had claimed several savory recipes—discussing the ingredients and prep with her sisters and Rustin before making her final selection. She’d baked one hundred twenty mini pastries for the shepherd’s pie and caramelized onion, butternut squash and delicata squash tarts, as well as the filling for both. Tonight she was baking another one hundred plus tart pastries—an intriguing chard and Gruyère corn and spring onion tart and her favorite from the Southern Love Spells book—the Sweetheart’s Tryst: a fig, date, bacon and blue cheese stuffed date tart with honey, rosemary and balsamic vinegar with pomegranate seeds sprinkled on top.

This was the one she was saving for last since it had the strange instruction about an unbiased eye. Already, Meghan had popped over last night to help with her crusts. They’d had so much fun. The time had flown as they’d rolled out all the pastry she’d had chilling overnight and, forming the crust for the tarts, Jessica hadn’t accomplished finishing the filling for three of her tarts like she’d planned because Meghan’s savory plum tart had been more complicated than either of them had anticipated.

So tonight she was alone and determined to prepare the Sweetheart’s Tryst.

She rolled, cookie-cuttered the tarts in the shape of hearts and baked the crusts while she assembled the ingredients for the filling. She looked at the fairy, still vigilant on her windowsill. She and Storm had found a lot of quirky garden art on their shopping excursions, and Chloe had come up with the idea of theming the found objects with the gardens and having a scavenger hunt for kids. She’d also floated the idea of theming the garden for holidays and cycling in other art or having guest artists show.

Jessica was embarrassed that she liked the idea so much and had handed over the creation to her sister. And she’d yet to find a place for the vintage fairy.

“Tomorrow,” she promised, as the fairy deserved to shine.

*

“Time to change.” Jessica hunted down Sarah and Meghan who’d arrived around eight this morning to help set up for the party. Chloe’s a cappella college choir had also come to set up the clusters of tables and chairs on the lawn with umbrellas, and there were other seating areas in the shade of a grove of magnolias and also dogwood and jacaranda trees that had stood sentry long before any of the Maye sisters had been born.

A string quartet from South Point Abbey College warmed up, and both of the food trucks were setting up and beginning to cook—Mexican food for one and barbecue for the second truck. The cocktail bar—a converted Airstream trailer—was parked to the left of the house’s back porch. A gaudy pink flamingo awning— seriously, Chloe, didn’t they have other styles —spilled across the open area along with some bistro tables. There were three bartenders setting up, and Jessica, after a quick look around, and seeing nothing out of place, though the water fountain and water feature had yet to be turned on, said a brief prayer and ran inside the house to take a quick shower, trusting Sarah and Meghan to be equally speedy.

She wasn’t as quick as either of them, dang it, and when she arrived in the kitchen, she saw Storm, no longer dressed in work clothes, munching on one of the Sweetheart Tryst tarts.

“What are you doing? Those are for the party.” She leapt forward as if to slap it from his hands.

He held it aloft, grinning. “It’s delicious. I’ve been working hard. Why hold out on a friend?”

She narrowed her eyes. ‘Friend’ had a tone to it.

“I had a tray of snacks for all the helpers. It’s on the table along with a cooler of water and drinks in the breakfast nook. I gave explicit instructions that nothing in the kitchen could be eaten.”

“Yes, boss, you did.”

That smile. So much trouble.

“I had all the party food trayed perfectly and labeled and a blueprint as to which snacks go where on the grazing table. You can’t eat from the guest trays. They’ll look picked over.”

“I didn’t. There was a plate of samples and I grabbed this one. It’s delicious.”

“Those aren’t for you. They are for the guests.” She could feel her heart pounding, and she knew, just knew that she sounded unreasonable. Over-reactive.

“Hey, Jay.” He stuffed the last of the tart in his mouth and she watched him chew. He moved into her and smoothed his hands down her bare arms. “I’m sorry, but the tart I grabbed was not on a party tray. Sarah and Meghan had already started moving those out to the grazing table, and I cleaned up in the outdoor shower, got dressed and came to find you so that you could do the honors with the water feature and check out the decorations in the barn.”

She swallowed her panic and searched his eyes for what she didn’t know. Maybe she was freaking out for no reason, and his hands felt so good on her arms. His touch was warm, steady, and his fingers trailed along her jaw.

“Parties are stressful,” he said softly. “Take a breath. You’ve been nonstop, and the garden, the maze we reconstructed, the yard art and focal points are all coming together. Beautiful. Chloe and Rustin are lucky to have you and your sisters helping to celebrate their love.”

She stared up at him, wonderingly, and saw the moment when his encouragement switched to awareness, and her tummy heated.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispered. “I’m not. I like who you are. All of you.”

She turned her face into his palm and rested her lips against his calloused palm. She swayed a little toward him—or did he move toward her? But he was closer, and the air felt electric with promise.

He was going to kiss her.

Or she him.

It was happening, and it was real whether he’d eaten the tart or not, because she hadn’t followed the recipe exactly. Jessica felt a shiver of excitement race through her, accompanied by a throb of longing. When was the last time she was excited by the possibility of a kiss?

Had Storm changed his mind? Was he now willing to risk reaching for more than friendship as their garden restoration and construction wound down?

The kitchen faded away along with the eaten tart. She forgot about the grazing board with the woven palm fronds, and floral arrangements. The party. Her sisters waiting. The arriving guests. There was only Storm and the sweet potential of their first kiss—well the first kiss as adults and not her flirting or toying with his affections.

“Hey.” Chloe burst into the kitchen practically hopping in excitement. “Everything looks off the hook. The grazing board slays. Slays. Slays. Rustin is taking pictures, and he and Rebekah have their heads together likely scheming a thematic platter for an event.”

She wore a frothy periwinkle-blue dress that skimmed her slender body, but then the skirt poufed out in layered tule that started off as gray blue that ombréd into lavender. She’d never seen Chloe in anything so glamorous.

“I clean up good, huh?” Chloe grinned and spun in a circle. “I can’t wait for you to turn on the lazy river and the fountain and wall of water. Jessie, will it be ready for the party? And, Storm, the barn is such a beautiful gathering spot and shop for the nursery. I love the new home for the cats that you made. I can’t wait until you both are open for business.”

“Both?” Jessica frowned. That didn’t really make sense. “And it’s not a lazy river, Clo.” Jessica was charmed by Chloe’s enthusiasm. “It’s mimicking a stream. It’s a water feature that defines… Oh, never mind, it’s your day, monkey—the river can be what you want it to be.” Jessica slid her arm through Chloe’s. “You can do the honors, and then I want to check the grazing table to make sure everything is perfect.”

“It looks scrumptious,” Chloe said. “I think the three of you should turn this into an event space and you can cater.”

“Don’t you start,” Jessica said. “This is a niche nursery and a botanical garden, and it’s mine.” Her voice rang with pride.

She caught Storm watching her, and something unexpected flitted across his face. What was it? She felt like she’d said something wrong, but what? She was so tired and yet so jazzed up from that almost kiss that she barely knew what she was saying.

“I’ll make sure everything’s ready,” Storm said, rather formally. “Check your board and then meet me by the water wall, and you can flip the switch, getting-married girl. And, Jay…” Storm smiled. “You too clean up good.”

And he was gone.

“Ooooooh.” Chloe dramatically fanned herself. “Those were some hot, hot, hot and horny electrons spinning around in that kitchen. Who needs a stove?”

“You’re imagining things,” Jessica said, trying and failing to control her blush.

“Did you follow a recipe exactly and slip Storm a bite to try out your love-spell-casting energy?”

“Chloe, I would never. I don’t believe in spells.”

Should she genuflect? Cast a few Hail Marys and ask for forgiveness though Chloe was the one flirting with blasphemy? Run to confession early tomorrow morning?

“I’m just teasing, but you were both sharing some looks, and I thought I’d definitely interrupted something good.”

“I thought so too, but Storm friend-zoned me when we started working together, which was probably smart. I know it was smart.” And why was she unscrewing this jar of squirming worms now? “Never mind.”

“You like him?”

“We’re not in middle school, Chloe.”

“You do,” she breathed. “He’s amazing and so skilled. You should definitely jump on that.”

“That.” She laughed a little. “Kinda objectifying, Chloe. We’ll see.” She wasn’t going to get caught up in any man drama during Chloe and Rustin’s shower. “At least I know if he does have feelings for me, they’re real, not from that book that still spooks me out.”

“We all read those recipes,” Chloe said. “Did you do everything exactly, even the weird stuff?”

“There wasn’t anything too out there on the savory tarts except the Sweetheart’s Tryst, so I made sure I was alone when I made it. Didn’t want to take any chances, although I don’t really think the whole town would fall in love with me,” she admitted in a rush. “Even in my homecoming queen years, I wasn’t that popular.” She laughed a little at her vanity. “Still didn’t want to take a chance, just in case.”

“What’d you change?”

“I made and chilled the dough and rolled it out and cut it alone. And then I made the filling alone. No unbiased eye in sight.”

Chloe snagged the fairy from the windowsill.

“You think so?” Chloe cradled the green stone figurine with the intricately carved soaring wings that stared up at her blankly. “You baked a Southern Love Spells recipe in this kitchen overlooking the vast Cramer gardens you’ve been reclaiming where you found this vintage statue that kicked off the idea for the objet d’art and scavenger hunt?”

“The hunt was your idea,” Jessica said slowly as a trickle of dread pooled in her belly. “Why are you talking about the fairy?”

Chloe held it up. “Hard to be biased when you’re made of stone.”