To her surprise, Bryn, despite the line of customers waiting for their early-morning pastries, turned the sign on the door to “Closed” and shooed everyone out. She left Tobin with a tray of muffins and strict instructions to sell them, not eat them. She then ordered Kiela to hurry back to the shop ahead of her. “Open it up,” Bryn said. “I’ll recruit your first customer and be there quicker than a serpent can sink a ship.”
“That can’t be a real saying,” Kiela objected.
“Knew a sailor who said it all the time,” Bryn said. “Admittedly, it was cuter when she said it. Go on, scoot. Get ready to hawk your wares.”
Thus ordered, Kiela scooted. It had all happened so quickly that she felt as if she’d been spun in a circle three times fast.
As she bounded up the stairs on the cliff, she wondered if she was more excited or more nervous, and she decided there should be a name for an emotion that was both equally: “excivous” or “nercited.” Glancing behind her, she saw Larran’s house—the merhorse herder was on his porch, his back to the cliffs, looking out at the sea—and she hesitated.
I wish he was my first customer.
She shook herself, not certain where the thought had come from. It didn’t matter who was first. What mattered was making the shop a success. Impressing Bryn and whoever the baker brought with her was all Kiela should be focusing on.
This has to work.
She didn’t really have any kind of backup plan.
Jogging through the greenery, Kiela let the bird calls buoy her. She felt as if the forest was cheering her on. She burst out of the woods in front of the cottage—and a chicken,thechicken,herchicken, lifted its head and clucked at her.
She skidded to a halt.
She looked at the chicken.
The chicken looked at her.
And then it darted into the woods again.
Kiela sighed. But as she crossed the yard to the door, she spotted, nestled in a clump of grasses, an egg. She scooped it up. The shell was warm, clearly just laid. Feeling as if it was a good-luck sign, she carried it into the cottage and called to Caz as she placed the egg in a dish so it wouldn’t roll away, “Customers are coming!”
He scurried out from the back bedroom and climbed onto the kitchen counter, which afforded a line of sight into the front. “What should I do? Should I welcome them? Or should I hide? Is a sentient spider plant a plus or a minus for a business?”
“You are always a plus,” Kiela told him firmly.
It was one thing to not risk Caz in town, but the cottage was their home. If the islanders couldn’t handle Caz, then she didn’t want their business. Or their friendship. It wasn’t as if talking plants were unheard-of. It was only on the outer islands, where there were fewer sorcerers to (legally) create them, that they were rare. She readjusted one of the jars on the shelf and then turned with a bright smile on her face as she heard voices approach the shop.
Bryn was coming up the path, followed by the centaur, Eadie. The baker had removed her apron and was dressed in teal pants and a white blouse, which complemented her tawny fur. A leaf had gotten stuck on one of her antlers.
Beside her, Eadie trotted on her four hooves while gesturing animatedly with her human arms. She wore a cloud-white top over her human half and a silvery-gray skirt over her horse hindquarters, and she’d braided silver ribbons into her black mane. The ribbons draped across her horse body down to her hooves. She had a wide, friendly smile, and Kiela told her heart to quit hammering. Both Bryn and Eadie had been nice before; there was no reason to think they wouldn’t be happy shoppers now. Clearly, they’d both made an effort to dress up, as if this were an event, not an errand.
Giving herself a silent pep talk, Kiela met them at the door. “Welcome! Thank you for coming to Kiela and Caz’s Jam Shop.”
“Who’s—” Eadie began.
“Hello!” Caz called. He waved his leaves.
Eadie blinked, stared, and then blinked again.
“Ah, so you’re the one that Tobin has been chattering on about,” Bryn said. “Pleasure to meet you, Caz. Welcome to Caltrey! It’s so nice to have new residents. We haven’t had new islanders since . . . well, I can’t have been the most recent arrival, but certainly there haven’t been many, unless you count newborns. How do you like our lovely island so far?”
“Very plant-friendly,” Caz said.
Kiela stepped away from the door so her two customers could come inside.
“Oh, isn’t this lovely!” Bryn said. Gushing, she admired the shelves with their alternating wood grain, the flowers that Kiela had put in vases and extra glasses, and the rafters with drying herbs hanging from them. “Every detail is charming. Ooh, I love the painted flowers on the chairs—I once wanted to be an artist, and I borrowed my sister’s paints and decided the stairs would look prettier with flowers. Let’s say that painting is not my strength, and my mother was not pleased, nor was my sister, or really anyone, and I haven’t painted since. Luckily, I’m far better at baking.”
Eadie clopped in halfway, with the back half of her horse self still outside. It occurred to Kiela that she should have made the shop larger or the door wider or . . . “Itischarming,” Eadie said, pleased. “Don’t work yourself into a lather, Binna’s girl. I’m used to not fitting everywhere. One suggestion—and you can take or leave it—you could use your front window for window service like Bryn does at her bakery, to accommodate Caltrey’s larger residents. Ivor in particular has difficulty with ordinary-size doorways.”
Bryn tapped her delicate antlers. “He’s a twelve-prong.”
