Page 13 of A Touch of Spring Magic (Southern Love Spells #2)

A s Jessica mingled with guests and was heaped with praise about the party and the garden and peppered with questions about her nursery and when she’d be open, she had to admit that in any metric, Chloe and Rustin’s wedding shower was a huge success. She finally understood that phrase ‘my heart’s overflowing with love.’

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Sarah relaxing and chatting to a group of friends from high school. Meghan too was laughing with a couple of teachers from the high school and leading them on a tour around the garden, explaining all the work that had been done and the concept of the niche nursery and botanical garden.

It’s almost as if it’s her business.

Instead of feeling that familiar competitive and possessive burst that had powered her childhood, Jessica just felt relaxed. Sure, there were still holes in the plan to fill in, but much of the hardscape was finished. There were themed gathering places for people to rest or take in a vista, and over the next few years the garden would take hold; more plants would find a home. And even over the ethereal notes of the strings, and chattering voices and laughter, Jessica could hear the swish of the water calling her. She made her way across the flat stones of the pond to the Indonesian-style teahouse that sat in the middle of the pond.

A few fat koi swam lazily by, looking up at her, hoping for food.

She could also sell small packets of koi food for customers to feed the fish. Another idea from Storm, who’d convinced her that not only fixing the smelly, rotting and a little bit scary pond was worth it, but that by expanding it, the pond could be a focal point of the garden, with a stream tumbling over rocks and traveling through the rest of the garden as if it was the guide to all visitors.

For the first time she sat in the teahouse. It was rustic in the extreme and Rustin and Storm had pieced it together—no nails necessary only notches and numbers carved into the wood—at dawn this morning. She’d heard them talking while she’d still been in bed, trying to convince herself to jump up and get the day going, but the smooth, masculine voices had created a lulling harmony, and for the first time in a long time Jessica admitted that she not only wanted it all—business she created and ran, home, husband and family and room to think and grow—but she needed it.

She’d been feeling more vibes that Storm was interested but holding back, but now after Chloe’s devastating point about the fairy that she should have totally noticed on her own, Jessica couldn’t trust his feelings.

If he had any feelings.

So she sat in the teahouse and stared at the view west—Storm called it a vista, which was a marketing word if she ever heard one—knowing she should head back to the party. Check the grazing board—did it need filling? Mingle with guests and soak up more of Chloe’s bubbling happiness and Rustin’s quiet, watchful contentment as he rarely left her side. Almost as if she anchored him as well as let him soar.

And he adored her. Didn’t want to change her.

I want that. I need that.

“What do you think?”

Jessica had been practically in another land.

“The teahouse? I love it. I wish we’d had time to finish planting the tea plants, but wow we’ve got a lot done.”

He stood on the small patio at the end of the stone path across the pond as if waiting for an invitation. She stood in the doorway of the small, contemplative interior that was at most eight by eight and looked over a hundred years old, but perhaps it had just been rustified. She’d purchased it online from an import company on a whim one night after a fierce debate over dinner with Storm about the pond and the area where she wanted to plant a hearty variety of teas. She was convinced they would thrive out of the greenhouse as there were several small plantations in North Carolina, but more centrally positioned, not as far south.

Still, Jessica had been researching and experimenting for a couple of years now, and she just loved the idea of cultivating a small collection of teas and making blends and selling the plants and a tea blend or two at her nursery.

She stepped back and reached out a hand in invitation. She hadn’t yet purchased a table of chairs for the teahouse yet—one more thing on her list—but Storm had asked if she wanted a bench eventually. For now they’d need to stand.

Storm quickly made his way to her.

“I’m waiting.” He struck a dramatic pose against the doorway and barrel-rolled one hand as if inviting her to open a scroll and sing his praises.

“Hmmmmmm.” She looked up at him noncommittally, but had trouble holding a straight face when she wanted to jump in his arms.

“Do you want a list of where you were right or wrong first?”

“Pretty sure there aren’t many ‘Storm, you were wrongs’ on that list so you may need to delve deep.” He smiled at her. “I’ll give you time to think so let’s hear it with the praise. Storm Stevens, landscaper to the rich and famous.”

“Not rich anymore,” she declared though she’d offset some of her intensive spending by picking up some tax and bookkeeping clients. It wasn’t a lot, but she quickly realized she could be inundated with numbers work, and while that was a relief, she’d also learned in the past couple of months that working outside with the plants, planning, seeing her vision come alive and nurturing nature was where she belonged.

Once the frame of the garden was finished, and it was nearly there, she could make time in her schedule to pick up more clients and keep her CPA certs she’d worked so hard for current so she could help her cash flow as she built her business, and also in the slow times. Timing was perfect, she realized, because her busiest time at tax season would be a slower time in the nursery.

“You worried?”

“No, I mean I should be maybe as I am a bit of a control and planner freak.”

“Really?”

She lightly headbutted him and imagined that she felt his fingers skim her hair—or was that just wishful thinking?

“But doing such a deep dive preparing for the party really forced me to make choices and hone my vision, which was more wobbly than I’d realized. I didn’t think I was such a dreamer. Who knew? Chloe was always the creative dreamer of us.”

“She is that—brilliant ideas spill out of her mouth like gumballs in one of those big antiquey machines.”

“Don’t think I forgot you tried to get me to buy one for the shop.” She mock shuddered. “That’s all I need: gum on garden paths or small children choking.”

“Rather a dark vision. Speaking of which…” He paused. “I’ve seen Miss Millie holding court flanked by Chloe and Rustin and Meghan or Sarah, but I haven’t seen your parents.”

Jessica crashed back down to earth with a thump. “I know. It’s mortifying because a lot of people have noticed and asked.”

“Sorry.” Storm did look apologetic. “It’s just a big day, and you and Sarah and Meghan always called Chloe a sister, but she treats Grandma Millie more like a mom yet has always called her Grandma Millie. I used to see her a lot as my dad wasn’t much of a cook, so we’d go to Millie’s for a late lunch or early dinner when I was growing up, and Chloe would often be in there up at the counter by the kitchen reading, or doing homework or acting as hostess, server and busser depending on what was needed.”

“I never really understood my mom’s attitude,” Jessica confessed—she’d never discussed this with any of her friends growing up—why give them the ammunition? “She pretended like Chloe was a ghost or didn’t exist. I couldn’t imagine how painful that was, but she wouldn’t discuss or explain, sort of like her own Queen of Belmont. But Chloe never seemed to mind. I think she got the message super young and just never tried. It bothers us more than her.”

“Maybe.” Storm didn’t sound certain. “But today is a day for celebration.”

Jessica felt she could stare in the warmth of his gaze forever, but she was afraid of what would happen next. She could no longer trust that if he did want to try for a relationship with her, it was real. Or was it the book? And she felt ashamed that she couldn’t let go of something as untethered to fact as a superstition.

Or was it more commonplace and familiar? Fear. Not being good enough.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Storm spoke softly after a long silence that was in no way uncomfortable. “Not here,” he said. “This is a time of celebration, but soon. When you’re up for it.”

“We can talk now,” she said, keeping her voice neutral even as panic clawed at her throat. He was going to ask her out. Confess his feelings. If only he hadn’t eaten that dang tart.

“We’ve been working together over two months now,” he began. “You didn’t want to cloud our relationship with anything personal. I’m wondering…do you still feel the same?”

“No,” she whispered stung so sharply she was surprised she didn’t have welts. “No. No. No, and that’s the problem.”

“Huh?”

“You ruined everything. Destroyed our chance.”

He stared at her uncomprehendingly. “Jessica.”

“Don’t you see?” She grabbed the front of his maroon button-up shirt. “It’s not me. It’s not me you love. It’s the book. You ate the tart, and it’s ruined everything.”

“Jessica, babe, that’s a bit of a…stretch,” he ventured.

“Oh you think so. You could barely look me in the eye the first day you came here because of history and life and…and so many reasons. I was careful. I wanted to protect myself and you. Don’t.” For emphasis she pressed her fingers against his mouth when he tried to speak. “You may think that you care for me, but you don’t. It’s the book. It’s the tart.”

“What?” She could barely understand him as he mumbled through her hand.

“Jessica.” He caught her hand and gently kissed her fingers but kept his hold steady. “The book didn’t change my feelings. That’s not possible.”

“Don’t say anything. You’re under a spell. I thought I was careful, but that fairy—totally clueless move on my part. Your feelings aren’t real, Storm. It’s the juju of the book or whatever. They’re not real, whereas mine…”

She gasped in a breath before she jumped off an emotional cliff.

“I have to go. The party.” She turned around to run but the heel of her sandal caught in the board of the teahouse and stuck.

Fabulous. She was channeling her inner Cinderella with thankfully no audience in sight. She kicked off her other shoe and ran over the large stones to the broken slate path that led to the brick one made from local bricks from one of her family’s old mills and then across the grass to the party.

*

“What happened to your shoes?” Meghan asked her when Jessica returned to the lawn with the pretty pergola that would one day have grape vines twining through it.

“Don’t ask,” Jessica groaned.

“Sounds like a better story than sore toes.” She gave Jessica a lawyer look that meant more questions were coming, but likely she’d be ambushed.

“It’s not although, ugh, so mortifying. How did I have more poise in high school?”

“You were the shit in high school. Now it’s real life.”

“Don’t swear.” Jessica looked around, but no one was paying any attention to them.

The string quartet had packed up and Rustin and Lucas were bringing out the speakers and karaoke—not surprising since quite a few of the guests were singers in choirs or musicians or in bands. It was amazing the diverse crew of friends Chloe and Rustin had amassed, and then there were the longtime family friends.

Grandma Millie sat in a wingback chair that Rustin had brought out from the living room.

That was weird. Usually Grandma Millie was the life of the party, talking to everyone and offering more food and drink and bringing people together to connect.

Jessica turned to check on her when Meghan caught her arm.

“I wanted to talk to you later.”

She sounded unusually tense.

“Join the queue.” Jessica blew out a breath. “Storm wanted to talk too but I shut him down before he could make a fool of me and of himself.”

“What? What’s wrong with you? He’s crazy about you. Always has been.”

“No, it’s the dumb book. I made the Sweetheart’s Tryst tart but I thought I left out one of those suspicious non-sequitur recipe directions—stir up the filling and bake under an unbiased eye or something like that, and I felt so smug that I was alone—not that any of you are unbiased—but then this morning Chloe pointed out that I still had the dang fairy sitting in the windowsill watching everything.”

“And Storm confessed his love?” Meghan stared slack-jawed.

“No, he was leading up to it, at least I think so. I shut him down. I didn’t want to embarrass him.”

“Why would his feelings embarrass him?”

“Ahhh?”

“How do you feel about him? I know you were all down on the idea of hiring him, but I thought you two made a fabulous team.”

Her tummy hurt. She didn’t want to think about him no longer arriving every morning and they’d plan out the day or check in with each other before tackling their list of projects. She’d loved cooking for two and often more. She’d enjoyed the joking around, the music. It was going to be awfully quiet up here until she had a steady stream of customers although, with just her, she couldn’t really handle a steady stream. She would need some help.

She remembered how Storm had pitched early on the way they could team up, combine their businesses somewhat, which she’d shut down hard in her queen of prickly defensiveness mode, but now she could see all sorts of possibilities.

Dang.

She stilled. Maybe that was what he was trying to do—set up an appointment to talk possible business collaborations. Mortification was a sunburst punch. He’d been thinking work—like she kept telling herself to do—and she’d accused him of being in love with her because of the book.

“Oh, no.” She pressed her palms over her face just as the karaoke machine kicked on and Chloe grabbed the mic and started thanking everyone for coming. She waved a sign-up sheet, and then said since it was her party she was going first.

“Let the games begin,” Chloe called out.

“I am an idiot,” Jessica announced to no one.

*

By the time Chloe did a karaoke mash-up of Taylor Swift’s ‘Invisible String’ and ‘Lover,’ most of the guests had gathered around like it was a Chloe concert.

There were shouts for more, and even through her regret, confusion and embarrassment, Jessica couldn’t help but to be proud of her sister. Chloe had a beautiful voice, and she just lit up whenever she was singing, and every once in a while Jessica wondered why Chloe hadn’t pursued, if not opera, then writing some of her own music and singing locally at the very least, but no, she hadn’t wanted to leave Belmont or Grandma Millie or her sisters.

Even when we left her.

“Anyone else?” Chloe waved the mic around, but it was challenging to her over the sounds of cheering and the chants of ‘Chloe.’

She sparkled, and her luminous dark eyes lit on Rustin, who smiled a secret smile at her, and she mouthed ‘I love you.’

One more thing she’d blown again and again.

How was her sister so fearless in the face of the early rejection and teasing and dismissal she’d faced for years? She wasn’t that strong, but she could be.

“Hey, Chloe, how about a duet?” Jessica shouted and jumped up on the steps of the gazebo Storm had built, sanded, stained with so much attention to detail, before she could lose her nerve.

“Yes.” Chloe happy hopped. “My sister, Jessica Maye, often inflicted with duets when we were kids, and now she’s the owner of the Cramer-Maye Nursery and Botanical Gardens, and don’t think y’all are getting out of here without your gift of a plant and a ten percent off discount gift card good for the rest of May. Maye—get it?” Chloe laughed.

“No pressure.” Jessica looked out over the crowd. “There were a lot of potential customers out there,” she said softly, both amazed and daunted by Chloe’s marketing idea. She tried not to scan the crowd for Storm.

“I can help in the summers and holidays,” Chloe said, her voice a little hesitant, and her look wistful. “We could see more of each other and…”

Who knew what Chloe would say next because Jessica crushed her sister to her and furiously blinked back tears. Chloe yipped a little but hugged her back just as hard.

“Okay, let’s sing before my mascara runs,” Jessica said.

“Okay. What do you want to sing?”

“‘Starting Over’ by Chris Stapleton.”

“Yes.” Chloe pumped her fist and Rustin plugged in the code.

Jessica didn’t sing nearly as well as her sister in her opinion, but she did have a bit of a gift for harmonizing, and Chloe could do all the runs and trills, and somehow Jessica had always been intuitively able to follow. And as they sang, Jessica spied Storm near Rustin. He was talking rather intently, but his eyes were on hers the whole time.

Could he?

Would he?

Was it real?

Wasn’t attraction magical and it did or didn’t turn into love? And then love could deepen to a soul love or fizzle out if left unattended. What to do? What to do?

Sing. So she sang the song that felt like a vowel and let herself put all of her thwarted feelings and concerns and doubt and hope into her voice.

Fierce clapping had Jessica feel a little like a country singer for a moment.

“Hey, Jay and Chloe, you gonna let anyone else get up there?” Storm used the microphone that Rustin’s brother, Lucas, had been holding to announce the next singers on the list.

“Yes.” Chloe grabbed Jessica’s arm and tugged her off the stage, handing off her microphone.

“Sing like you mean it,” she told Storm.

And then Jessica stood close to the gazebo instead of fading into the crowd.

A bluesy strum of chords had her catching her breath as the notes held a hint of the familiar and yet were elusive, and then Storm started to sing in a surprising dusty, raspy voice reminiscent a bit of Zach Bryan. Who knew? She stared at him in awe as he sang Austin Giorgio’s ‘You Put a Spell on Me’ that was the sexiest song she’d ever heard.

She was melting, and it had nothing to do with the first hint of spring humidity.

He finished to cat calls and shouts for more, but he held out his hand to Jessica.

“I’m inviting Jessica Maye to the stage for a duet of my favorite love song.”

Her heart shimmied in her chest, but she barely had time to be nervous as his large, warm, strong hands gripped hers and led her into the gazebo.

“What song?” she whispered.

“Any song can be a love song when sung to or with the right person,” Storm said, still holding one of her hands while Chloe folded her fingers around the second mic and gave her a goofy, unsubtle thumbs-up.

‘Cover Me Up’ by Jason Isbell.

Beautiful song, but Jessica’s emotions were soaring all over the place too much for her to comment.

“Together or alternate verses?” he asked.

“Together,” she choked out.

“Good answer.”

And then they sang, and Jessica felt the tears slip down her cheeks—just a few of them, but instead of pretending, she just allowed her feelings to fly free.

And at the end of the song, Storm saluted Lucas, Rustin’s younger brother, who loved to DJ parties and apparently play karaoke host.

“Bring on the next pop or country star,” Lucas shouted, and Jessica watched a few teachers and students egging each other on.

*

She wasn’t sure where he would lead her, but the small olive grove with the raised planters with lavender and sage mixed in with the hedges that they’d planted side by side felt like a perfect choice.

“I probably only have a couple of minutes before we’re interrupted,” Storm said. “We’ve created such an ideal oasis of beautiful nature and peace that I feel a bit irritated that so many people are now sharing what I had been considering private.”

Jessica laughed a little. “Guilty, but I wanted that. I lived in Charlotte’s south end for several years, and while it was energizing and exciting, I often felt alienated. Trapped in concrete and glass and brick even though as far as cities go, Charlotte is beautiful, but so much noise and traffic, and I wanted something different. I feel like I’m finally home now. Why does that make you sad?” She brushed her fingers against his.

“Not sad. Just put in my place.”

“What place is that?” she demanded.

“The farm is your family farm. For generations. I was only a part of it for a short while, and while I took this job hoping for a showpiece for my résumé as well as experience with diverse garden-scapes, I fell much harder for you than I’d anticipated. I overestimated my strength to resist.”

“But you told me…”

“I lied. It’s always been you for me, Jay. Always.”

“No. It was the book. The tart. The fairy. She was the unbiased eye,” she confessed, sounding like she was babbling.

“Maybe there’s magic from the book, Jay. I don’t know. Way above my life paygrade, but for me…” He tapped his heart. “You’ve been in here since high school. Before high school, but I knew Rustin…”

“No, don’t say it.” She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his. “Rustin was…I don’t know. And he’s Chloe’s now. Heart and soul, and I’m all grown up. Rustin was exciting and dangerous, and you were so overwhelming in your acceptance that I didn’t know what to do. I was so overwhelmed and afraid of my feelings, or losing control, of losing me or what I thought was me, but I don’t want to be in control all the time, Storm. I don’t want to be alone.”

She breathed him in and despite her pounding heart and heated blood, a peace stole over her, almost as if some mystical incense and mantra were playing in the background of an invisible, cosmic yoga class, although since they were in her garden’s homage to Tuscany, perhaps it should be a prayer in Latin.

“I want to start again. Give us the shot I was too afraid to take.”

“I want more than one shot, Jay. I want all of you. I want to be an us. I want to help you with your business, and have you help me build mine. Collaborators in life and love. Say yes.”

She looked up at him, his eyes dark pools of mystery until the twinkle lights he had put on a timer blinked on in perfect timing.

“Yes,” she said. “Always yes.”

And she breathed him in again, ran a finger along his lips, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him—the first of many thousands. “Yes to you and yes to me and yes to us.”

The End

If you enjoyed A Touch of Spring Magic, don’t miss A Whisper of Summer Magic. Next in Sinclair’s Southern Love Spells series.

Falling out of a tree and landing at the feet of a sexy neighbor is not the meet-cute of corporate attorney Meghan Maye’s dreams. He’s too handsome, too flirty, too fun and too young. She could ignore those flaws, if she were looking for a man, but she’s not. Meghan’s contemplating a career switch that sounds crazy even to her and will upset her ambitious parents. Plus, there’s bad blood between their families. Then he brings up the mysterious, heirloom cookbook—Southern Love Spells—and issues a challenge. And Meghan, even bruised and embarrassed, can’t let that go unanswered.

Firefighter Jackson Roberts wasn’t looking for trouble when he wandered onto a recently deceased neighbor’s property. He knows he’s not supposed to be there, but he’s housesitting for his folks, and he’s looking for answers to questions his family’s afraid to ask. As a first responder, he can hardly call 911 and walk away, but taking care of Meghan until she’s back on her feet will open a Pandora’s box. But Jackson rarely plays it safe, and he’s convinced Meghan’s worth the risk.