Page 68 of A Touch of Spring Magic

“What’d you change?”

“I made and chilled the dough and rolled it out and cut it alone. And then I made the filling alone. No unbiased eye in sight.”

Chloe snagged the fairy from the windowsill.

“You think so?” Chloe cradled the green stone figurine with the intricately carved soaring wings that stared up at her blankly. “You baked aSouthern Love Spellsrecipe in this kitchen overlooking the vast Cramer gardens you’ve been reclaiming where you found this vintage statue that kicked off the idea for the objet d’art and scavenger hunt?”

“The hunt was your idea,” Jessica said slowly as a trickle of dread pooled in her belly. “Why are you talking about the fairy?”

Chloe held it up. “Hard to be biased when you’re made of stone.”

Chapter Thirteen

As Jessica mingledwith 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.”

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