Back inside, I place my almost-full mug of tea by the sink and gather Dot and Mom. Mr. Butters trots along behind me. Henry walks us out, offering his arm to Mom again.
“Thank you again for the fudge, Gwen,” he says sincerely, pressing Mom’s hand gently when we reach the car. “Fingers crossed it will help me churn out another chapter or two.”
“I hope we’ll see a lot more of you, Henry,” Mom tells him, beaming up at him expectantly.
“I’d like that very much.” Henry glances at me as he says it.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Dot tells him, clapping him on the back heartily as though they are old friends.
“I won’t, Dot. You have my word. Thank you for the lovely surprise visit this morning.”
Henry helps Mom into the car and Dot boosts Mr. Butters into the back seat, since his legs are too short to get in without help. Then Henry and I linger for a moment before I get in. In an uncharacteristic fit of boldness, I fish around in my purse for a scrap of paper, find a receipt, and scrawl my phone number on it. “In case you have questions or need someone to show you around, I can tell you which restaurants are good in town and who has the best Danishes,” I say, handing it to him. Too late, I realize it is the receipt for my new push-up bra. Mortified, I consider trying to take it back, but he’s already tucking it into his pocket.
“Thank you, Emmie. I appreciate the offer. It’s nice to have a friendly face in a new place.”
“Call her,” Dot yells from the car. She’s not even remotely subtle. I shoot her a quelling look, which does nothing.
“See you around, Henry.” I try to sound breezy and confident. “Thanks for the tea.”
He smiles, his eyes creasing at the corners. “My pleasure. Goodbye, Emmie, it was good to see you again.” He starts to put out his hand just as I go in for a hug. We both freeze, then laugh. We hug anyway. It’s brief, but I like the feel of his arms around me. It’s been a long time since a handsome man hugged me, and he’s surprisingly toned under the soft cotton of his T-shirt. I sniff him covertly, just a tiny bit, and am delighted to find he smells deliciously of Earl Grey tea. I was right. Bergamot. His scent is lovely and expensive.
As I get into the car and shut the door, Mom sighs. “Oh, what a darling man. With that accent. And those eyes!”
Dot chuckles. “I’ve got a good feeling about this,” she predicts.
“Shh…he can probably hear you,” I scold, turning the key in the ignition and checking to make sure all the windows are rolled up. They both grin at me, totally unrepentant.
“I am not taking you anywhere ever again,” I grouse at them, but they ignore me, chatting about what color eyes Henry’s and my babies might have as we head back down the drive. I hazard a glance in the rearview mirror and my heart gives a little flip. Henry is standing on the front porch, sipping his tea, watching me drive away. He raises a hand in farewell. Maybe he’s just procrastinating a minute more, but it really does feel like destiny.
I drive back to town basking in the glow of the morning. Henry is exactly what I hoped he’d be—not pretentious, warm and genuine, thoughtful and kind. I worried I’d be disappointed by the real thing, but he’s even better than he seems on TV. I like him a lot, and I think he may like me, or at least he’s intrigued by me. It’s a good place to start.
I don’t know what happens next, but this morning felt like the beginning of something special.
Chapter 9
“How do we go back to our normal life after starting the day drinking tea with Henry Summers?” Mom sighs as we arrive at the shop a few minutes after we’re supposed to be open. I hear Dot next door, getting ready to open the Salty Mermaid for the day.
“I know, but we still have to sell fudge,” I tell her as we unlock the front door. “I’ll grab the new trays.” I head back to the kitchen, flicking on the lights. As I go to grab the tray of fudge, I notice a package sitting on the marble slab fudge-making table in the middle of the room. It is small and cylindrical and wrapped in the fanciest gold polka-dotted paper I’ve ever seen. It looks expensive. And it wasn’t there last night when I locked up.
“Hello, what are you?” I ask curiously, picking up the package. There’s a little card attached. In gold script it says simply:
Emmie
“Ooh, what is that?” Mom asks, coming into the kitchen. “It looks special.” Mr. Butters eyes the package curiously.
“I have no idea. I just found it here. It’s addressed to me. Do you know anything about it?”
Mom shakes her head. “Open it,” she urges. “It looks like a gift.”
Inside the thick paper is a narrow glass container about five inches tall with gold swirls and starbursts etched into the glass. The container is filled with the fanciest gold sprinkles I’ve ever seen. The sprinkles echo the designs on the jar: tiny shiny gold swirls and starbursts. They’re so delicate and pretty. Mystified, I open the card. Inside, in the same elegant script, are two words:
For courage
“That’s strange.” I show Mom the card, puzzled by who the gift is from and how it came to be sitting in our kitchen. The doors to the shop were locked, Mom was with me at Henry’s, and we are the only ones who have keys. Curiouser and curiouser. Gingerly, I unscrew the gold cap on the glass container and shake a few of the golden sprinkles into my hand. They seem to shimmer against my skin, tantalizing. I place one on the tip of my tongue and shiver with pleasure. The taste is subtle, sweet as sprinkles always are, but there’s something almost floral, a hint of violets and vanilla. They’re delicious, but there’s something odd about them too, a faint tingling sensation, a little buzz of energy that zips from the tip of my tongue down to my toes. Like a little jolt of static electricity. I glance at the jar in surprise. It’s the same feeling I got when I started to see my vision, when I made the wish and blew out the candle and saw the first gold sparkles burst across my field of sight. I drop the remainingsprinkles into the jar and take a step back. There’s something strange about these sprinkles.
“What is it, Emmie?” Mom asks anxiously. “What’s the matter?”
I shake my head. “Nothing’s…wrong. It’s just…Here.” I hold out the container. Cautiously, Mom tries a sprinkle.
