Chapter 1
“For the last time, we are not naming the new candle Shopping Mall Santa,” Paloma Finch said to the plump blonde sitting on a stool behind the tall glass counter. An assortment of small gems, crystals, and candles of various sizes glinted up from the purple velvet lining of the display case.
“But that’s the deal,” argued Leigh Hill. “You work your magic with the scents, then I name them. And this one smells like a shopping mall Santa Claus.” She picked up the brown candle with gold sparkles and put it under her nose, inhaling deeply. “You know, like peppermint with notes of coffee and caramel and just a hint of something like smoke, maybe? It’s warm and cozy and comforting, but with hints of food court pizza.”
Paloma pointed to the countertop, where Leigh’s lunch of microwave lasagna sat half-eaten. “Maybe we should do this away from your food.”
“I still vote for Shopping Mall Santa,” Leigh said, undaunted.
“Great, up until someone buys this candle and then realizes they’re burning jolly old Saint Nick on their dining room table.” Paloma pulled her long, black hair into a smooth ponytail, then grabbed the candle out of her friend’s hand. “Try again.”
“Oh, good point. I mean, we don’t have a niche market for serial killers, as far as I know,” Leigh agreed. “How about Out Behind the Woodshed?” She tapped the end of a pen on the counter, thinking. She wrinkled her nose in thought, which caused the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks to crinkle.
“That sounds even more murdery,” Paloma said, shaking her head. She put the candle down on the counter in front of Leigh. They both stared at it intently. A dozen more just like it waited off to the side, having just been poured and cured the day before. The Wicked Wick store’s holiday soundtrack of piano and woodwind Christmas carol instrumentals played in the background, audible now against the dead silence of the shop after closing time.
“Pep Rally Bonfire?” Leigh offered. She picked it up and sniffed again. “Dugout Miscreants? Coffee Shop Explosion?!” She shrugged and set it back down. “Oh, wait! That’s not oregano… it’s sage! I’ve got it! How about Lonesome Luminaria?” she asked, her eyes closed and eyebrows knit together. “It reminds me of Christmas in Santa Fe!”
“Excellent!” Paloma said. “I knew the master of marketing would figure it out eventually.”
“A Master Marketer paired up with a Super Sniffer; how could we go wrong?” Leigh typed expertly into her laptop, her bubblegum-pink fingernails flying across the keys. Immediately, labels started printing behind the counter. She hopped off the stool and passed the labels over the counter to Paloma, who started peeling and sticking them onto the glass candle jars. Leigh picked up each candle, placing them one-by-one on a small set of wooden shelves in the store’s front window display, between the new collection of Astrology and You hardbacks and a towering construction of boxes of tarot cards.
After setting up the latest Wicked Wick scent display, the two worked in comfortable silence, straightening up or rearranging other candles of various sizes, scents, and colors that were placed on display tables and shelves within the store. Leigh climbed a stepladder to lightly dust the higher shelves, moving aside the swaths of holiday garland draped there, then did the same for the display cases featuring metaphysical jewelry, books, and other tools of the trade.
Paloma hummed along with the holiday music as she swept the hardwood floors and wiped down the curved wooden counter at the tea bar.
When the cleaning was done, Paloma ensured the register was turned off and locked, and tidied up a small basket of beaded bracelets on the counter.
The shop’s phone rang, and they both jumped, startled.
“We’ve been closed for over an hour,” Leigh said. “Don’t answer it.” The landline trilled again.
“But maybe someone wants to order up some Shopping Mall Santa?” Paloma said, reaching for the phone. “Or maybe it’s Jason, calling you up for a date!” She teased, knowing her friend had no interest in the town’s resident baker. She picked up the phone and handed it to Leigh.
“Wicked Wick, how can I help you?” Leigh chirped into the phone. “Oh, hi, Butler,” her voice fell half an octave, and she rolled her eyes at Paloma. “No, as I told you the last three times you called, I don’t know where Alastair is. He’s in the city, again, blah blah blah, remember? If he’s not answering his cell phone, I don’t know what to tell you.” She listened to the other woman chatter on the phone for a moment, miming the “talky talky” motion to Paloma.
“Yep, important, call back, got it.” Leigh finished, ending the call and placing the phone back on its cradle.
Paloma turned off the store’s banks of lights, punched in some numbers to set the alarm, and they left the building together.
“If Man Bun wanted to call her back, he would have done it already,” Leigh said as she locked the door behind her.
Paloma shrugged. “I just wish he would call her, so she would leave us alone. I’m sure everyone on the square feels that way. She’s been calling all the shops that Alastiar owns trying to track him down for days.”
Leigh nodded and smiled greetings to the few people passing by the Wicked Wick front doors as they made their way home from work, or to dinner, or to run an errand before the day ended. She breathed in the cool winter air and closed her eyes briefly. “This is my favorite time of year. Crisp, clean air, first snow of the season, and the Winter Festival. I look forward to this exact moment every year.”
Paloma nodded as she took in the view. The majority of the shops around the town square were just now closing, and the street lights were flickering on. A light dusting of snow caused the giant maple and oak trees that canopied the park to shimmer white in the night. Small red and green lights wound around the columns of the gazebo in the center of the park burned festively against the dusk. A car passed by, making a low rumbling sound against the ancient cobblestone street. Someone somewhere had lit a fire, and just a hint of the smell of burning leaves reached them on the breeze.
“You still coming to dinner tonight?” Paloma asked Leigh as they strolled down the block. The lights were long off at the Java Me Crazy coffee shop, which closed every day at 2:00. The windows of the Tool Town hardware store burned bright, and Paloma glanced inside. She raised a hand in a quick wave to the man at the checkout stand -- Michael McGill, the mayor of Fall Haven. He raised a hand as if to tip a hat to her that was not there, and smiled politely, gathering up his paper sacks full of hardware odds and ends.
Paloma pulled her thick sweater closed against the first whisper of a winter chill in the air. She fought the urge to call him McMayor, as she had wanted to do since he was elected three years ago. He was a nice enough guy, she supposed. They had all grown up together, after all. He was the guy who was always the runner-up for things -- second string quarterback, prom court but not king, vice president of student council, but never president. She was glad he finally got first place in something.
“Sure thing,” Leigh said, nodding. “What else could I possibly find to do on a Wednesday night in Fall Haven?”
“I can think of a few ways you could go out and get into trouble! But maybe it all starts with dessert. You heading to A Thousand Leaves for a pie again?” Paloma stepped off the curb, opened the driver’s side door of her tiny old butter-yellow convertible, and looked pointedly at Leigh.
“You know it!” Leigh said proudly. “Someday, I’ll learn to bake a pie. But today is not that day.”
Paloma laughed, “All right, go get yourself a slice of that tall, ruggedly handsome pie!” And before Leigh could protest, Paloma hopped in her car and slowly eased out onto the road and was gone.
###
Leigh waved to the back of the car, then walked past another dark storefront and turned beneath a tall but crumbling stone arch into a small breezeway between shops. She used an old key to open a heavy wooden door, which led to a landing. She walked up a steep set of wooden stairs, their constant creaking and groaning something she took almost personally some days, and opened up the front door of her apartment.
The one-bedroom apartment was perfect for her. She had moved back from Chicago three years ago to partner with Paloma at the Wicked Wick shop. She had downsized from a large high-rise condo in the city, where she had found herself buying more things just to fill up the empty spaces, thinking all the while that those things would make her happier somehow. Taking the money from the condo sale and what she had saved up from her 20-year career in marketing, she had invested in the shop with Paloma and rented this apartment. The tiny galley kitchen suited her lack of cooking habits well, and the living room was filled with a fluffy Christmas tree decorated with pink and white baubles, ornaments, and garlands.
She hopped on one foot and then the other as she took off her work tennis shoes and tossed them into a corner atop several other pairs of sandals, loafers, and even a pair of snow boots. She checked her look in the bathroom mirror, ensuring the braids she had woven around her head into a crown that morning were still in a relatively good shape, and brushed her teeth.
She grabbed a pair of brown furry ankle boots from the haphazard shoe pile, then plopped onto her bed and pulled the boots on. Satisfied with the whole look, Leigh went back down the rude, creaking stairs and walked briskly to her car, parked behind the building in a small alley. She drove around the town square to a small shop almost directly across the plaza from Wicked Wick.
A single bell jingled over the door announcing her arrival at A Thousand Leaves, the absolute best bakery in town by a country mile.
“Hey, Leigh!” A warm voice boomed from behind the kitchen door. “I’ve got a pie ready for you!” She looked around at the few couples finishing up their early dinners of sandwiches and soups, wondering how he knew she was the one who just walked in. A Thousand Leaves was well-known throughout the entire area for the best farm-to-table and seasonal menu for pastries, breakfast, brunch (Sundays only, 10:00-2:00), lunch, dinner, and just straight-up pie.
A tall, ruggedly bearded man, looking more like a lumberjack than a baker, dressed in jeans and a gray t-shirt with a red flannel jacket tied around his waist, pushed through the heavy kitchen door, carrying a tray of cheesecake slices in one hand and a large double-crusted pie in the other, still warm and steaming as if straight from the oven. Leigh had to admit that he was handsome. But he was also just a little bit boring. A respected baker and businessman, dependable, steadfast, with not a black leather jacket, tattoo, or arrest record in sight -- Jason wasn’t the bad boy she was usually drawn to, something she blamed on the likes of fictional characters like Dallas Winston, Dylan McKay, and Tim Riggins.
“How did you know I would be here for a pie, Jason?” Leigh asked. He placed the pie on the counter, winked at her, then moved away to deliver the variety of cheesecake slices to a nearby table. Leigh stared at the pastries on display in the glass case, practically drooling over the delectable assortment of fall fruit and berry pies, their sugared tops shimmering under the display lights, and the French eclairs, chocolate-drizzled profiteroles, and brioche rolls. There was even one remaining serving of the bakery’s namesake, the millefeuilles, meaning “a thousand leaves” in French, its multitude of flaky layers of puff pastry plus layers of custard, mixed berry filling, and pastry cream resembling a deliciously crisp pile of fall leaves.
“Well,” Jason said, now nudging the steaming golden pie toward her, “it’s Wednesday. You always have dinner at Paloma’s on Wednesdays.” He shrugged, and used a small white hand towel to brush crumbs from the counter top. “And you always swear you’re going to learn to bake so you can make something yourself.”
Leigh laughed, breathing in the aroma wafting off the pie. Cinnamon, nutmeg, butter. Not apple… maybe pear? “True, true, and yet.” she admitted. “What’s in here?”
“And yet,” he repeated, placing the pie into a white bakery box. “Lucky for me, that means I get to see you every Wednesday right around closing time. And… it’s pears and apples. Let’s call it Papple.”
“I do love a Thousand Leaves specialty papple pie,” Leigh said, fishing around in her purse for her wallet.
“So…” Jason punched in keys on the register. “How’s business over on the fancy side of the street? You all getting ready for the Winter Festival and Christmas crowds? Must be a great quarter for you, business-wise.”
“Yeah, it’s going pretty well. This time of year it’s cozy candles, holiday lotions and soaps, and spiced teas, plus a lot of tarot card sets and rose quartz snowflake necklaces. How about you?”
“Living the dream,” he said, gesturing around to his pastries and pies. “And this one hundred percent beats what I was doing before. You have no idea.”
“Oh I bet I do,” Leigh answered. “Especially if it went anything like: make a career, sacrifice sacrifice, climb climb, big city taxis, 100-hour work weeks, blah blah blah.”
He laughed. “Something like that. And how did that all work out for you?”
“I guess it went like it was supposed to. I did all the things and got to the top. It just seemed so pointless after all that time. I mean, marketing? Telling people what to buy? I just didn’t care anymore. That’s why I moved back. I got sick of the world telling me what was important and what mattered.”
“And what to buy?” Jason offered, his eyes glinting, handing back her change.
“Lucky for you, these pies don’t need any marketing. They sell themselves!” Leigh laughed.
The door swooshed open and closed, letting in a blast of cold air, as another customer walked in. Leigh moved to the side, gathering up her pie box, to let Jason assist the new customer.
“Looking good, Leigh,” the broad, chiseled younger man let out a complimentary whistle.
Leigh scoffed. “Todd, a pleasure as always.” Todd Gibson owned the gym Iron Made two doors down. After some brief semi-stardom when he was cast as a stunt double in a movie filmed nearby, his gym business had grown quickly, along with his ego.
Jason cleared his throat pointedly in Todd’s direction. “How can I help you?”
“Let’s see, bro.” Todd hummed tunelessly under his breath as he studied the menu on the wall behind the counter. “Do you have anything gluten free and sugar free?”
“How about one of these boxes that the pies go in?” Leigh asked.
Todd chuckled and turned to her. “Cute,” he said, winking. His deep brown eyes bore straight into her. He did a slow scan up and down her body, and she felt herself flushing. He was too good looking and definitely too in-shape. Even though the weather was cool outside, he was wearing bicycle shorts and a thin white t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. Leigh had to admit it contrasted nicely against his mocha-colored skin. “Hm, the magic I could work on you,” he said quietly.
Leigh looked away, pretending to make sure she had all of her belongings. Her face felt hot. She had to get out of there immediately.
Ignoring them both, Jason selected a set of cookies from the bottom of the glass case. “These are gluten-free and sugar-free,” he said. “Coconut flour, almond flour, agave nectar. Will that do it?”
“What? Oh yeah, bro, that’s good. Give me six of those,” Todd waved a hand in Jason’s direction while still staring at Leigh as she walked toward the door. “So how about it?”
“How about what?” Leigh asked, stopping hesitantly in the doorway.
“Let me work my magic on you,” Todd leaned toward her, grinning.
“Hey, could you refrain from doing any kind of magic right in front of me, please?” Jason dropped the box of cookies onto the counter with a thud. “People are eating.”
“Relax, my man,” Todd said as he stepped forward to pay for the cookies. “Maybe do some yoga or deep breathing exercises and chill out.”
Jason punched at numbers on the cash register a little harder than he had before. Seeing that Jason and Todd were both occupied, Leigh slipped out the door into the night.
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