Troublesome woman. He thought she ’ d disappeared down the alleyway between The Brew Pub and The Tea Cozy, but when he ’ d check ed , the alley was empty. He ’ d looked inside the darkened windows o f both the pub and the tea shop and tried the doors, but both had been closed , locked up tight .
So m uch for keeping tabs on her . He ’ d go back to her house and wait for her there. Besides, h e had a gift to leave her an yway, t o let her know he ’ d arrived in town. The token would make her putty in his hands. Literally.
#
Sleigh bells jangled over the door as Cate entered the tea shop. Matt Nathanson ’ s Modern Love played softly from the overhead sound system. The walls were painted a chocolate brown, the wood trim a creamy white. Tabletop displays of stacked teacups, travel mugs, and packaged shortbread cookies, and the wide array of colorful tins nestled on mahogany shelves lent the shop a welcoming atmosphere.
The sweet scent of exotic teas surrounded Cate and a warm, comforting magic tingled along her skin, the touch like a mother ’ s gentle hug. She paused to consider the ramifications. Over the past several months, she ’ d not encountered one other person here in Southwestern Pennsylvania with obvious magickal abilities, other than her live-in midwife, Hattie. And now, within minutes, she ’ d experienced two distinctly different pulses of magickal energy.
Cate browsed the collection near the big plate-glass windows, watching for someone to step from the shadows or nearby alleyways looking for her. No one followed or passed by. Whoever it was, they wouldn ’ t find her now. The magic she ’ d employed would hide her until they moved on. A magickal curtain shielded the tea shop from the corner of the bar and grille , where the antique spectacles still cast their magic. Anyone looking in would see an empty shop. Illusion spells were some of her favorite.
She shrugged off her uneasiness and caressed her belly. Yes, rubbing her tummy was a bad habit, but it seemed to soothe her and the fluttering baby growing inside. Her baby bump had just begun to show. And the morning sickness phase seemed to have disappeared. Finally. Thank God.
“How far along are you?” A p retty petite blonde wearing hip- hugging black jeans, three-inch purple suede peep pumps, and a white gauzy peasant blouse glanced at her and smiled as she continued to stack tea tins on the shelves to Cate ’ s left.
The woman looked like a sun-kissed pixie, even at the beginning of June in the cooler mountain climate of Pennsylvania. She was all tanned skin, warm brown eyes, golden blond hair cut in a shoulder-length bob, and curves that accentuated her hourglass figure. Cute and friendly summed up Cate ’ s first impression of the other woman.
“Four months,” Cate answered. “I ’ ve just begun to show and my jeans are starting to get tight. I ’ ll need to buy maternity clothes soon. How could you tell?”
“I recognize the comfort rub. I did the same thing with each of my pregnancies.”
“Each? You don ’ t look old enough to be pregnant once.”
The woman laughed, the sound robust, jovial. “Thank you. I ’ ll take that as a huge compliment. I have three girls. Now ages five, seven, and nine.”
“Wow. You can ’ t be old enough for three.”
“I started young. And my husband is in the military--Captain America off saving the world, one big bad terrorist at a time. So we make good use of the time he ’ s home. Procreated like rabbits there for several years.” She brushed her hands down her black jeans and offered Cate her hand. “I ’ m April Easton. Nice to meet you.”
“ Cate Cooper. Pleased to meet you.”
“Your first baby?”
Cate blushed. “Yes.” And probably her last. “How do you do it with three girls? And you work. I can ’ t imagine. I ’ m tired all the time.”
“I own The Tea Cozy. I set my own hours and since all the girls are in school from seven-thirty to three
So m uch for keeping tabs on her . He ’ d go back to her house and wait for her there. Besides, h e had a gift to leave her an yway, t o let her know he ’ d arrived in town. The token would make her putty in his hands. Literally.
#
Sleigh bells jangled over the door as Cate entered the tea shop. Matt Nathanson ’ s Modern Love played softly from the overhead sound system. The walls were painted a chocolate brown, the wood trim a creamy white. Tabletop displays of stacked teacups, travel mugs, and packaged shortbread cookies, and the wide array of colorful tins nestled on mahogany shelves lent the shop a welcoming atmosphere.
The sweet scent of exotic teas surrounded Cate and a warm, comforting magic tingled along her skin, the touch like a mother ’ s gentle hug. She paused to consider the ramifications. Over the past several months, she ’ d not encountered one other person here in Southwestern Pennsylvania with obvious magickal abilities, other than her live-in midwife, Hattie. And now, within minutes, she ’ d experienced two distinctly different pulses of magickal energy.
Cate browsed the collection near the big plate-glass windows, watching for someone to step from the shadows or nearby alleyways looking for her. No one followed or passed by. Whoever it was, they wouldn ’ t find her now. The magic she ’ d employed would hide her until they moved on. A magickal curtain shielded the tea shop from the corner of the bar and grille , where the antique spectacles still cast their magic. Anyone looking in would see an empty shop. Illusion spells were some of her favorite.
She shrugged off her uneasiness and caressed her belly. Yes, rubbing her tummy was a bad habit, but it seemed to soothe her and the fluttering baby growing inside. Her baby bump had just begun to show. And the morning sickness phase seemed to have disappeared. Finally. Thank God.
“How far along are you?” A p retty petite blonde wearing hip- hugging black jeans, three-inch purple suede peep pumps, and a white gauzy peasant blouse glanced at her and smiled as she continued to stack tea tins on the shelves to Cate ’ s left.
The woman looked like a sun-kissed pixie, even at the beginning of June in the cooler mountain climate of Pennsylvania. She was all tanned skin, warm brown eyes, golden blond hair cut in a shoulder-length bob, and curves that accentuated her hourglass figure. Cute and friendly summed up Cate ’ s first impression of the other woman.
“Four months,” Cate answered. “I ’ ve just begun to show and my jeans are starting to get tight. I ’ ll need to buy maternity clothes soon. How could you tell?”
“I recognize the comfort rub. I did the same thing with each of my pregnancies.”
“Each? You don ’ t look old enough to be pregnant once.”
The woman laughed, the sound robust, jovial. “Thank you. I ’ ll take that as a huge compliment. I have three girls. Now ages five, seven, and nine.”
“Wow. You can ’ t be old enough for three.”
“I started young. And my husband is in the military--Captain America off saving the world, one big bad terrorist at a time. So we make good use of the time he ’ s home. Procreated like rabbits there for several years.” She brushed her hands down her black jeans and offered Cate her hand. “I ’ m April Easton. Nice to meet you.”
“ Cate Cooper. Pleased to meet you.”
“Your first baby?”
Cate blushed. “Yes.” And probably her last. “How do you do it with three girls? And you work. I can ’ t imagine. I ’ m tired all the time.”
“I own The Tea Cozy. I set my own hours and since all the girls are in school from seven-thirty to three
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