The Tea Shop Read online

  "I'm going," he resigned. "I'm not giving up on us though. That's not going to happen. But when you're ready…"

  "Go!" she shouted again.

  Carson gathered his things and left her house again. He'd fix this. Somehow, he'd find a way.

  Chapter 26

  Abigail had told him to leave, and he had. But she didn't feel any better about the decision the next morning.

  True to Colorado, the day before had been downright cold, and today was nearly seventy. Abigail decided she'd take that opportunity to clean up the garden in her backyard. Of course, snow was predicted for the next morning, and her birthday would be cold too.

  Wasn't that the way of it? A day to celebrate, but it would be miserable. Surely Carson wouldn't think of bringing in Mrs. Winters to tea now, not after Abigail had been so horrible to him. But it was for his own good, or so she kept telling herself. In reality, it was probably best for her so she wouldn't have to see anything else when she touched him.

  Abigail gathered tools from the shed. She would collect what was left of her garden, move a few pots into the covered patio, and it might give them a few weeks’ worth of life. The leaves would be falling for weeks, but she would rake up the first set. Busy work was what she needed to calm her mind. So she got to it.

  An hour into the yard work, she broke for a sandwich and glass of water. Just as she was finishing her lunch, standing over the sink, she heard the knock on her front door. For a moment she stood there wondering if she could be quiet enough that whoever was would just go away. Her car was still parked at Carson's office, so they didn't have to know she was there. That was until she saw his mother's face peering around the corner of the front porch and catching her eye as Abigail stared out the window.

  Patricia waved and held up a planter with orange and yellow mums.

  Abigail tossed the remainder of her sandwich into the sink and headed toward the front door.

  Patricia stood on Abigail's front porch, with a glorious smile on her face, holding the basket of mums. "I thought of you the moment I saw this and thought I would come over and bring them to you. Carson told me where you lived. I hope you don't mind."

  There was no way Abigail could shoo the woman away. Her smile was infectious, and Abigail had a thing for fall flowers—damnit.

  "Come on in," Abigail stood back from the door, and Patricia walked in.

  Patricia looked around, as anyone would when they entered someone's home. "Your house is lovely. Carson's house is a mess, but you know that," she said, amusing herself with a laugh.

  Abigail didn't take offense to the comment. She was sure it was small talk. "His house will be beautiful when he's done. I don't know where he'll find the time, but it will be beautiful."

  "It would be better with a woman's touch," Patricia offered. She looked down at the basket in her hands. "I should hand these to you before I walk around the entire house with these in my hand, I hope you enjoy them."

  Abigail took the flowers from Patricia. "They're lovely. I enjoy the fall color."

  Patricia put her hand on her chest. "So do I. I have six of them on my porch. I had intended to put some of them on Mrs. Winters' porch, but the house is a mess. I have one more in my car, and I thought I would drop it off at her new place. I'm sure she would love some color."

  "Can I offer you something to drink?" Abigail was sure the woman had come to stay longer than the time allotted to drop off the plant.

  "I would love that."

  "Come with me to the kitchen. We can sit out on the patio since it's nice out today."

  Patricia nodded with a smile. "That sounds delightful. Carson told me all about your patio."

  As they walked to the kitchen, Abigail wondered just what Carson had told his mother. Did she know that they had broken things off? If so, did she know why?

  Abigail sat the flowers on the counter and pulled down two mugs. She turned to Patricia. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

  "I love tea."

  "It'll be just a few minutes. Feel free to have a seat at the table."

  Patricia sat at the kitchen table and pulled off her jacket. She turned and hung it on the back of the chair, then crossed her legs and leaned forward as if to speak more intimately to Abigail.

  "So your business is doing well?"

  "Extremely well," she agreed as she filled the teapot with water, turned on the stove, and set the pot to boil. "Clare thinks it would be nice if we hired one more person. I'm not sure about that yet. I think perhaps we should wait. We do okay with just the two of us."

  "Of course you do. But with the holidays coming, another hand might come in handy. I know Carson would be happy to help out on the weekends."

  That statement said a lot. Maybe Carson hadn't told her anything.

  "I suppose we'll have to see how busy we get." Abigail took her assorted basket of teas and set it on the table. "I don't keep the leaves here. Only bagged tea. I hope that's okay."

  "Of course, sweetheart. I'm surprised you drink tea at home at all."

  Abigail gave her a warm smile. "My obsession is real. Hence the shop. My grandmother loved tea. I suppose it's a tribute to her."

  "And your grandmother has passed?"

  Abigail nodded. "Yes. I miss her. I can only assume she sent me in the correct direction—career that is."

  "I think your choice of careers is fabulous." Patricia looked through the teabags and pulled one out. "I always thought it would be fun to have a little shop downtown. I love the artisans and the unique gift shops. I think your tea shop is perfect there too."

  It was interesting to Abigail, now, that she ever thought Carson was a tyrant. A tyrant wasn't raised by a woman like Patricia Stone. She was kind and thoughtful with her words. The gesture of showing up with flowers, that always meant a lot to Abigail. Carson simply was trying to make the place he lived in better. How come she didn't understand that before?

  The teapot whistled on the stove, and Abigail turned to retrieve it. She carried it to the table and set it on the trivet which she kept there. As she did so, she caught Patricia's eye. There was something in the way that the woman looked at her. Was she scoping her out? Did she have more questions?

  Abigail tended to always read too much into every situation. Who could blame her? She wanted to will her to go, but then again she enjoyed Patricia's company. It was like having her own mother sitting at her kitchen table, just for a visit.

  "Which of these teas are your favorite?" Patricia asked.

  "I'm very fond of the Egyptian licorice. It sounds a little funny, but it is my favorite."

  Patricia looked at the bag that she had pulled from the basket, and she replaced it and pulled out an Egyptian licorice. "I think I'll try it. Shall we head to the patio?"

  Abigail took a bag of tea from the basket and caught the enormous smile on Patricia's lips. Her heart ached for Carson now. Was that the reason behind this visit? She had to assume so, though she was thoroughly enjoying it.

  Chapter 27

  Abigail and Patricia had sat on the patio for nearly two hours. Abigail wondered how she could be comfortable with the woman. She assumed Carson had sent her, but by the time Patricia left, she had reconsidered.

  Maybe Patricia just wanted to know about her. Was Carson that interested, she wondered as she washed the mugs they had drunk from. Of course, he was that interested, she justified. He had told her he loved her.

  Patricia hadn't touched her or tried to hug her when she left. That made her consider that Carson had told her about that part of Abigail's life. Perhaps it was Abigail that had backed away if she thought there might be physical contact. After all, she was used to doing so, she hardly thought about it anymore.

  She decided she should talk to Carson. If she went to his house, she would have that much time to decide whether to tell him to have his family leave her alone, or apologize for the way she acted. As she walked to her bedroom to change her clothes, she decided she wasn't going to apologize. There was nothing s
he was sorry for. Carson deserved better than what she could offer. However, perhaps they could be friends.

  As she changed into a pair of jeans and slipped on a flowing cotton shirt, she considered the friends proposition. It sounded like every other breakup, but maybe this time he could be true. She didn't want him out of her life. But if she could change the course of history and not marry him, and not bring him any more drama, that would make her happy.

  Abigail pulled her hair up into a ponytail and looked in the mirror. If she did this, she would be alone forever. If she turned away the man who loved her, and she needed to make a pact with herself to never fall in love again.

  The physical labor of building new shelves for the living room was exactly what Carson had needed today. He needed his thinking to be as clear as possible, and the grunt work made that happen.

  As he stopped and took a sip of his water, his mind filled again with Abigail. He'd give her time. What else did he have but time? But he certainly wasn't giving up on her. Okay, so she had a crazy sixth sense, obviously so did other people. Who would've thought Mrs. Winters was one of them? Who else had this ability? Was he surrounded by people that could do this? And the nagging question in the back of his head, was what was going to happen to him? Why couldn't she see it?

  He finished the bottle of water and threw the empty container in the trash. There were too many questions. The only answer to everything was to get back to work. He needed to keep progressing on the house and his projects.

  He'd been in touch with the restaurateur who might be interested in the Ford Street church project if he could keep the church intact. Usually, that meant it was one of those people in the crowd, but Emily had done some digging. This guy was for real. And hadn't he already been thinking about keeping that building intact? Of course, he was going to do that for Abigail.

  Carson let out a groan as he went back to what he was doing.

  He lifted the brace for a shelf and leveled it in between the lines he had drawn. With one hand he managed nails from the pocket of his tool belt, resting them between his teeth, and then retrieved his hammer. Once the brace looked even, he skillfully managed the nail into place, but as he swung the hammer, he hit his hand instead.

  The shock of it had him dropping the brace and hammer, and falling off the step-ladder to the floor. The impact jarred him as he hit his head on the floor.

  "Mother…." He screamed as he heard another scream from the door.

  "Carson!" Abigail dropped the bags in her hand and ran to him. "Oh, God! Are you okay? Don't move. Let me look at you. Let me…"

  Perhaps he was dazed and confused, but looking up into her eyes made all the pain go away. "I'm fine," he interrupted her. "God, you're beautiful."

  "Carson, this isn't the time for…"

  He cut her off again by reaching for her and pulling her atop of him. Covering her mouth with his took the pain from his fall, and the disaster of a day, and lightened it. She'd come to him. She was here.

  A moment later, she pulled back from him and stood. The glazed-over caring look was gone and had been replaced with anger.

  "Stop it!" she demanded. "Just stop."

  Carson sat up and quickly placed his hand on the back of his head to ease the throbbing. "Shit!"

  "Are you hurt?"

  "Yes."

  "Good," she said through gritted teeth as she crossed her arms in front of her. "You should be more careful."

  "Got it."

  "You should watch what you're doing."

  "Thought I was."

  "You're an idiot."

  And that one didn't need a response, he thought.

  Carson eased himself to his knees, then took a breath to steady himself before he stood. Replacing his hand to the back of his head he looked at her standing before him, her cheeks red with anger. "What are you doing here?"

  "I brought you groceries," she said as she looked toward the door at the mess of milk and eggs oozing from the bags. "What a mess." She hurried toward the mess, and he followed. "Well, get a trash can. All you have left is squished bread for sandwiches."

  He didn't move right away. Instead, he opted to watch her fuss over groceries she'd brought for an idiot. What kind of woman did that?

  Carson went to the kitchen and brought back the trash can and a roll of paper towel. With his head pounding, and his hand bruising, he knelt down next to her and helped clean up the mess.

  "Why did you bring me groceries?"

  "Because I'm nervous."

  Carson sat back on his heels and watched her. "You're nervous?"

  Abigail stopped mopping up crushed eggs to study him. "Yes. Is that such a surprise?"

  "Yes," he answered honestly. "Why would you be nervous around me?"

  "Because I broke things off with you."

  "Right, so why the groceries?"

  Now she sat back on her heels, her knees wet from spilled milk. "Why did you send your mother over to my house?"

  "Why did I…" Carson stopped and let out a long breath. "I didn't send her over. Damnit. I told her I was home because we, well, because things were strained between us, is what I told her. I'm sorry I didn't know she'd go to your house. That had to be uncomfortable."

  Abigail remained silent for a moment. "It was very nice actually." She tossed the soiled paper towel into the trash can and pulled more off the roll. "She didn't let on that she knew we'd," she paused, "broken things off."

  "You broke them off."

  "It's best."

  "For you," he argued. "I don't like it."

  "Well…"

  Again, she was speechless.

  Carson reached for her hand and pulled her up with him, and away from the mess. He led her to the bedroom, which was the only place to sit.

  Abigail took a seat on the bed, and Carson remained standing watching her as if she were processing something deep inside of her.

  "Abi, if we're done, why are you here?"

  "I told you. I wanted to know why your mother came by."

  "And that included groceries?"

  Her lips pursed. "I told you. I was nervous."

  Carson raked his fingers through his hair. "I didn't send my mother. She likes you. She probably wanted to make sure you were alright if things between us were stressed. I'll let her know to leave you alone."

  Abigail looked down at her clenched hands in her lap. "I don't want that at all, Carson. In fact, I came here to make sure we can be friends."

  "Friends? You want to be friends?" He shrugged his hands in the air. "If that's all I get, then I guess I can settle. But that's not what I want, Abigail. It's not what I want at all."

  "I can't give you the prediction. I can't go on thinking that you love me, or will marry me because I said I saw it. And I can't go on worried every single day that what I see, or don't see, could hurt you."

  Carson moved to the bed and sat down next to her. He took her hand and linked their fingers together. When she tried to tug away, he held on tighter.

  "All of this hurts, Abigail. I don't know what deep dark hole you saw me in, but I feel like I'm in it. It's premature, and I think I want to marry you. And I've never felt like that before with anyone." When she took a breath to say something, he lifted a finger to her lips to silence her. "That's not a proposal. You don't deserve some mid-fight proposal. You deserve better. But I can't keep you if you don't want to be kept. It's obvious my family loves you, and you know that I love you. All that's left is for you to decide that I'm worthy of your trust and that I can deal with your gift."

  * * *

  Abigail looked at their hands locked together. She saw nothing. But she felt everything.

  "I do trust you," she admitted as her voice shook. "I just don't want you to have to deal with it."

  "It's no different than you going to a community meeting and everyone turning against me. I don't want you to deal with that."

  Abigail chuckled. "It gets pretty ugly."

  "It always does."

  "A
nd how do you deal with that? Personally, I mean."

  "I believe in what I do. Real estate development is an opportunity. Sometimes that opportunity comes at a price to the area. I get it. No matter what I choose to build in my life, there’s going to be somebody who's against it. Just like your gift," he said as he lifted his other hand to her cheek. "I get that the town you lived in turned against you. I understand it. I thought you were crazy that night telling me to leave and go to Mrs. Winters' house. But what would have happened if I hadn't gone with you? I don't even want to think about it."

  Abigail touched the hand that lingered on her face. "I don't want to see you hurt. Something inside me still tells me you're going to get hurt."

  Carson laughed. "I did get hurt, damnit. You hurt my heart. Then I bruised my hand and fell on my head."

  Abigail snickered and covered her lips with her fingers. "Do you think that was all it was?"

  "I have no idea, and I don't know. Each day is a gift, and I want to experience it just like that. I want to unwrap it and see what's inside. All your gift did was shake the present. We found each other. And if you'll have me, I'll watch my step every day. I don't want to lose you, Abi. If fate says you are my soulmate, then I’ve got to believe it."

  "That fate shows me four kids." She let out an unsteady breath. "How do we deal with that?"

  "All I heard you say was that we need to practice," he said as he lowered her back on the bed and took her mouth passionately with his.

  Chapter 28

  The nicest table in the tea shop was near the window on the west side of the store. It opened up to Lookout Mountain.

  Abigail had set it special for Mrs. Winters' birthday celebration, with three chairs. She'd found the Prussian china sets, which she loved the most, and used them for presentation. Clare had arranged an elegant tea, and Abigail had ordered an ornate flower arrangement with roses, which had been delivered that morning.