Page 27 of Mistletoe & Magic
“Well, then I’ll just need to find a suitable name for you, then,” she says as she turns on her heels.
Wisteria Books & Brews smells like butter and cinnamonand the best part of my childhood, books. Willa sees us as she’s putting up a tray of fresh muffins and lights up.
“What are you two doing here?” she asks, looking back and forth at us, surprised to see us together.
Ivy says. “Hey, Willa. We need two cinnamon rolls."
"I'm her chauffeur," I say quietly as I look through her new books, hoping that sounds believable.
Willa laughs and shakes her head at us, as if we're both full of it, and packs up two containers of cinnamon rolls, sliding them across the counter. Ivy takes one, hands me the other one, and says, “For you, beast.”
“I am not a beast.” I give her a ridiculous look.
"You're grumpy like the Beast in Beauty and the Beast."
"I am not grumpy," I argue.
She lifts an eyebrow. “Your face says otherwise. Eat.”
Willa watches us in fascination and gives Ivy a look with raised eyebrows. "Want one to go for Junie?"
"She's with my mom, but thanks. I'm sure she's getting plenty sugared up as it is," I say as I take a bite of the cinnamon roll and nod. "This is good."
"Thanks, fresh from the oven." Willa wipes down the counter in front of her.
Ivy makes a soft sound as she takes a bite and reaches without thinking and grips my bicep as she takes a bite. "These are still warm, Willa."
My gaze drifts to her mouth, and everything else blurs. Her touch still hums on my skin. I want her to touch me on purpose. She finds my stare and grins like she knows what I'm thinking. I look away, trying to focus on anything but her.
Willa breaks our moment with an excited clap. “Come see how Rowan’s shop is coming along.” She leads us to the tarp draped across the opening on the far side of the bookstore. Shelifts the edge and jerks her chin. We duck through. “Your brother has been a godsend in helping her out.”
My eyes adjust and then go wide with surprise.Brick wraps the room in warm red and clay, old and honest, warm and inviting. On the street-facing wall, a tall window has purple and green stained glass, and the sun shining through it throws amethyst across the floor and up the shelving like spilled ink. The color makes the whole place look lit from inside.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves line the walls, thick oak with black iron brackets. A rolling ladder sits on a rail, waiting for someone to kick off and glide. The shelves are empty but ready. I can see the rows of glass apothecary jars in my head. Roots. Leaves. Dried citrus. Amber bottles for tinctures. Little drawers with brass label frames wait beneath, all in a neat grid, each with an iron pull waiting to be explored by customers.
Overhead, a line of hooks crosses the ceiling on a beam. Bundles of lavender and rosemary will dry there, neat and green against the brick. There is a copper rail under the window for hanging tools. Mortars and pestles sit out already, stone and olive wood, their bowls scored with use. A brass scale rests near a slate slab, the pans clean and bright, the weights lined up like soldiers.
On the right, a massive table sits against the wall. Walnut, if I am guessing right. One live edge remains, while the rest has been planed smoothly. The joinery is clean, the tenons proud. It looks like Finn's work. A farmhouse sink of dark stone anchors the back corner, with a tall gooseneck faucet and a drainboard on both sides.
Rowan waves and joins us from the back room. She talks about paint and signage proudly to Ivy, who takes it all in and is excited for Rowan—so much so that it’s contagious. I try not to stare, but I can’t keep my eyes off of her.
Ivy steps into the purple light and turns in aslow circle. It paints her sweater and the curve of her cheek. She presses her palms to the walnut table and smiles like she just recognized a future. “This is magic,” she says, and her voice is soft like she knows the room can hear her.
“It's a good space,” I say, but that is an understatement.
I touch the edge of the table and feel the weight. I can already see Rowan measuring herbs, and labeling jars in that neat hand that makes everything look like it belongs. The picture settles into my chest and sits there, warm. My brother’s hand is all over this place, too.
Rowan smiles proudly and confirms my thoughts. “Thank you. I couldn't have made any of this happen without Finn.”
Willa drops the tarp back against the jamb and claps playfully. “All right. Keep it up and I will put you both to work.”
I look at the table again. “Tell me what you need,” I say.
Ivy bumps her shoulder to mine, a quick spark of contact. “See,” she says to Willa. “He's a good beast. Underneath it all, he's a big softy. Like a cinnamon roll. Hard on the outside, but soft on the inside.”
I roll my eyes playfully and tease, "It's time to go."
But I like her touching me. Normally I’m not a big touchy-feely guy besides hugging my daughter, but I love Ivy’s touch. I want more of it.
