The Tea Shop on Lavender Lane

She should derail this train before it went any farther down the track. Instead, she said, “All right. Zelda’s, and a movie after. With popcorn. Don’t cheap out on me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He put his hand to the small of her back and gently steered her toward the front door. “Come on, Beauty. Let’s get you out of here before the beast ravishes you.”

And before her nerve endings betrayed her.

Who was she kidding? They already had.

The ride back to The Man Cave on his Harley didn’t calm them down any. Todd Black in leather, seated astride a big rumbling machine, was like a romance-novel cover come to life, and the minute she climbed on behind him, her zing-o-meter took another hit. What was she doing? Who was in charge here, anyway, her brains or her hormones?

As if she needed to ask that question? Oh, boy.

* * *

Bailey’s bank account was dwindling, and she was down to her last catering job.

The detective hired by her L.A. lawyer had learned that the doctors found no evidence of food poisoning when Samba Barrett came in and played her General Hospital scene. Big surprise. Bailey’s lawyer had sent Samba a letter threatening to sue her for slander and that had been enough to shut up her collagen-plumped mouth as she made the late-night talk TV circuit. It was one thing to be a tragic victim. Quite another to get taken to court for being a fake.

Sadly, it was all too late to bring back Bailey’s customers.

You still have the Amora Bliss baby shower, she reminded herself. That would have several Hollywood people at it, and if all went well, maybe she could rebuild her reputation.

Or not. Saturday morning, the day before the shower, Melinda Spooner, the hostess, called her. “It turns out we’re not going to need you,” she said.

Seriously? She was canceling the day before the event? After Bailey had purchased the food, begun making preparations? “But I’ve already started on the baby bootee cakes,” Bailey protested. “And they’re adorable.”

“I’m sure they are, but we won’t be needing you.”

This woman was an actress friend of Bailey’s high school pal Bitsy (also an aspiring actress—in Los Angeles, who wasn’t?). It was enough of a connection that Bailey felt she could fight to keep this gig. “Melinda, does this have anything to do with what happened at Samba Barrett’s party?”

There was a betraying moment of silence before Melinda spoke. “No, of course not.”

“You know Bitsy wouldn’t have referred you to someone incompetent,” Bailey pushed. “And you know you can’t believe everything you read in the Star Reporter.”

“I know. It’s just that, well, uh, Amora’s having labor pains, and we’re not sure if she’ll even be around for the party tomorrow.”

“I thought she wasn’t due for another two months.”

“They’re premature.”

Right.

“I’d better go,” Melinda said. She ended the call before Bailey could say anything more.

Bailey looked around her rented commercial kitchen at the piles of fruit, waiting to get made into salad, the fresh herbs, the half-decorated little cakes, and burst into tears. And then she called her big sister.

Samantha answered on the first ring. “How are you doing?”

“Horrible,” Bailey sobbed. “I lost my last client.”

“Okay, that’s it, end of story. You’re coming home.”

“I can’t afford to come home.” She also couldn’t afford rent. Or food. Heck, she couldn’t afford to breathe.

“Oh, yes, you can,” Samantha said briskly. “I’m going online and buying you a ticket. You can stay with Cec.”

That was her big sister, making decisions for everyone. It was in Samantha’s nature to take charge.

But that was exactly what Bailey needed right now. It seemed she was no longer able to run her own life.

“I’ll call Cec. You start packing. Okay?”

Bailey had so wanted to make a success of her catering business. She’d had everything all planned. She’d begin as a caterer to the stars and move from there into having her own restaurant and becoming a star herself, a celebrity chef with restaurants in L.A. and Vegas. That dream was dead.

“We’ve all missed you,” Samantha said. “You belong in Icicle Falls. Come home.”

Home. Suddenly, that was the sweetest word in the English language. Her family would dress her emotional wounds with encouragement and wrap her in love, and she desperately needed a dose of love.

She sure wasn’t feeling it in L.A. “Get me out of here as soon as you can,” she said. Dorothy was right. There was no place like home, and the sooner Bailey got there, the happier she’d be.

* * *

“Todd, I don’t know what we’d do without you,” Millie Halverson said, handing Todd a glass of iced tea.

He took it and wiped his sweaty brow. “Aw, Mrs. H., there you go, swelling my head again.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” the old woman said with a smile. “I really do appreciate you coming over to help me. That lawn is too much for me with my darned hip.”

Not just the lawn—the whole house, he thought, but he didn’t say anything. Sadly, the time would come soon enough when the Halversons would have to admit defeat and give up the place. And now that her husband had had a stroke, Todd expected it was imminent. So far, the Halversons had been holding on with all their might.

He didn’t blame them. It was a great old place. And talk about a perfect location. The house was on a street that was now zoned commercial, and it sat right around the corner from the block the locals called Foodie Paradise, which housed everything from Sweet Dreams Chocolates and a spice shop to Bavarian Brews, the town’s favorite coffee shop.

Once upon a time this had been a neighborhood filled with families raising their children, but the families had moved on. Some had left during the years the town was struggling economically; others had relocated farther out when Icicle Falls began to prosper, building bigger houses in other parts of town, selling their places to businesspeople anxious to open shops and take advantage of the tourist boom.

Like his house, this one had been around for at least a century and was showing its age. Over the past couple of years, since he’d gotten to know the couple, he’d done some minor repairs, but the kitchen needed updating and the whole place needed painting. Although Todd had offered to do that, Millie and Mike had declined. He suspected it was because of money and had wanted to pay for the paint, but they’d still said no. Hard to accept help, even from someone who’d become a friend.

“If we’d had a son, I’d have wanted him to be just like you,” Millie said.

Too bad his old man wasn’t around to hear that. He looked at her in mock surprise. “I’m not?”

She smiled at him, shaking her head. “You’re such a cutup. But I do want to talk to you seriously when you’re done. If you’ve got a minute.”

“For you? Of course.” She nodded briskly and hobbled into the house, while he went back to mowing her lawn, wondering what she wanted to talk about.

He found out half an hour later when he’d finished, and she invited him inside to sit on her worn, blue velvet sofa.

“Mike and I have been talking. We think it’s time for assisted living, for both of us.”

“Aw, crap.” They’d wanted to stay in this place until they died. Not practical, of course, but Todd still felt bad for them.