I park in front of the two-story stone cottage with cobalt-blue shutters, tucked down a small lane near the town’s harbor. I adore my childhood home, with its scraped wood floors and shabby-chic décor; this is where I learned to love, andlaugh, and cook.
Grabbing a tray of freshly baked caramel-fudge brownies from the car seat, I head toward the front door. When we ran out of my mother’s brownies at the café and our customers kept asking for them, I figured I’d give them a try. I can’t magically enhance the flavor or sprinkle a bit of faerie dust for good measure like Mom does, so they can’t really compare, but the customers don’t seem to notice or care.
My mother is sitting on one of the large, yellow sofas in the front room, and as I sit next to her, two nine-tailed foxes charge into the room and hop in my lap; they’re mates and Zosia’s mama and papa. After I pet and coo over them for a few minutes, Granny shoos them away.
Mom picks up a brownie from the tray and takes a bite, her auburn eyebrows arching in appreciation. “Sophie, these are so good! I can’t believe you made them without any kitchen magic—and is that a hint of cinnamon I’m tasting?”
When I nod, she smiles. “You are such a natural. Your bakery is going to be the talk of the town.”
Granny helps herself to a brownie, slowly munching and puckering her lips between each bite. When she’s finished, she slaps her knee. “As good as Dragonfly’s caramel-fudge brownies.”
“Auntie Dragonfly made caramel-fudge brownies?” Mom and I ask in the same breath.
“Darn tootin’. Where do you think I got that recipe in the first place? Dragonfly won nearly every baking contest in Western Michigan for two decades. Every time she broke up with a boyfriend and wanted to meet someone new, she entered another competition.”
Mom and I look at each other; Mom grins, but I howl with laughter. “I had no idea Auntie Dragonfly liked the boys quite so much.”
Granny chuckles. “Dragonfly was a hoot… She was also my big sister and a mighty pain in my butt.”
I’m still laughing as I rise from the couch. “Thanks for the taste test; I better get going.”
When I bend down to kiss my mom, she squeezes my hand. “You look tired, honey. I’m so sorry I got the flu during the busiest time of the year—and with everything else you need to get done at the bakery too.”
“I’m fine, Mom. Besides, Teddy has done the lion’s share of the remodeling at the shop.”
“That boy’s a real keeper,” pipes up Granny, who’s chomping down her second brownie. “I hope you’re being nice to him.”
“Of course I’m being nice.” I scowl at my impossible grandmother.
“That’s funny; all the gals down at Spectra’s Salon claim you’re downright snippy with the lad. They’re taking bets on how long he’ll stick around.”
“That’s ridiculous!” I stomp toward the door, spinning back to add, “Besides, if Teddy skips out, he’ll lose his portion of the inheritance. Trust me, he’s not going anywhere.”
“Whatever you say, dearie.” Granny gives me a shrewd look. “Just the same, I’d advise you not to take that nice, young werewolf for granted. Some other pretty faerie or werewolf with a sweeter personality than yours will snap up Teddy Barker in a heartbeat.”
I yank open the front door and march outside without another word.
Teddy and Jakefinished painting the shop’s walls in Sophie’s Greenest Green, added crown molding around the ceiling, and painted the windows, trim, and adjoining kitchen a warm white. They also installed my stainless steel coolers and new convection oven (a gift from my parents), and Jake scheduled my first inspection with the city engineer; I have my provisional permit to open!
While there are still some finishing touches needed for my little bakery, we’re mostly ready for the grand opening during the Riddle Hill Summer Fest this weekend. So what’s Teddy been up to?
As I pull open the bakery’s back door, Teddy calls out, “Wait! You need to close your eyes first.”
“Why?” I huff, still fuming over my interfering, brownie-consuming, wing-clipping grandmother. But then Teddy’s warm hand engulfs mine, and the tension in my shoulders starts to release. Somehow, in the span of a few weeks, a simple touch from Teddy has become a balm to my jangly nerves.
Teddy guides me from the kitchen to the front of the bakery before releasing my hand. “Okay. You can look now.”
I blink open my eyes and squeal as I spin around.
Teddy has dug up old travel posters, which he’s framed in black and hung on the walls; they lend theshop a kitschy, bistro vibe that I love. I dash over to three small, wrought-iron tables with various mismatched chairs, all painted white, which Teddy has positioned near the plate glass windows. Running my hand over one of the tables, I’m awestruck by how well he’s brought my vision for the bakery to life.
“Oh Teddy… this is…” As I struggle to find the words, Teddy’s brow crinkles.
“Don’t you like it?”
“Are you kidding? Iloveit! This is amazing… it’s like you’ve been inside my head and knew exactly what I wanted to achieve. How did you do it?”
Teddy’s handsome face lights up as he chuckles. “I listened to you; every time you told me about your vision for the bakery, I made a mental note. I want you to be happy, Sophie.”
