She led them to the vast barn that had been converted into a makeshift workshop. Long tables covered in brown paper stretched the length of the space, and hanging from clotheslinescrisscrossing the ceiling were yards and yards of muslin cloth, dyed in every color of the rainbow.
“We dye all the muslin ourselves,” Blythe explained, “using natural vegetable pigments. Beetroot for the reds, turmeric for the golds, indigo for the blues. Each batch is unique, and each carries a special blessing for the cheese it will eventually swaddle.”
The cloth swayed gently in the warm breeze from the barn’s open windows, creating a mesmerizing display of color and light.
“We made these rainbow patterns specifically for the Yule cheeses,” Blythe continued, moving to one of the tables. “The different colors bring different blessings—warmth, harmony, abundance, and joy. When our cheese is served on a Yule ploughman’s platter, those blessings infuse the whole meal.”
On the table lay the wrapping materials that their group would be using in the workshop. Smaller squares of precut tie-dyed muslin, bundles of cinnamon sticks, sprigs of olive wood, containers of edible glitter for sprinkling, and spools of string to bind it all together.
“The final touch,” Blythe said, “is a triple-blessed silk ribbon, also naturally dyed. There’s a batch curing in the sunlight right now.” She gestured toward the windows where a clothesline was visible outside, flowing ribbons dancing in the breeze. “Tonight you will all help us wrap the Yule order—our most important delivery of the season.”
“It’s so beautiful,” Wren said, her camera out. “May I photograph it?”
“Oh, no, doll,” Blythe said apologetically. “The magic in the dyes is very temperamental. Camera flashes can disrupt the blessings. I’m afraid you’ll have to rely on your words for this one.”
Wren looked disappointed but nodded.
Bayard was still trying to regain his professional equilibrium. “The rainbow cheddar itself is aged for exactly nine months in Blythe’s caves, where it develops a range of flavors that represent the full spectrum of cheddar possibilities. You get sharp and mellow notes as well as earthy and bright ones, all coexisting beautifully.”
“Just like you, dear heart,” Blythe said, stroking his cheek. “Such a beautiful balance of qualities you have.”
This time, Exandra’s attempt to move between them resulted in her hip checking the table, sending several cinnamon sticks rolling across the floor.
“Oops, pardon me,” Exandra muttered, dropping to retrieve them, her face flushed with frustration.
“Let me help you, Exandra.” Minerva bent down to assist her, their eyes meeting briefly. Understanding passed between them and Exandra’s expression flickered with something like gratitude before the defensive walls slid back into place.
“Shall we all proceed to the tasting?” Blythe suggested. “I’ve prepared a proper ploughman’s lunch for you all to enjoy out in the orchard. There’s cheddar with crusty bread, my own pickles, a bit of ham, and some lovely apples from my trees.”
As the group followed Blythe out toward the sunny orchard, Bayard lingered behind to catch his breath. He sighed a deepsigh of relief. So far, so good. Nothing had gone wrong during their visit to the Meadowsweet Creamery.
But then he froze, a terrible thought occurring to him.
No incident and nothing going wrong meant that Exandra might wrap up her investigation and leave. And he still hadn’t summoned the courage to tell her how he felt about her.
The thought made his chest tighten with something like panic.
ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN CURDS
The picnic was set up outside under a pergola covered in flowering vines that definitely shouldn’t have been blooming in December, but they were nevertheless heavy with blossoms. Tables groaned with food. There were thick slices of rainbow cheddar that showed streaks of color through the pale creamy slabs, crusty bread still warm from the oven, gherkins and pepperoncini that sparkled in their jars.
“Now, then, my loves,” Blythe announced, “help yourselves to the feast while I pop back to the Creamery to coordinate our schedule with my helpers. The dwarves get a bit testy if I don’t give them lots of attention and precise timelines.”
She disappeared back toward the workrooms, though not before giving Bayard’s shoulder one last squeeze.
Over at the picnic table, Zephyr was explaining the components of a proper ploughman’s lunch to an interested group of the passengers. Wren and Jasper stood together near the drinks table, away from the group, and Bayard noticed they were actually having a real conversation, not stilted or nervous, justtwo people genuinely enjoying each other’s company. He was happy for the two of them, and a bit jealous as well. If only things could be that easy with him and Exandra again.
Bayard set Fred’s carrier down next to Minerva. “Could you keep an eye on Fred for me? I just need to check something in the barn. The uh… ventilation… looked off earlier.”
It was a terrible excuse. Exandra’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
But she was also standing suddenly. “You know what?” she said to Zephyr, “I should do a perimeter check while everyone’s distracted. Make sure the premises are secure. I’d hate for there to be another incident.”
They moved in opposite directions, neither making eye contact with the other, but both heading toward different sides of the barn.
Bayard slippedinto the barn through a side door, his heart thudding away. The wrapping room was still empty. The colorful muslin swayed gently overhead, casting rainbow shadows across the tables.
He knew what he was about to do was wrong. He knew it was destructive and childish and went against everything he’d spent his career protecting. But the thought of Exandra leaving, of having no reason to stay, of losing this precious opportunity with her, was more than he could bear.
