The Unfortunate Side Effects of Heartbreak and Magic(21)

Sadie’s optimism lasted until exactly 10:02 AM.

She’d tried to get Gigi to go home. To relax. Conserve her energy. But her grandmother had laughed outright before making Sadie swear an oath of silence about her cancer. She made her swear on the lemon tree, an oath that couldn’t be broken without severe consequences. Watching her grandmother bustle about the shop, it was hard to believe the news she’d shared last night. And that, somehow, made it easier to believe she could find a cure. To be okay with going about their day as if Sadie’s routine, her heart, her thoughts, weren’t coming apart at the seams.

It was Saturday, their busiest day, and Gail and Gigi were taking care of customers up front while Sadie was cooking up half a dozen chilled lemon cream and lavender pies.

Three were for the store and three to bring to church the next day. She’d stored a bowl of melted butter on the high shelf, so it wouldn’t be knocked over. But as she reached up to grab it, her fingers slipped, and the butter sloshed out.

The slick mess coated the right side of her hair, face, and shoulder like a greasy rain. Her eye was clamped shut to keep the butter out, and she felt blindly around for a dishtowel. Cursing and coming up empty-handed, she banged through the door, to grab some napkins from behind the counter, only to see through her one good eye a group of men coming in.

No, no, no, this was not happening. Three were firemen that Sadie knew. And the fourth …

She couldn’t move. The butter had somehow leaked into her brain and scrambled it.

Her eyes darted back to the kitchen, and when they swiveled forward again, she was staring straight into the startlingly dark eyes of none other than Jake McNealy.

Here she was, squinting like a buttered-up pirate, and there was the bane of her existence, doing everything in his power not to laugh and utterly failing.

Excellent. This was so, so excellent.

“Sadie makes the best desserts in town,” one of the men said, clapping a hand on Jake’s shoulder.

Before yesterday she never in a million years would have imagined him in her store. And seeing him there, a smile taking up half his face—well, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

Last night she’d thought it would be easy to shove him out of her mind. To forget about him yet again. And now the universe was mocking her, delivering him on a silver platter while she was drowned in butter.

“Sadie,” he said in greeting, trying to stifle his laughter, “you … um, you have a little something,” he gestured to his own face where the butter was mirrored on hers.

“I … it was—I couldn’t … I mean, the butter,” she stuttered.

“Ah,” Jake tried and failed again to contain a laugh. “I see that hasn’t changed then. Your eloquence is as astounding as ever.”

Sadie let out a strangled groan and rolled her eyes, grabbed a fistful of napkins, and started wiping.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “I thought I told you I needed time.”

“Oh, I’m not here for you. I’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth, and Vinny told me I haven’t lived until I’ve had the cinnamon apple tarts here.”

“I did. I said that. Told him, I know just the place. Sorry Sadie … I didn’t really think …”

“Yes, well. I’ll, um—hang on just a second. I’ll be right back.” She darted back into the kitchen and grabbed onto the counter to steady herself.

“Gigi Marie,” she heard his booming voice call out. “How is it possible you seem to be getting younger?”

Sadie peeked through the slit in the doors and saw Gigi hugging Jake, her hand patting his side. Her head barely reached his navel.

“You little shit ass.” She laughed. “I can’t believe you have the nerve to show your face around here,” she teased. Gigi liked to pretend that she held a grudge against Jake for leaving town all those years ago, which she probably did. But she also happened to be susceptible to his charms whenever he decided to turn them on.

Sadie finished wiping the butter off while her heart was trying to do a triple-time waltz right out of her chest.

You are a twenty-eight-year-old adult woman, damn it. Pull yourself together, she reprimanded herself silently.

Yanking her hair back into a ponytail, she groaned in frustration when the elastic snapped. Her hair, normally wavy, had tightened into thick, spiraled curls. The strawberries she’d been simmering on the stove suddenly bubbled over, filling the air with a thick, pungent sweetness. When she reached to turn off the burner, static electricity zapped her fingertips.

Gigi strode through the door and took in the mess on the stove, Sadie’s hair, and her heaving chest.

“I’m fine. Just gathering my wits,” Sadie assured her.

“Rule number nine, sugar.”

“‘High emotion equals unpredictable magic,’” Sadie recited. “I know.”

“You remember what happened when that boy left?”

Sadie nodded. She’d nearly burned Gigi’s kitchen down.

“‘Guard your heart, for from it flows the wellspring of life,’” she quoted. “But don’t guard it so closely that you’ll never get hurt. Because if you can’t get hurt then you can’t love, and if you’re gonna live like that, I wouldn’t have read your damned tea leaves. Now, go on,” she commanded, pushing Sadie through the doors.