I give him a sheepish smile. “Correct.”
“That’s a relief—this town is too small for another spring, and we’ve sorely missed your aunt’s particular brand of sunshine.”
“Who’s the spring?” I ask, looking down the crowded street like I might spot the pixie in question.
“Tessalie. She runs the quilting store.” Marshall gestures up the street. “Her sister is an autumn and runs the yarn store next door to her. They hate each other.”
I blink at him. “Why?”
“Cosette says Tessalie stole her boyfriend, and Tessalie claims Cosette’s cat murdered him to get revenge.”
“A cat capable of murder?”
“It’s actually a cursed goblin and the most bloodthirsty little beast you’ll ever meet. But there was no evidence of foul play. The man simply disappeared. Most people believe he ran off with a tourist.”
“But he didn’t tell anyone? Or leave a note?”
“It’s not the first time someone’s up and vanished from Moss Hollow,” he says cryptically.
“Such drama.” I laugh, but I’m a little uncomfortable. Drama isn’t really my thing.
“We have it in spades,” he warns. “Though to be honest, I prefer to stay clear of it.”
We fall into a comfortable silence, neither of us sure what to say next.
I look at the shop for inspiration. “Do you like tea, Marshall?”
He winces. “Not particularly.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” I answer, hoping to reassure him with a smile.
But that smile falters when I spot Ash heading toward us on the walkway. Our eyes meet…and hold. As if I’ve never seen a handsome man before, my heart flutters.
Don’t sparkle. Don’t.
I rip my gaze from Ash, disconcerted. What was I saying? Oh, yes. Tea. We were talking about tea.Focus, Kit.
To Marshall, I say, “Even if you don’t care for it, I hope you’ll visit me when I reopen. I’ve recently discovered there are a great many types of tea. Maybe we can find one you like.”
Entirely of their own accord, my eyes stray to the councilman again.
“I could probably be convinced to visit.” Curious about what keeps stealing my attention, Marshall follows my gaze, looking behind him. When he spots Ash, his expression becomes tight.
“Good morning, Marshall,” Ash says when he joins us, his voice slightly monotone. “I see you’ve met Kathleen.”
“Kit,” I correct.
“Hello, Ash.” Marshall nods once, barely acknowledging him. When he turns back to me, his friendly countenance returns. “I look forward to seeing you at the garden center later.”
“When will you return?” I ask, realizing he’s heading in the opposite direction. “I’d hate to visit while you’re still out.”
“As soon as I grab a coffee,” he assures me. Then he nods goodbye and continues down the walkway, sidestepping clusters of tourists as he goes.
Looking vaguely annoyed, Ash watches him disappear into the crowd. After a few seconds, he turns to me and extends his hand toward the shop. “Shall we?”
Feeling stupidly fluttery around this man, I flip through my keys until I locate the one for the lock. As soon as I pull the door open and step inside, I’m hit with vague memories.
The shop is built in an L shape, with a wall of windows along both sides of the street. There are dozens of tables. Each has a white runner and an empty caddy at the center.
