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K ate paused across the street from the tea shop.

Was it open? The bakery next door was. It had a little crowd gathering just inside its jolly, pink-striped facade.

Fluorescent lighting illuminated the glass case of doughnuts and cakes and danishes.

Hmm, not what she was seeking this morning.

She turned her gaze back to the tea shop.

Its warm, gentle lighting was revealed as the owner scooped back the lace curtains, hooking them to frame an idyllic setting of tiny tables with curved back chairs.

Kate crossed the quiet street, the wind hustling her in the direction it intended her to go.

She increased her pace so as not to be bowled over by its encouragement.

She paused at the door to the tea shop. The sign swinging slightly on the other side of the glass read SHUT .

Oh dear, she was too early. Kate glanced over at the bakery. “Well, I suppose,” she murmured, when the door popped open.

“Oh,” said the owner, a short woman with a blonde ponytail who blinked up at her.

“Good morning.” She gave Kate a bright smile as she flipped the sign to OPEN .

“Welcome!” She stepped back and waited as Kate entered, then struggled a bit to close the door as the wind decided to rush in and swirled around them, rattling china and glassware.

“So,” the blonde said as she clapped her hands once. “What can I get for you today?”

“Can I?” Kate motioned with her head toward the tables.

“Oh, yes, please, anywhere you like. I have a selection of tea blends. I’ll bring out a pot for you. Did you have something special in mind?”

“Whatever you think is best,” said Kate, as she eyed the scones in the glass dome on the counter and the muffins on display arranged on a four-tiered tower.

A jar of cookies coated in sparkling sugar crystals made her mouth water.

She had a moment of baking envy. Why didn’t her own efforts look this delicious?

Hers were drab and crumbly in comparison. Maybe she needed to take lessons.

Kate took a seat while the owner busied herself, and took a moment to relax. The sky outside was bright now, streaks of pink and orange giving way to the blue of the day with gusting clouds overhead.

“I love this time of year.” A yellow-flowered teapot in a sage-green cozy appeared along with a matching china plate, displaying three scrumptious treats. “These are on the house today. I was hoping you would come by and check out my little shop.”

Kate blinked in surprise. “You know who I am?”

“Oh, everyone does. It’s a small town. We’re all so excited to see the inn come back to life. I’m Ivy, by the way.”

The woman held out her hand and Kate shook it. She glanced around. She was the only customer. Odd, since the place was usually packed anytime she came by.

“My morning rush arrives a bit later than Holly’s next door. I don’t usually open for another half hour. But I’m so glad I did. The wind woke me up this morning telling me to hurry up as I had somewhere to be. So I did.”

“You want to join me?” Kate motioned at the chair across from her.

Ivy grinned and slipped into it. Another teacup appeared to match the one in front of Kate, and Ivy poured the steaming amber liquid into both of them.

Kate took a deep whiff. It smelled marvelous.

She picked up the delicate cup with its pattern of tiny buttercups, blew on it, and took a careful sip of the hot liquid.

It swirled over her taste buds, and she couldn’t help but close her eyes in a brief moment of bliss.

“That is so amazing. Wow.”

“You like it?”

“How could I not?”

“Oh, some don’t. But since you do, I’m certain we’ll be friends.”

Odd choice of words. How could anyone not love this tea blend, with its hints of clove and blackberry and something indefinable? It was both down-to-earth and winsome. Astonishing, really.

“I wish I had something like this for the inn.”

Ivy tilted her head. “A tea blend for your inn? I could create one.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you know, one that would be named after it. I’d also sell it here, of course, but you could serve it. We could work on it together if you like, cross-promote.”

Kate glimpsed Ivy crossing her fingers at the edge of the table.

“That would be…I…thank you.”

“When can I come by to see the inn to get a sense of what to add into the blend?” Ivy had tilted her head, waiting.

Her motive was so apparent, Kate laughed. “Ah, you want a tour.”

Ivy grinned. “Caught me. We are all on pins and needles trying to guess what you’re doing in there. You’re quite the topic of conversation. Several bets are on as to what the inn will look like and when you’ll open.”

“It’ll be a while yet. So much to do. I thought I had an idea of the work involved when I bought the property, but the reality is much more labor intensive than I dreamed.”

“You’ll still call it the Hazard Inn though, won’t you?”

Kate frowned. “It doesn’t sound safe, though, does it? A little too close to hazardous,” which was also how Kate felt whenever she thought about her basement. She shivered.

“The tea will warm you up,” said Ivy.

“I thought I might name it after me, my last name, and call it the Mayfield Inn.”

“I like that. Mayfield, a May field, all in bloom. That blend sounds like springtime. Hmm, now I have an idea to work with. Do you have a color scheme for the inn?”

“A warm color palette, I think, with dark wood furniture, or, well…I’d like the furnishings to reflect the era of the inn.”

A lively discussion ensued over colors and furniture.

Ivy had great suggestions and promised to hook Kate up with the docent at the Hazard Historical Society, who had great leads on where to find historically accurate items. “You should also speak with the members of the historical society. They’ll have great stories to share with you about the inn. You may already know some of them.”

“I would love their input.”

Icy clapped her hands, “Excellent, they should be arriving in just about…”

There was a commotion at the door, its little bell tinkling wildly as a tall, stooped elderly man with a shock of floppy white hair entered along with a diminutive old woman in a jaunty straw hat adorned with a dark blue ribbon tied in a floppy bow on the side.

They appeared to be in the midst of a lively disagreement.

“…Now,” laughed Ivy. She rushed over to help with the door just as another woman with brightly dyed red hair arrived, followed by a rather thin, bespectacled woman with dark hair pulled austerely back in a bun.

“Meet the Hazard Historical Society,” said Ivy with a motion of her hand, “Seymour Throckmorton, Hazel Bestwick, Marjorie Hopewell, and my great aunt, Lydia LaFleur.”

“Oh, yes, we met at the fundraiser,” said Kate, “last spring.”

“Come sit with us, dear,” said Hazel, “and tell us about the progress of the inn.”

Kate did as she was told, and while Ivy bustled back and forth catering to their every whim, Kate leaned back to listen.

“So, you know about the love story, do you not?” Hazel said, her lips pursed primly.

“I’m sorry?”

“During the Revolutionary War, the owner of the house, which is now the Hazard Inn, was Franklin Worthy. He was a smuggler for the American rebels, but the British occupied his home, and he had to be very, very careful.”

Marjorie eagerly picked up the tale. “Especially when his daughter, Prudence, fell in love with one of the British soldiers stationed in the house. They planned to marry and return to England.”

“Of course, her father forbade it, so they decided to elope,” added Seymour in dour tones.

“It is possible she betrayed her father.” Lydia’s lips pinched in dire disapproval.

“Hard to say,” said Marjorie.

“Yes, well, it didn’t end well. Such a tragedy,” said Seymour.

“The only rectifying influence is my ancestor Edwin Hazard, who saved the day—and the town—from going up in flames. Of course, it’s where we get the Hazard Blessing.” Hazel folded her hands on the table.

Kate tried to follow the conversation, as one member of the historical society interrupted another, and the tale slowly began to unfold before her of a young woman in love with her father’s enemy stationed in their home. And that home was now hers. Mind-boggling.

What must that have been like? Kate could imagine it. Teenage Prudence would have been impressionable and prone to romance; the red-coated soldier no doubt a handsome young man. “Yes, it does sound like the kind of story to end in tragedy.”

“Of course, Prudence’s cousin is the one who began the blessing, not Captain Hazard,” said Marjorie.

Before an argument could take off over who was really the originator of the blessing, Kate jumped in. “How does it go?”

Ivy popped in just then to sing the blessing in her clear high voice.

“Oh, my, that is lovely, dear,” said Lydia. “So pleased you can remember how your tune goes now.” Ivy gave a self-deprecating shrug but beamed at the same time.

“But, of course, Ivy made up that tune. She can’t know the blessing was ever sung,” said Hazel.

“Pure conjecture,” said Seymour.

“It’s not in the historical records,” Marjorie agreed.

“And the blessing?” asked Kate.

“Imbues an object with power.” Lydia nodded sagely.

Kate glanced around at their faces, expecting humor, but they were all deadly serious. “And, uh, how does that work, exactly?”

They all spoke at once, and Kate struggled to make out what they were saying until both Lydia and Ivy clapped their hands.

“That’s the magic of Hazard,” said Ivy with a shrug.

Seymour nodded, his shock of white hair flopping up and then down, almost in slow motion. It was mesmerizing, that slow flop of hair. Kate blinked.

“Yes, magic,” Marjorie sighed her agreement.

Hazel added a decided, “Yes.”

They all beamed at Kate.

Okay , she thought, the members of the Hazard Historical Society are all a little bit eccentric .