Dance Upon the Air (2 page)

“I'm a very good cook.” Nell offered Mia the frothing coffee. “I've done catering, I've worked in a bakery, and I've waitressed. I know how to prepare food and how to serve it.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Do you have a criminal record?”

A giggle nearly burst out of Nell's throat. For a moment it danced lively in her eyes. “No. I'm tediously honest, a dependable worker and a creative cook.”

Don't babble, don't babble! she ordered herself, but she couldn't seem to stop. “I need the job because I'd like to live on the island. I'd like a job here because I enjoy books and I liked the, well, the feel of your shop as soon as I walked in.”

Intrigued, Mia angled her head. “And what did you feel?”

“Possibilities.”

Excellent answer, Mia mused. “Do you believe in possibilities?”

Nell considered. “Yes. I've had to.”

“Excuse me?” A couple stepped up to the counter. “We'd like to have two iced mochas and two of those éclairs.”

“Of course. Just a moment.” Mia turned back to Nell. “You're hired. Apron's in the back. We'll work out the details later today.” She sipped her cappuccino. “Well done,” she added and stepped out of the way. “Oh—what's your name?”

“I'm Nell. Nell Channing.”

“Welcome to Three Sisters, Nell Channing.”

Mia Devlin ran
Café Book the way she ran her life. With a style born out of instinct, and largely for her personal amusement. She was a crafty businesswoman who enjoyed making a profit. But always on her own terms.

What bored her, she ignored. What intrigued her, she pursued.

At the moment, Nell Channing intrigued her.

If Nell had been exaggerating her skills, Mia would have fired her as quickly as she'd hired her, and with no regret. She may have, if the spirit moved her, helped Nell secure a job elsewhere. But that wouldn't have taken much time, or interfered with her business.

She'd have taken that step only because something
about Nell had tugged at her the instant those big blue eyes met hers.

Injured innocence. That had been Mia's first impression, and she trusted her first impressions implicitly. Competence as well, Mia thought, though the confidence was a little shaky.

Still, once Nell had suited up and started work at the café, she'd steadied in that area, too.

Mia observed her through the afternoon, noted that she handled the food orders, the customers, the cash register, and the baffling mystery of the espresso machine smoothly.

They'd need to spruce her up a bit, Mia decided. They were casual on the island, but the ancient jeans were a bit too laid-back for Mia's personal taste.

Satisfied for the moment, Mia walked back into the café kitchen. It impressed her that the counters and appliances were clean. Jane had never managed to be a tidy cook, even though most of the baked goods had been prepared by her off-site.

“Nell?”

Taken by surprise, Nell jolted and spun around from the stove, where she'd been scrubbing burners. Her cheeks flushed as she looked at Mia and the young woman beside her.

“Didn't mean to startle you. This is Peg. She works the counter from two to seven.”

“Oh. Hello.”

“Hi. Jeez, I can't believe Jane and Tim are just
leaving
. New York City!” Peg sounded a bit envious. She was little and perky, with a mop of curly hair bleached nearly white. “Jane made awesome blueberry muffins.”

“Yes, well, Jane and her muffins aren't here anymore. I need to talk to Nell now, so you're in charge of the café.”

“No problem. Catch you later, Nell.”

“Why don't we use my office? We'll get to those details. We're open from ten to seven, summer hours. In the winter we cut back and close at five. Peg prefers the afternoon shift. She likes to party and isn't a morning person. In any case, since we start serving at ten, I'll need you here in the morning.”

“That's okay with me.” She followed Mia up another flight of steps. She hadn't paid attention, Nell realized. She hadn't known the shop had three floors. A few months before, she would never have missed that detail. She'd have checked out the space, the exits.

Relaxing didn't mean getting sloppy, she reminded herself. She had to be ready, at any time, to run again.

They passed a large storeroom, lined with bookshelves and stacked with boxes, then went through a doorway into Mia's office.

The antique cherry desk suited her, Nell thought. She imagined Mia surrounded by the rich and the beautiful. There were flowers here, and thriving plants, little bits of crystal and polished rocks in bowls. Along with the stylish furnishings were a top-of-the-line computer, a fax, filing cabinets, and shelves for publishers' catalogs. Mia gestured to a chair and took the one behind the desk for herself.

“You had a few hours in the café, so you've seen the type of fare we offer. There's a specialty sandwich each day, the day's soup, a small selection of alternate sandwiches. Two or three varieties of cold salads. Pastries, cookies, muffins, biscotti. In the past
I left the menu choices up to the cook. Are you comfortable with that?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Please, I'm barely a year older than you. It's Mia. Until we're sure this is going to work, I'd prefer you make up the next day's menu for my approval.” She took a legal pad out of the drawer, passed it across the desk. “Why don't you write down what you have in mind for tomorrow?”

Panic wanted to crawl through her, tremble in her fingers. Nell took a deep breath, waited until her mind was blank and clear, then began to write. “This time of year, I think we should keep the soups light. Herbed consommé. Tortellini salad, a white bean, and a shrimp. I'd do a spiced-chicken pita for the sandwich, and a vegetarian selection, but I'd have to see what's in season. I can make you tarts, again depending on what looks good fruit-wise. The éclairs are popular—I can duplicate those. A six-layer chocolate-and-cream torte. Awesome blueberry muffins, as well as walnut. You're low on hazelnut biscotti. Cookies? Chocolate chip is never wrong. Macadamia. Instead of a third cookie, I'd offer brownies. I make an irresistible triple-fudge brownie.”

“How much can you prepare on-site?”

“All of it, I guess. But if you're going to serve the pastries and muffins starting at ten, I'll need to start about six.”

“If you had your own kitchen?”

“Oh, well.” What a lovely fantasy that was. “I'd prep some of the menu the night before, bake fresh in the morning.”

“Um-hmm. How much money do you have, Nell Channing?”

“Enough.”

“Don't be prickly,” Mia advised breezily. “I can advance you a hundred dollars. Going against a salary, to start, of seven an hour. You'll log your shopping, cooking hours daily. You'll charge what you need, food-wise, to the store's account. I'll want the receipts, again daily.”

When Nell opened her mouth to speak, Mia simply lifted one slim, coral-tipped finger. “Wait. You'll be expected to serve and to clear tables when there's a rush, and to assist customers in the book section on your level during lulls. You get two half-hour breaks, Sundays off, and a fifteen percent employee discount on purchases, not including food or drink—which unless you turn out to be a glutton, will be part of your perks. With me so far?”

“Yes, but I—”

“Good. I'm here every day. If you have a question or problem you can't handle, get me. If I'm not available, go to Lulu. She's usually at the counter on the main floor, and she knows everything. You look quick enough to catch on; if you don't know an answer, don't be afraid to ask. Now, you're looking for a place to stay.”

“Yes.” It was like being swept away by a fast, unexpected wind. “I hope to—”

“Come with me.” Mia pulled a set of keys out of a drawer, pushed away from the desk and clipped out—she wore gorgeous, needle-thin heels, Nell noted.

Once they were on the main level, she walked
straight toward a rear door. “Lulu!” she called out. “Back in ten.”

Feeling clumsy and foolish, Nell followed her through the back exit and into a small garden paved with stepping-stones. A huge black cat sunned itself on one of them and blinked open one luminous gold eye as Mia stepped nimbly over.

“That's Isis. She won't trouble you.”

“She's beautiful. Is the garden your work?”

“Yes. No place is a home without flowers. Oh, I didn't ask—do you have transportation?”

“Yes, I have a car. It can loosely be called transportation.”

“That's handy. You won't have far to go, but it'd be troublesome to cart your goods on foot every day.” At the edge of the lot she turned left, kept up her brisk pace, passed the backs of shops, across from neatly kept houses.

“Ms.—I'm sorry, I don't know your last name.”

“It's Devlin, but I told you to call me Mia.”

“Mia, I'm grateful for the job. For the chance. And I can promise you, you won't be sorry. But . . . can I ask where we're going?”

“You need a place.” She turned a corner, stopped and gestured. “That should do it.”

Across the narrow side street sat a little yellow house, like a cheerful sunbeam at the edge of a tiny grove of stunted trees. The shutters were white, as was the narrow strip of porch. There were flowers there, too, in a happy dance of bright summer colors.

It sat back from the road on a neat square of lawn with trees tucking it into shade and dappled sunlight.

“Is this your house?” Nell asked.

“Yes. For the moment.” Jingling the keys, Mia walked up the flagstone path. “I bought it last spring.”

Had been compelled to, Mia remembered. An investment, she'd told herself. Though she, a businesswoman down to the bone, had done nothing so far about renting it out. She'd waited, just as, she understood, the house had waited.

She unlocked the front door, stepped back. “It's been blessed.”

“Excuse me?”

Mia only nodded. “Welcome.”

The furnishings were sparse. A simple sofa that desperately needed re-covering, a deep-cushioned chair, a scatter of tables.

“Bedrooms on either side, though the one to the left is more suited to an office or study. The bathroom's minute, but charming, and the kitchen's been modernized and should do very well. It's straight back. I've worked on the gardens, but they need more care. There's no AC, but the furnace works. Still, you'll be glad the fireplace works as well come January.”

“It's wonderful.” Unable to resist, Nell wandered, poking her head in the main bedroom where a pretty bed with a white iron headboard stood. “Like a fairy cottage. You must love living here.”

“I don't live here. You do.”

Nell turned back, slowly. There was Mia, in the center of the little room, her hands cupped together with the keys in her palm. Light beamed through the two front windows and seemed to set her hair to flame.

“I don't understand.”

“You need a place, I have a place. I live on the
cliffs. I prefer it there. This is your place, for now. Don't you feel it?”

She only knew she felt happy, and full of nerves at the same time. And that the moment she'd stepped into the house, she'd wanted to stretch and settle, very much like the cat in the sunshine.

“I can stay here?”

“Life's been hard, hasn't it?” Mia murmured. “That you'd tremble at good fortune. You'll pay rent, for nothing that comes free holds its value. We'll work the terms out of your salary. Settle in. You'll have to come back and sign forms and so on. But that can wait for the morning. Island Market is your best source for the ingredients you'll need for tomorrow's menu. I'll let them know you're coming, so you can charge to the store account. Any pots, pans, whatever are your expense, but I'll float that until the end of the month. I expect to see you, and your creations, by nine-thirty sharp.”

She stepped over and dropped the keys into Nell's limp hand. “Any questions?”

“Too many to know where to begin. I don't know how to thank you.”

“Don't waste your tears, little sister,” Mia replied. “They're too precious. You'll work hard for what you make here.”

“I can't wait to get started.” Nell held out her hand. “Thank you, Mia.”

Their hands touched, clasped. A spark snapped out, blue as flame and quickly gone. With a half laugh, Nell jerked back. “Must be a lot of static, or something, in the air.”

“Or something. Well, welcome home, Nell.” Turning, Mia started for the door.

“Mia.” Emotion gathered in her throat, ached there. “I said this was like a fairy cottage. You must be my fairy godmother.”

Mia's smile was dazzling, and her laughter low and rich as warmed cream. “You'll find out soon enough I'm far from it. I'm just a practical witch. Don't forget to bring me the receipts,” she added and quietly closed the door behind her.