Ansel called Ash this morning. Apparently, he knows a guy who knows another guy who might sell us a dust pendant.
“I think you should have a soft opening for the tea shop,” Ash says as we wait for the sorcerer at the parking garage. “Or in your case, a soft reopening.”
He’s been talking business for the last fifteen minutes.
“What does that even mean?” I ask him.
“You’ll open your doors, but only to a select few—let’s say your fellow shopkeepers. Traditionally, the services you provide will be on the house, and it will give you a chance to practice on real patrons before you open to the public.”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Rowan muses. He’s currently perched on the decorative split-rail fence in the garage’s landscaping.
“But how will I prevent tourists from wandering in?” I ask.
“Just keep your front door locked,” Ash says.
“I’ll be running between the door and counter all day,” I point out.
“You could keep the back open,” Rowan shifts on the fence rail. “Your invited patrons could come in through the garden.”
“When do you think I’ll be ready for that?” I ask Rowan.
“I think you’re ready now.”
“Yesterday you declared I was hopeless.”
“That’s because you said Lapsang Souchong tastes like a campfire.”
“Itdoestaste like a campfire.”
“There are nuances?—”
“You’ll be fine,” Ash interrupts. “The vast majority of your customers will be tourists who know nothing about tea but want to buy something fancy while they’re on vacation.”
“I wouldn’t say themajority,” Rowan grumps.
Thankfully, a man driving a small horse and buggy pulls into the parking garage’s loading zone, interrupting the conversation. Ansel steps down, paying for the ride, and then ambles our way.
Like Ash and many of the other residents, the sorcerer’s clothing has a certain vibe. His dark teal button-up shirt and gray trousers are perfectly modern, but the outfit has a cultured, old-world look—like maybe he should be sitting in a European library, sipping expensive coffee while penning his memoir.
And it’s obviously not just for the tourists, since we’re headed out for the day, and Ash’s outfit is just as fussy. It’s the high fae influence here in Moss Hollow, I think. I’ve even been tempted to purchase a few new pieces for my wardrobe.
But maybe that’s just because I want to impress Ash.
When Ansel reaches us, he takes one look at me and says, “What are you doing here?”
I’m so startled by the sorcerer’s tone, I almost look behind me to make sure I’m the one he’s addressing. “What do you mean?”
“We’re buying a dust pendant from a questionable source.”
“Yes?”
“And you’re apixie.”
“I’m accompanied by a lawyer, a bird, and a sorcerer who specializes in minerals. How could I be any safer?”
His eye twitches like he’s not sure if that’s a joke.
“I already tried to talk her into staying behind,” Ash says. “She insisted on coming with us.”
