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

T he sandbag of shock that had numbed her for the first twenty minutes of her drive home now pooled dread in her tummy as she got closer to home. Driving back up Maymont Drive would make it too real. She’d been inexplicably fired. And while her sisters would rally around her, she knew Meghan would want her to fight. But Jessica didn’t feel up for that. She didn’t feel up for anything, except for maybe the comfort of a warm chai latte. Perhaps that would settle her tummy and be familiar enough that she wouldn’t feel like a refugee in her own life.

Her mind raced and—with no outlet—she fidgeted. Tried the radio. NPR. Politics. She pushed the off button. Tried her playlist. Sia’s ‘Unstoppable’ was first up, mocking her.

“I’ve definitely been stopped,” she complained. She’d been vaguely planning her exit strategy. Dreaming of a new career, being her own boss and working outside, creating beauty, but not being kicked out and thrown away before her plans were firmly in place.

She’d planned on many more fat paychecks and bonuses before she rebooted her career. And a solid business plan that her father would respect.

Jessica sucked in a deep breath. She wanted this. Not today. But no sense in panicking because her timeline had been moved up.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she whispered as she took the exit off the highway. “The time is a gift,” she coached. It wasn’t as if she’d starve. Or be thrown out on the street.

When Jessica drove down Belmont’s main street, she looked for parking. She’d grab a chai latte and savor the day off, but then she spotted the upper balcony of Grandma Millie’s historic downtown house through the park.

Grandma Millie was always out and about. How would she explain her presence on a Monday? Besides, her two favorite tea and coffee shops that she’d haunted in high school with her tribe—Caravan and Mug Shots—had closed a few years ago.

Still, she wasn’t ready to go home. She’d hide. And that would only make going forward harder. This was her new life. She had to start as she meant to continue. She’d learned that from Grandma Millie and her mom and dad.

Jessica parked and did her best to saunter confidently to the Everyday Market, mentally practicing excuses for why she wasn’t at work if she ran into anyone she knew, which was highly likely. She tripped over an uneven brick. What was she doing? She should go home. Hiding was good. She’d hide and make a plan. Talk to her sisters tonight and… She took a few more steps, stumbled again and gripped the brass handle of the Everyday Market door.

Now that she looked like an uncoordinated idiot, she might as well get the chai before going home and pulling herself together. She tugged. Nothing.

“C’mon.” Something had to go right today. She tugged harder, really putting some muscle in.

“Giving up accounting and considering a career in B and E, Jessica? You’ll need some tools,” a dark and horribly familiar voice drawled, “and slicker stealth.”

Jessica stiffened. Tried to arrange her face, only she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to look like facing her sister Chloe’s significant other, when she still had so many conflicting feelings about the new relationship—worry, distrust, regret and humiliation warring with the happiness she should feel for her sister and her new romance. And her firing today was the cherry on top.

And then his words hit her—‘giving up accounting.’ No one in her family knew, and she wasn’t about to announce anything to Rustin Wildish of all people. She felt her face heat—the curse of her creamy complexion and red hair.

“The door’s stuck.” She tried to channel some of her homecoming queen swagger and felt she missed by a mile.

“It’s Monday,” Rustin stated like it was important. He stood with another man in Carhartt work pants, a navy henley—unbuttoned at his throat—and a flannel shirt tied around his waist.

The spit in her mouth dried, and Jessica was hyper-focused on how she’d thrown up less than an hour ago and other than rinsing out her mouth and popping a mint, she’d not yet brushed her teeth or fixed her makeup. But here was Brent Stevens, known as Storm in high school due to his fierce and fast athletic prowess and the way he threw himself into everything, including student government, the yearbook and National Honor Society, challenging Jessica’s plans for leadership. He looked as thrilled to see her as she was to see him. Dear, sweet baby Jesus, Brent hadn’t moved back to Belmont, had he? She would have heard, right? That was all she needed: twin reminders of the two men she’d treated dirty in high school.

Shame coated her throat. She’d been such a coward.

The disadvantages of moving home.

“Brent,” she said, hoping her smile looked genuine when she really wished she was home and under the covers so she could start this whole day over tomorrow. “I didn’t know you were visiting.”

“Shocking,” Rustin deadpanned. “The Belmont Banner ran an article.”

Was she supposed to laugh? Neither Rustin’s nor Brent’s expressions gave her a clue.

“Well…” She struggled for the proper thing to say when she was considered the gregarious and socially smooth Maye daughter. “I don’t want to hold you up. Great catching up. Enjoy your visit.”

Please let it be a visit. Please.

“I’m just going to grab a chai before heading to work.”

Lie, but not really a lie if she walked around the garden and tried to cobble together a place to start now that the greenhouses were fixed and upgraded. Did that count as a lie? Should she add it to her confession list this week?

She turned back to the door, only to realize it was locked and dark inside. A beautifully stenciled sign listed the café’s hours, including that it was closed on Monday.

Jessica squeezed her eyes shut and barely resisted banging her head against the glass.

It was barely past eight, and she so needed a redo. Rustin’s drawled ‘it’s Monday’ now made sense. The two men’s scrutiny felt like a pinch.

Get it together. Get it together. Get it together. You are Jessica Maye.

As if that meant something. She was acting off. She could feel it but felt helpless to pull herself out of her swan dive.

“If you’re that desperate for a hit, Jessica, I can give you a fix,” Rustin said like he was the neighborhood drug dealer one of his uncles had been. “Got an espresso machine at the Wild Side. Storm and I were just heading over to repair some of the deck railing that got banged up in the storm two nights ago.”

Rustin offering to make her a latte? From anyone else it would have sounded like a genuine offer—to help his girlfriend’s sister—but to Jessica it sounded like a dare.

“She mentioned chai. That sounds more like Starbucks drive-through to me,” Storm said.

Her shoulders jerked back like she was about to make a presentation. “I support local businesses,” she said, defending her coffee choices.

“Clearly.” Storm smiled. “That’s why you’re breaking down the door on the one day the last remaining coffee shop downtown is closed.”

Though it had been twelve years, apparently Storm wasn’t in a forgiving mood. Since she couldn’t catch a break, she decided retreat was the best decision.

“Thank you kindly, Rustin.” She smiled the words and employed the manners that would have made Grandma Millie compliment her and offer her a cookie after church when she’d been a child. “I’m sure your lattes at the Wild Side are truly delicious, but I think I’m already risking running late…”

She spoke the lie and crossed her fingers in the pocket of her blazer and recited an internal apology.

“So I’ll bid you both a good day.”

She turned around and did her best to not run to her car. She waved her fingers above her head and cringed. Sheesh, she’d done that in high school. If that was what was going to happen if she kept running into awkward moments stemming from high school, her dream of a local nursery would be over before it started. She needed to get a grip and find her poise.

Starting today.

“Jessica.” Rustin’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “Chloe said you have the Southern Love Spells book. I need it again.”

A thump flooped her heart from her throat to what felt like her abdomen. Not the book. But did that mean Chloe had brought it over and just hadn’t told her?

“What do you want with that old thing, Rustin? Since Wild Side opened in December you’ve been praised and your restaurant’s been written up for your innovative fusion dishes.”

“Chloe wants to do some research for one of her classes, but also she’s looking over the early Millie’s Diner menu she found at Miss Millie’s,” he said, cooly, clearly not impressed by her praise. “And Rebekah thinks the book has some social media promotional potential. Chloe also had an art idea for the restaurant and a gift for Miss Millie.”

“We don’t know it’s Miss Millie’s,” she said tightly, picturing the reusable shopping bag and book she’d dropped off at the thrift shop. “She never claimed it, and Clo asked.”

A hint of a smile graced Rustin’s hard but sensuous mouth that had driven her crazy in high school, but now mortified her.

“Miss Millie is a sly one. When can I swing by and pick it up?”

“What?”

“You have it, right?”

She crossed her fingers behind her back this time and the others in her pocket, the whole time aware of Storm’s pointed scrutiny. Really, she felt like his hard gaze was burning off a layer of skin, leaving her feel itchy and exposed. “Yes, I believe so,” she said faintly, dread filling her.

“Great. I can swing by later today and pick it up. Restaurant’s closed tonight. What time you home from work?”

Her gaze strayed to Storm.

No, Brent. If she thought of him as Brent, she’d forget their brief history.

Then Rustin’s question permeated. Work. Work she no longer had. And no way did she want Rustin coming up to the farm.

“Ahhhh, it’s a late night. Getting close to tax season.”

That wasn’t a lie, and if she worked hard researching for her business until late tonight, technically that too wouldn’t be a lie.

“No worries. I’m seeing Chloe tonight. Sister time.” If she smiled any brighter she’d break something.

“I thought you said you were working late.”

Dang it.

“Latish. I’ll give the book to Chloe tonight. I’m hosting a sister dinner. Sisters only.” She injected enthusiasm into her voice instead of the budding panic.

“Got it,” Rustin said and turned away, walking fast and fluidly toward the new riverfront walk toward his restaurant. Storm kept pace, and for a moment she let herself admire the masculine slight swagger that hinted at confidence, sex and less than zero F’s to give.

She released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She’d forgotten Rustin and Storm had been friends before Rustin had left high school early to start at a culinary institute. She shut down the memories of Rustin leaving and her and Storm…no Brent’s high school rivalry. She had a book to retrieve before anything else could go wrong this morning.

*

Apparently, more trouble was in store because when she drove to the thrift store, which wouldn’t open for another couple of hours, the bag was no longer propped against the front door.

“Oh no.”

She ran up the stairs to the entrance. Why would anyone take it? No other donations had been dropped off. Maybe a volunteer had come in early. She peered through the window, coming face-to-face with Trina Reese. They both yipped in surprise.

“Jessica Maye, I thought that was you.” Trina opened the door and cocked a hip. “What are you doing here? I thought you worked in downtown Charlotte. Had your own loft condo. Miss Millie is ever so proud of you. I’m covering for her this morning, but you know that she volunteers Monday mornings to help sort the weekend donations.”

Jessica had forgotten, but relief swooped through her.

“Trina, so good to see you.” She smiled. “I am headed to work.”

How many lies would this morning hold? But perhaps it didn’t fully count. She could fudge as long as she didn’t succumb to her urge to curl up and lick her wounds when she finally got home, but would instead seriously start to plan out the garden restoration, and where she would put the actual nursery.

“I realized that I dropped off something for a donation on the way into work, but I made a mistake. My sister Chloe wants to keep the book I accidently dropped off. It’s a cookbook. I left it by the front door a little after six this morning.”

“Goodness, you city girls are up and about early. You could have called, instead of driving all the way back home. What must your boss think?”

Jessica never wanted to think of her boss or his thoughts ever again.

“It’s a special book to Chloe, and I misunderstood,” Jessica said, wanting to kick herself for being so spooked by the book that she’d impulsively created this drama. “I believe she’s going to use it for a project with her students or perhaps…”

She stopped. What was she doing? TMI to the extreme. Trina lived for any snippet of gossip, and Jessica didn’t need to feed her a meal. Then Chloe would know that Jessica had tried to get rid of the book. “I hope I’m not too late.”

“No idea. No book’s been dropped off in the back donation box.”

“Oh, sorry. I put it by the front door. I didn’t realize there was a donation box in the back.”

Trina’s spa-aided arched eyebrows rose with artful skepticism.

“It was dark. I was in a hurry,” Jessica admitted. “And I did forget the donation box in the back,” she defended. “The front was quicker.”

Because she was a superstitious scaredy cat.

“There was no book in the front either,” Trina said.

“But I left it here. Perhaps if I just checked,” Jessica said, unable to believe the book could just vaporize. Belmont was a small, safe town. The thought of someone else out and about and stealing a donation was unthinkable, and she didn’t want to try to think about Chloe’s response if she had to confess she’d ditched the book.

“It’s for Chloe,” Jessica reminded her, wondering if she’d somehow irritated Trina back in the day as well. It seemed like the book was not the only thing trying to haunt her.

Don’t be paranoid. And the book is not out to get you.

She was the problem this go-round. “Look, Trina, I’m sorry.” For what she didn’t know, but apologies never hurt. “I made a mistake. Of course I’ll buy it back.”

“I’d expect nothing less of you, Jessica Maye,” Trina said, and Jessica curled her toes in her Sam Edelman Bianka slingback black pumps. “But there was no book in the front of the store or in the back donation bin.”

“It was a book of old recipes. It looked like a journal. There was a title that was embossed and painted or maybe dyed that said…”

“Jessica Maye, I do not like what you are insinuating. I have a lot of work to do today to help Miss Millie. I do not have the book, and I do not have the time you seem so eager to waste, so if you’ll excuse me.”

“I’m not insinuating anything,” Jessica said miserably, catching the door handle that Trina attempted to close. “I need the book. I don’t want to disappoint Chloe.”

“Then you shouldn’t have donated it.”

Jessica clung to her patience. “I apologize for taking your time, Trina—I do. Perhaps if you just let me look through any of the donations from the back I could…”

But Trina narrowed her eyes, and Jessica knew this bird wasn’t going to fly.

“I could help you organize everything that was donated this weekend,” she suggested recklessly.

“Don’t you have your city job?”

The resentment oozed like molasses. But why? Trina had had her opportunities. She’d attended UNC Chapel Hill and had chosen to come back to Belmont after college. Married her high school sweetheart and popped out three kids before she hit thirty. Trina was often lauded by Jessica’s mother as living a righteous life of purpose.

“Trina, please, I really need the book back.”

“I’ll let you know if it comes in or I hear anything.”

Inspiration struck. “Do you know who dropped anything off today before hours? Maybe they saw the book and took it as a lark.”

“No idea. People drop off all sorts of things overnight—usually items they know we don’t want to take. We are not the city landfill.”

As the donations helped the hospital and Trina’s father-in-law was the medical director and her husband an orthopedic surgeon, it made sense that she volunteered here, but perhaps she didn’t really want to. Perhaps like Jessica, she was starting to feel stymied by the choices she’d made before she realized they were truly choices with long-term ramifications.

“Do you have cameras?”

“Do you think you’ve been cast as an amateur sleuth in a streaming mystery show?” Trina rolled her eyes. “These are donations, and we often donate things we don’t think we can sell, so if someone helps themselves, it’s less work for our very shoestring staff of volunteers.”

Point taken.

“Thank you for your time. I’ll let you get back to it,” Jessica said stiffly before she signed herself up for a guilt-induced recurrent volunteer shift because now, she technically had the time.

Don’t think about it.

But as she drove home, she vowed she’d find the book for Chloe.

*

Jessica changed clothes immediately when she arrived home. She plowed all of her shock, hurt and humiliation into weeding the northwest part of the garden closest to the barn. Digging through the planters and beds choked with years of weeds, debris and many things Jessica didn’t want to ponder too closely strained her muscles, but at the same time helped her to relax. It was thrilling to imagine future possibilities. Color. Texture. Fragrant beauty. Creating life out of chaotic, neglected death. She was encouraged to see bulbs and a few other tendrils crawling out of the choked tangle.

Jessica wheeled load after load to her growing compost pile, charmed when a black-and-white ‘tuxedo’ cat Chloe had named Zin jumped up on the load as she trudged back and forth from the section of garden to the compost pile. She hadn’t been too fond of Chloe’s impromptu cat sanctuary initially, but she’d never say no to one of Chloe’s bursts of love and kindness, and now that she was living up here, it was nice to have a little company, even though most of the cats kept their distance.

Jessica stretched, bending forward to place her palms on the hard dirt. Zin wove in and out between her arms, his tail tickling her nose before he ran off.

Jessica pulled her phone from her back pocket and took a few pictures, hoping to perhaps use Canva or another online platform to begin to create a plan. She’d need to show something to Grandma Millie and her sisters. And she’d have to tell them that she’d lost her job.

The breeze kicked up, and Jessica noticed the shadows had grown and the air had cooled. What the heck time was it?

She’d taken her watch and earrings off, of course, when she’d come home, but she stared at her phone, shocked that she’d been working all day—skipping lunch and her usual three p.m. pick-me-up snack. She’d need to get cleaned up, rehearse her story for her sisters in the shower. They’d be arriving sometime after five, and she should probably plan out something for them all to eat. And they’d definitely need wine even though it was a Monday.

“All new adventures deserve a toast with bubbles,” Jessica stated, wondering if she should invite Grandma Millie, but she wanted to share what had happened with her sisters first, brainstorm ideas before she approached Grandma Millie to make sure she’d approve the plan and hopefully not deed the property to her son before Jessica could get her nursery up and running and have enough money to purchase at least a handful of acres.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Chloe sang out, and Jessica whirled around to see her youngest sister—technically cousin—though Jessica had always ignored her mother’s firm distinction and her father’s pointed silent indifference hurrying toward her.

“And I came prepared.” Chloe lofted up a champagne bottle over her head, and Jessica could see the condensation trickling down.

“I haven’t made any announcement yet,” Jessica was amused by Chloe’s exuberance. It was always hard to stay worried or sad with Chloe around—probably why Rustin adored her. That man had had his share of troubles over the years.

Chloe had always been a little different—fey, Grandma Millie called her, and sometimes scarily intuitive even though her head was in the clouds half the time, and she was humming a melody the other half. A rush of fierce, almost maternal love ran over Jessica.

Chloe paused, and then broke into a fast jog. “I have news. I do, but I knew something was up with you too. Just knew it. What’s your announcement?”

“What’s your news?” Jessica asked, puzzled, not an unusual state around Chloe.

A happy grin split Chloe’s face. “We’ll both wait for Sarah and Meghan. I hope Sarah doesn’t have the late shift at the clinic. Oh, and Rustin made us some appetizers and the most fragrant tajine…or is that the cooking pot? Maybe both. Context is everything. He thought you looked stressed and tired this morning, and since he’s been experimenting with some African fusion recipes, he sent one along. I wanted to stop so many times and bury my face in the pot and just inhale and maybe take a little taste, but I behaved. Are you stressed?”

Jessica was accustomed to Chloe’s verbal streams, but one theme stuck out.

“Great,” she said. “Rustin said I looked like crap?”

She wondered if Storm, no Brent, had had anything to add to that unflattering appraisal.

“Rustin would never say that—never ever. You’re always beautiful.”

“Rustin might not say it to you ,” Jessica clarified. “But I’m sure he’d say it.”

Chloe stepped closer. Her blue-purple eyes searched Jessica’s face, and she felt utterly exposed, all her failures on view. “You do look different. You’re not sick are you, Jessie?” Chloe hurtled herself against Jessica and hugged her hard.

“I’m fine. Breathing would be nice, monkey.”

“Sorry.” Chloe danced a couple steps back. “I just got scared for a minute.”

“Hey, is the party out here?” Meghan asked walking down the broken brick path. “It’s a bit chilly for a picnic, and something smells amazing in the kitchen. Have you been using the spooky book again? Is that why we’re here? We’re going to cast a spell on someone? I heard Storm Stevens is back in Belmont, hotter than Hades, and how did I miss that he’s been here since October starting a business? You calling dibs on that prime cut of beef, Jessica?”

Chloe laughed and clapped her hands. “Jessie, Jessie, Jessie. Prom queen and king. Storm’s perfect. Oh, let’s pick a recipe.”

“What?” Jessica squeaked. “I thought he was visiting his grandparents.”

Thank goodness she’d lost the book so no recipe could be chosen as an experiment.

“I have news,” Chloe said. “And so does Jessie.” Chloe hoisted the champagne above her head like she’d won something.

“What is it? I’m feeling thirsty,” Meghan said.

“We have to wait for Sarah,” Jessica said firmly, realizing she needed to pull out her inner hostess like now. “And why are you both here so early?”

“It’s not early.” Meghan looked at her Apple smartwatch. “You commanded a sister meeting. I packed up and headed here because you never do that, and it’s nearly tax season so I figured it was momentous. Storm?”

“I didn’t command.”

“Totally queened it on all of us,” Chloe said. “It’s past six. I headed over after choir practice—so starved smelling the tajine the whole way.”

“Isn’t that the clay cooking pot? Moroccan, right? You made us food?”

“Rustin did, and I think tajine is both. When Rustin and Rebekah start talking food and recipes I can barely hear over my tummy growling.”

“So hard for you,” Meghan teased. “And still as skinny as ever. When I take clients out for lunch or dinner, I always have to count the calories like it’s a final exam.”

“Stop it,” Jessica said. “You run like a gazelle and are perfect.”

“Sturdy. Solid.”

“If Mom said that to you again, she needs more lip filler so she can’t talk for a while,” Jessica snapped then slapped her hand over her mouth.

Chloe and Meghan stared at her.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Meghan’s hazel eyes sparkled. “I love the feisty, but what are y’all doing out here, and why do you look like you’ve been rolling around in the dirt all day?”

“Because I have been. Time got away from me. Let me take a quick shower. Sarah should be arriving soon, and we can have some bubbles and appetizers and share our news,” Jessica said firmly.

Chloe ran out to the barn to check on the cats while Meghan followed Jessica back to the house, but she was feeling too wobbly to say anything, afraid she’d burst into tears until she got her armor on. Jessica dragged herself up the stairs to shower. Every muscle ached. This would be how she’d feel until she grew accustomed to the long hours and very manual labor.

“At least I won’t have to count calories along with Meghan,” she murmured, wondering what her mom and dad were going to say when she found the courage to tell them she was switching up her life. And what if Grandma Millie didn’t like the idea and rescinded her offer to stay at the house and do what she wanted with the garden?

“Tomorrow problems,” she told her reflection.

Tonight was about sister support. She was going to need it as she headed in this new direction. She stripped and stepped under the lavish gush of hot water, hoping it would wash her clean and bolster her defenses.