Not only was the building solid and perfectly located in the center of Main Street, but it was blessed with a ton of striking, unique architectural details from its earliest years, all carefully preserved by the previous owner. The front of the old florist’s shop had a gorgeous cast-iron bow window where Ava planned to display her teas, and the entire building was floored in beautifully worn wide oak planks. Best of all, the ceiling was lined with original pressed tin ceiling tiles.
Ava loved it all. Even now, as exhausted as she was from yet another near sleepless night, she couldn’t help but feel proud. “I hope it’s done in time. I have to open in March. I can’t afford to wait any longer.”
“It will be ready.” Sarah smiled and came to slip her arm around Ava’s shoulders. “Your tearoom is going to be amazing.”
That was Sarah. Of all the people Ava knew—and between her tearoom and landscaping company, she knew just about everyone here in Dove Pond—her sister was the most positive person she’d ever met. Sarah had always been that way, even when she’d been a tiny thing.
Sarah hugged Ava. “It’s going to be fine. Better than fine. Just look at this.” Sarah went to the mahogany bar and ran her hand over the shining surface. “Dylan did a great job.”
Dylan Fraser was a local contractor who lived in Dove Pond but worked mostly in Asheville. Ava had been doing his landscaping for years, and he’d cut the price of her reno in return for a discount on his yard. “That bar adds a lot of drama to the room. I love it.” She cut her sister an amused look. “And to think that when you saw it at that auction house in Atlanta, you thought it was too big for this room.”
“I was wrong,” Sarah admitted. “Like most librarians, I can look at a pile of books and instantly know how much shelf space they’ll take, but I can’t seem to do that with plain old furniture. I—” A delicate bell chimed, and she pulled out her phone. “It’s Kat. She wants the new Mariah Stewart book.”
Kat Carter was a local real estate agent and one of Ava’s best friends. “She’s been going on and on about it.”
“It came this morning, and I already have a waiting list, although Kat’s first.” Sarah dropped her phone back into her pocket and sighed. “There’s another book that has been bound and determined to visit her, one about the history of turpentine.”
“What does turpentine have to do with Kat?”
“I have no idea, but the book was insistent. I’d better get to the library before Kat.” Sarah headed for the door, pausing when she got there. “I’ll come back after work. Kristen should be here by then. Between the three of us, I bet we can get some of those tables assembled.”
“Thanks, Sarah. That’ll help a lot.”
“You’re welcome. Now stop looking so worried. You’ll get it done in time, and everyone in Dove Pond will flock here the second you’re open. You got this.” With a bright smile, Sarah left.
The door softly closed behind her. Alone again, Ava rubbed her temples, where a faint ache was growing. Rubbing didn’t help, so she decided to ignore the ache and instead retrieved her watering can. She watered the dragon trees, pausing to trail her fingers over the glossy, sword-shaped leaves. The plants hummed happily under her touch, easing her tiredness and making her smile. There were times she found her Dove gift a grave responsibility. But more often than not, it was soothing in ways she couldn’t explain.
She was glad her connection with plants was useful, something bigger than merely making everyone’s yards look like exotic gardens. Years ago, when Ava had just turned sixteen and was already landscaping her neighbors’ yards for extra money, eleven-year-old Sarah had knocked on Ava’s door in the middle of the night, saying she couldn’t sleep because there was a book in the attic calling Ava’s name. Clutching a cheap flashlight that only put out a dim, yellowish beam, they’d climbed the rickety stairs into the dark, dusty attic, past broken lamps, musty boxes of ancient pictures, forgotten Christmas decorations, and incomplete sets of old china to a large trunk that sat at the very back. They’d had to fight the rusted latch but finally managed to coax it open.
Sarah had pushed aside a mound of tattered velvet curtains and produced an old journal labeled TEAS AND ELIXIRS. She’d shushed the book and then held it toward Ava. “This is yours.”
Smelling faintly of old vanilla, mint, and other herbs Ava didn’t recognize, the notebook had been the property of their great-great-great-aunt Mildred Dove, a known hermit who had written up scores of herbal tea recipes and scribbled copious notes in the margins using such ill-spelled phrases as “Efecctive digestivo” and “Harvest during summer soltise or no gud.” The notes rather than the recipes had intrigued Ava, who had studied the book relentlessly. One day, after hearing Momma murmur yet again how tired she was, Ava decided to make a tea Aunt Mildred had claimed “helped ease the tired.”
It had taken Ava three days to concoct the brew. She’d prepared the herbs and plants, meticulously following the recipe and notes to create a delicate tea made from magnolia bark, dried ginger and cloves, and two dandelion petals she’d placed on a china plate and left out for one full night under a half-moon. To Ava’s surprise, the plants had joined in, ideas of their usefulness flickering through her mind every time she’d touched a leaf or a flower.
No one had been happier than Ava when, after drinking a cup, Momma had slept better than she had in a long time.
Making that first tea—and seeing it work—had lit a fire in Ava’s youthful heart. She could do more than tend yards; she could help others. All she had to do was listen to the plants and follow Aunt Mildred’s recipes and notes. At first, Ava just made her teas for people she knew. But as time passed, just as with her landscaping business, more and more people came to Ava, asking for her help. Soon, she was making a brew for just about every family in town.
Ava stashed the watering can back in its place behind the bar, her gaze falling on her colorful planner, a gift from Julie. It looked as if it belonged to a sixteen-year-old, not a successful businesswoman, and even came with smiley stickers, which had particularly thrilled Julie.
Ava put her hand flat on the planner, the plastic cover cool under her palm, and wished yet again that she’d gotten to know Julie sooner. During those last few weeks, Ava had admitted as much to Julie, who’d merely shrugged and said she wasn’t an easy woman to get to know. That was true; Julie’s moods were swift and unfathomable. Ava had found out almost too late that her new friend had been so, so worth the effort.
With a heavy sigh, Ava turned away and picked up a blue tarp. She’d just unfolded it when someone rapped on the door.
Who on earth would knock? She never locked it. Stifling her irritation, she called out, “It’s open!”
Ellen Foster breezed in, carrying a large, bulky package wrapped in brown paper.
Ava suddenly remembered that Ellen had mentioned at the funeral that she might stop by this morning. I forgot, darn it. Ava forced a smile. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Dressed in a pair of cream slacks and a flowy gray cashmere top under a navy wool coat, her paleness offset with deftly applied makeup, Ellen looked as if she should be on her way to a posh lunch in Manhattan rather than an unfinished tearoom. Ava was instantly aware of her own scrubbed face, ponytail, paint-stained coveralls, and work boots.