Chapter 10
After a long day at the café serving four large pans of lasagna, and more cups of coffee than I care to count, Tilly and I start to pull out the teacups and teapots for Stitch Witchery. The library is already bustling with women of every age and stage of life, ready to arts and crafts with the best of them. Mostly it’s crafts like knitting, latch hook, embroidery, and cross-stitch that take over the long wooden tables conjoined in the center of that cavernous room, but there are a handful of other odd projects, too. Of course, there are plenty of cats roaming around the library, so the ladies who take part in the crafts free-for-all have the ability to get a little fuzzy snuggle time in as well.
Before I came on board, Opal opened up the library to the ladies of Starry Falls as a sort of a tea and crafts mixer. But once I spotted Opal slipping a little comfort into her Earl Gray, I knew we had a moneymaking machine on our hands.
Side note: Opal enlisted me to come up with an entire slew of moneymaking endeavors after that, and I quickly came up with a few doozies—like reading to cats, where the kids can come in, check out a book in the children’s section—and yes, Opal’s library has a blooming children’s section thanks to the program itself— and they can have the pleasure of reading to nonjudgmental little felines who will hardly bat a lash if they mispronounce a word or two. And we’ve got pet therapy where you can find a spot in the gardens out back and squeeze all the felines you want—not to mention the cat yoga sessions headed up by Regina, the queen of mean herself, once a week.
All we ask in exchange is a donation of any amount to participate. We let the donors know that a portion of all the proceeds goes straight to the feline alliance—i.e., cat food. It covered veterinarian bills for a while until I hit up a couple local vets and asked if they’d care for Opal’s feline population pro bono seeing that she does her part to keep them happy. And now every cat has been tagged, spayed, and neutered—not to mention they’re free of fleas and ticks, and have better teeth than most people I know.
The library is pretty ritzy, with its dark wood paneling and heavily carved gargoyles and angels hovering above each row of books. It’s ridiculously spacious, about half the size of the public library back in Hastings, and has the entire Dewey-Decimal-nine yards going for it.
There’s a nonfiction section with religion, self-help, politics, science, and history. There’s a mystery section, my favorite, which includes true crime and cozy mysteries—adorably crafted whodunits with frame-worthy covers, featuring adorable animals or magical bakers. And, of course, romance, sci-fi, paranormal, and thrillers—with plenty of S.J. Wexler releases.
I’m reading through Shep’s Manon Tate Series right now. A storyline set on the life of mobster Manon Tate. It’s more or less accurate. When Shep is right about something regarding the mob, he’s very right. But when he’s wrong, he’s woefully wrong. And those are usually the parts that give me a little comic relief.
The marble counter that sits in the front of the library is arranged with every fancy tea set in Opal Mortimer’s collection. No Styrofoam cups here. No siree. Not when there’s comfort involved. This is upper crust all the way. Have I mentioned comfort is code word for whiskey?
Once I spotted Opal slipping a spot of whiskey into her tea, I knew we were onto an eighty proof financial bonanza. That spot of comfort costs the fine people who attend Stitch Witchery to partake in it, but by the end of the night, Opal’s little tip jar is brimming with enough greenbacks to outfit every cat in here with a diamond studded collar.
Okay, so it’s not quite that much, but Opal is making money hand over fist—and, per our agreement, I get a healthy percentage of the revenue. It’s definitely enough to put a dent in that brick oven I’m trying to purchase for the café. I’m Italian. When it comes to pizza, it’s go brick or go home. Although, the décor in the café could use a little sprucing up, too.
I guess I’m planning on sticking around this old goofy town. Fine, it’s not so goofy. If anything, I’m the goofy one in the equation. Starry Falls is—well, magical.
That note Shep found comes back to mind and does its best to wipe all the magic away.
Whoever penned it all but asked if I was going to stay or if I was going to run.
It’s almost as if I sent it to myself. I used to sleepwalk as a kid, so it’s not a far stretch. In fact, I’d much rather I sent it to myself.
I shudder before taking a breath and forcing myself back into the moment as the library brims with knitting needles, hoops, floss, yarn, and needles. Just about every craft is present and accounted for as the sound of women carrying on lively conversations fills the cavernous room.
A tall, handsome, and rather devilish man steps into the library, and Tilly crops up next to me just in time to sigh at the sight of Jackson Mortimer.
“Isn’t he dreamy?” She lands her head on my shoulder as if she were one wink away from passing out, or maybe it’s the fact she’s been trying to crack a smile all day. She’s suddenly not such a big fan of Dr. Goldman’s freeze-dried injections now that it looks as if she’s brooding all the time.
“Nobody says dreamy anymore.” Shep comes to mind and I sigh right along with her. “Come to think of it, he is kind of dreamy.” Shep, not Jackson, but the latter of the two is upon us and
