The Peach Keeper (21 page)

Moments later, Sebastian leaned in from behind her and said into her ear, “I’ve found a way to get you into the kitchen. Come with me.”

Without a word, Paxton grabbed her purse and the gift, and followed Sebastian. There were a lot of people standing now, stretching their legs, so they managed to get back into the house unnoticed.

The cute young waiter was waiting for them. “Follow me,” he said with a wink and a smile.

Paxton looked to Sebastian. He’d done this just for her. “Go on,” he said. “I’ll wait for you in the living room.”

The waiter, whose name was Buster, was both sweet and outrageous. He was working his way through culinary school in Bascom. He got her past the person sitting outside the kitchen door, a guard of some sort that Moira had posted there in order to keep Claire Waverley all to herself, like a witch in a children’s story.

Paxton was so surprised and touched by Sebastian’s act that as soon as she walked into the kitchen, her agenda changed in a flash. It was there so suddenly, she
didn’t have time to think it through. She was just going to do it. She put the gift on a shelf by the door and walked forward. She had one opportunity, and she was going to take it. Maybe she could still make this happen.

Two women were standing next to a stainless-steel prep table that was littered with flowers, making it look like bright confetti had been thrown onto it in an impromptu celebration. They were amazingly composed, as still as snow. Paxton felt a little leery as she approached them.

Rich women always have their ears to the ground, listening for the buzz of something new, something that will make them happier, younger, better. Once word of a dermatologist with a miracle cream gets out, that dermatologist is booked for months. Once a personal trainer at the gym is declared the best, everyone wants him. So it was with Claire Waverley, a beautiful, mysterious caterer who it was rumored could make your rivals jealous, your love life better, your senses stronger, all with the food she created. Her specialty was edible flowers, and once it got out that she had something no one else had, everyone wanted her. But she was notoriously hard to book.

“Claire Waverley?”

“Yes?” Claire said, turning around. She was in her forties, with beautifully cut hair and a quiet intensity.

“My name is Paxton Osgood.”

“Hello,” Claire said. She put her arm around the young woman beside her. “This is my niece, Bay.”

“Nice to meet you,” Paxton said.

Bay smiled. There was definitely a family resemblance. The dark hair, the gamine features. But Claire’s eyes were sharp and dark, and Bay’s were bright blue. Bay was probably fifteen—skinny, awkward, and completely charming. She was wearing so many braided bracelets that they covered half her arm, her T-shirt read:
IF YOU ASK ME, I’LL TELL YOU
, and she had an old
Romeo and Juliet
paperback stuffed into the back pocket of her jeans.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Paxton said.

“You’re not. Our work is done. Dessert is ready.” She gestured to the large trays of custard cups, ready for the waiters to pick up. “Cups of lemon crème layered with hazelnut shortbread crumbles, pansies, lavender, and lemon verbena.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Bay, take that box out to the van, please.” As soon as the girl was gone, Claire said, “You have a question.”

She was used to this, Paxton realized. She was used to lovesick people wanting something from her—a cure, a potion, a promise. It was in her eyes. She’d seen it all before. The longing. The desperation. She knew what Paxton was going to ask before she said it.

Paxton looked over her shoulder to make sure no one else was near enough to hear. “Can you really make people feel differently with the food you cook, with the drinks you prepare?”

“I can change moods. What I can’t do is change people. There is no magic for that. Who are you looking to change?”

The words brought her up short. She didn’t want
Sebastian to change. And being in love wasn’t something that was wrong. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, change that. She realized this was her last-ditch effort to make things go her way. Find what makes you happy, her brother had said. This didn’t bring her happiness, so why was she pursuing it? It was time, she realized, to finally give up. “No one, I guess,” Paxton said.

Claire gave her a small, understanding smile. “It’s for the best. The harder we fight, the worse it gets. I speak from experience.”

Paxton walked out of the kitchen, a little numb. But that was okay. She actually preferred it. She walked to Moira’s living room to find Sebastian.

Despite his delicate features and slim build, he could give off such a lord-of-the-manor vibe when he wanted to, lofty and untouchable. That’s what he looked like now, sitting on the leather couch, staring out the window. He turned when he heard her approach.

He looked surprised. “You didn’t give her the gift.”

Paxton looked at the wrapped box in her hands. “No. I think I’d like to go home.”

He uncrossed his legs and stood. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch and walked toward her silently. Once outside, Sebastian gave the valet his ticket. To the right, Paxton could see the Ukrainian performers climbing into a large white van. Without another thought, she went over to them and handed them her mother’s gift and said, “Thank you. It was beautiful.”

They smiled, not understanding these strange Southern American women.

The valet had delivered Sebastian’s Audi by the time she walked back. Sebastian helped her in, then got behind the wheel.

Before he could start the engine, she said, “I almost asked Claire Waverley for a love potion.”

He sat back slowly and looked at her. “Almost?”

“I don’t want you to be something you aren’t. You’re wonderful just as you are. And my feelings are inconvenient, but they’re not wrong. I don’t think I would change them, even if I could.”

With a sigh, he leaned over and put his forehead to hers, then closed his eyes. He, too, seemed to understand the hopelessness of the situation. After a moment, he pulled back slightly and looked at her. His eyes traveled all over her face and then slowly, almost imperceptibly, he leaned in to her again, watching her mouth. This had to be all her doing, somehow. She was creating this because she wanted it so much. “Don’t do this,” she whispered, when his lips got close enough that she could smell the slight tang of wine from his last sip in his glass. “Don’t pity me.”

His eyes darted to hers, confused. “What makes you think I’m pitying you?”

“I know it’s not something you want to talk about. I know you like to maintain this mystery when it comes to your sexuality. But I saw you, remember? Back in high school, our senior year. You were with a group of boys in the food court in the Asheville Mall. One of them leaned over and kissed you, and you looked right at me.” He leaned back in his seat, startled. She missed his nearness instantly, so much that she wanted to curl
into herself to keep the last bit of his warmth with her. “I will never ask you to be something you’re not. Never. I know you can’t feel for me what I feel for you. So it’s my problem. It’s my roadblock to get around. Not yours.”

He took a deep breath and shook his head. “I’d forgotten about that,” he said.

There was an uncomfortable pause before he started the car and pulled out. He drove to an intersection and came to a stop, and Paxton recognized the car that had stopped to their left. It was Colin, with Willa in the seat next to him. Colin honked and waved at her.

If she didn’t love her brother so much, she’d probably resent him.

He’d obviously had a much better day than she had.

TWELVE
Strange Seductions

R
achel Edney believed that she was, essentially, a practical person. She did not believe in ghosts or superstitions or bells that could ring on their own.

But one thing she did believe in was love. She believed that you could smell it, that you could taste it, that it could change the entire course of your life.

And she was living proof.

She’d never lived in one place for more than a year while she was growing up. And she’d been all set to follow that same pattern into adulthood. There was nothing wrong with it, after all. Stability was overrated. Crises and adventures, on the other hand, could actually teach you something. A year and a half ago, she’d hiked through Walls of Water, broke and tired. She’d decided to stop and get a job long enough to stock up on some
cash, and then leave again. She’d easily found work at the sporting goods store because, let’s face it, you can’t spend your childhood living in campground after campground without knowing a little about what you need to survive. Willa, the store’s owner, had seemed relieved. Rachel liked Willa. She was nice and funny, but so full of unexpressed emotion that Rachel had tried everything she could to pop her balloon just to let some of that pressure out. Nothing ever worked, which was strange. Rachel wasn’t usually wrong about people.

Even after finding work, Rachel had had to camp illegally in Cataract because she couldn’t afford to rent a place. That’s where she’d been discovered one rainy night by a park ranger named Spencer. He hadn’t really wanted to make her leave, so he’d agreed to let her stay until morning if she’d promise to pack up and leave at first light. She’d been so grateful that she’d kissed him right there, standing in the rain. He’d been uptight and embarrassed about it. He’d actually blushed as he walked away. But when he came back the next morning, he’d seemed relieved to find her there, even after he’d told her to go. And that’s how it happened.

Rachel fell in love, and it changed everything.

She’d lived here longer than she’d lived in any other place, which was an odd feeling for her. But Spencer was here—sweet, kind, stable Spencer—and she knew she couldn’t be anywhere he wasn’t, which, when she thought about it, was exactly how Rachel’s mother had found herself trailing Rachel’s father around the country. So she got used to this curious place and its funny superstitions. She got used to sleeping on a mattress
and using a crockpot. She learned to drive. She even got Willa to let her open the coffee bar in the store. And to her surprise, she was really good at it.

Coffee, she’d discovered, was tied to all sorts of memories, different for each person. Sunday mornings, friendly get-togethers, a favorite grandfather long since gone, the AA meeting that saved their life. Coffee
meant
something to people. Most found their lives were miserable without it.

Coffee was a lot like love that way.

And because Rachel believed in love, she believed in coffee, too.

But that was all.

She still didn’t believe in bells ringing on their own, even though the one in the store kept doing it.

She looked up when it rang again that Saturday, expecting to see no one there, but to her surprise, it was Willa.

“What are you doing here?” Rachel asked. “It’s your day off.”

“I’m going out with Colin Osgood today, and he’s meeting me here,” Willa said, walking up to Rachel at the coffee bar. “If you start making kissy noises, I will strip you of all your coffee privileges.”

Rachel pretended to think seriously about it, then asked, “Can I make a joke?”

“No.”

“A limerick?”

“No.”

“Can I hum the ‘Wedding March’ as you leave?”

“No.”

“Does this mean you and Colin are—”

Willa stopped her before she could finish. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Rachel nodded toward the store window, and Willa turned to see Colin walk by. “I’ve never seen you hide from anyone before. He must do something crazy to you.”

When Colin walked in, he looked from Rachel to Willa, probably wondering why they were staring at him. He looked down as if to make sure he’d actually put on clothes that morning. He was wearing shorts, hiking boots, and a long-sleeved tee.

Rachel saw Willa’s eyes narrow. “You’re dressed like … No.” She put one hand up. “Absolutely not.”

“Guess what?” Colin said, grinning. “We’re going hiking.”

“I don’t want to go hiking.” Willa said. “I’m not dressed for hiking.”

“Are we, or are we not, standing in a sporting goods store?”

“That’s why you wanted me to meet you here!” Willa said, outraged.

“Yes.”

Willa crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going.”

“Come on. Trust me,” Colin asked.

“I’ll get a pair of hiking boots in your size while you change into shorts and a T-shirt,” Rachel said, figuring that, between the two of them, she and Colin might just make this happen. “I’ll even let you wear my straw cowboy hat.”

“She’ll even let you wear her hat,” Colin said, looking
Willa in the eye and raising his brows, as if this was the clincher.

Rachel knew that if Willa didn’t want to do something, she wouldn’t, so the fact that she let herself be talked into this meant the only person she was really fighting here was herself.

In a matter of minutes, she was all suited up, looking a lot like a kid forced to wear an awful outfit Grandma made. “Let’s get this over with,” she said. “But I already told you, this has been tried before.”