CHAPTER 1
I entered Love Blooms, fully aware I completed its self-fulfilling prophecy. I’d fallen for a man with the last name Love, who owned a punny flower shop about awakening romance. I knew I was a walking cliché, but didn’t the red roses in the flower shop look particularly vivid today? Nothing was sweeter than the taste of new love—with maybe the exception of my baked treats.
My heart did a happy tap dance when I spied Kelvin behind the register. He was ringing up a customer, and he looked good. He’d worn his usual Henley with the sleeves rolled up just so—probably out of practicality, but it showed off his dark, muscular arms.
“Thanks for shopping local,” he said as the customer sniffed at the colorful bouquet.
I took in the woman dressed in a white polo and khakis standing before the counter. A patch on her shirt read Pixie Gas & Go, our local gasoline station.
“Everything all right, Olivia?” Kelvin asked.
Olivia’s shoulders tensed before she issued him a curt “I’m fine, thanks.” As she sped by me with quick footsteps, I heard her murmur under her breath, “How’d he know?”
I turned my attention to Kelvin. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “The bouquet was for a fun birthday party, but I just felt unsettled around her.” Kelvin rubbed the tip of his nose. “Anyway, how was the loonnng trek over here?”
I snorted. My family shop, Jin Bakery, was right next door in the cozy cul-de-sac of stores in our small town. “I was on break, and I wanted to say hello.”
“Lissa”—he stared into my eyes—“you had me at aloe.”
I shook my head. “Did you just make a flower pun about our … budding … romance?”
“I knew it. You think about us daisy.”
“Okay, that’s where I draw the line.” But I grinned at him as I said it.
I probably still had a goofy look on my face when Mrs. Robson rushed in. She stopped short and looked between the two of us. “Am I interrupting something?”
Kelvin turned his head toward her, and I blinked to regain focus.
“How can I help you, Mrs. Robson?” my boyfriend (yes, I could call him that now) asked. Even he couldn’t stop addressing her formally even though she’d retired from teaching and had taken on running the local bed-and-breakfast.
She rubbed her hands in glee. “Pixie Inn just got booked for a fortnight, and the group paid extra to make sure it was completely exclusive to them. Not that I had any other bookings to compete with theirs…”
I got it. Pixie wasn’t the biggest tourist draw to people looking for a getaway in Central California. We had a slower pace of life, and places closed early. Then again, maybe that privacy was what had attracted this group to our small town. “Who booked the inn?”
Mrs. Robson furrowed her brow. “It’s a group of women looking for a getaway. Apparently, they haven’t seen each other in years and wanted to have an ‘extended escape’ together. The organizer’s words, not mine. And she’s paying me before their arrival and adding on a large bonus to elegantly decorate the home to their taste. Which is why I’m here for your services.”
Kelvin did a quick bow, echoing back her words. “At your service then. But do you mean this weekend?”
“Yes, and starting tomorrow, Friday. Here’s what I need from you.” Mrs. Robson pulled out a list from a pocket in her long skirt; she’d favored blouses and skirts in her classroom and continued that trend now.
Kelvin glanced at the list and raised his eyebrows. “This is a lot of flowers.”
She sniffed. “I’ve got to have fresh bouquets in the special suite and all the common areas.”
“You’ll definitely be keeping me busy, that’s for sure.”
“It’ll be worth your while. As for you—” Mrs. Robson pivoted to me.
“Um?”
“I did say ‘services,’ didn’t I? And we must be precise
with our words.”
How had I gotten roped into this?
She continued, “I want to set up a snack buffet for the guests. They even mentioned your bakery by name, and I’d like them to have access to a spread twenty-four seven for the duration of their stay.”
Wow. If Mrs. Robson also needed candles, she’d be keeping all the businesses on this cul-de-sac busy. Not that my godmother Alma needed any help; Paz Illuminations was thriving, with all her in-store and Etsy orders.
“And, Felicity, I have one more special ask.” Mrs. Robson wrung her hands. “The organizer wanted a quick tour of the town, and I mentioned you might be up for it.”
“Me, why me?” I mean, I guess I had grown up here and knew the streets. But I didn’t have any kind of guiding experience.
“I needed someone I could trust, and I can’t leave the inn unattended. Kelvin here also wouldn’t be free since he has to run the flower shop, but you have your mother as a partner…”
“I get it.” Mom and I often covered for each other. I could be flexible. Besides, Pixie wasn’t huge by any means. I could probably finish the tour and be back at the bakery in no time. “Sure, I’ll be their guide.”
“Perfect,” Mrs. Robson said. “And I’d like to taste every type of pastry from Jin Bakery, including your new almond cookies, to figure out what to stock.”
“Of course.” I’d better get baking. I waved goodbye to Kelvin, who was on his way to the back room, probably to gather supplies for an intense floral-making session in order to decorate the bed-and-breakfast.
“I’ll be by later this evening to sample the options and drop off the advance deposit for the treats,” Mrs. Robson said. Gah. That kind of sounded like the pop quizzes she used to give in class—and they were never multiple choice.
I’d pass with flying colors, though. As I strolled out the door and toward the family bakery, I swear the sign with our Jin surname seemed to glow a golden color. I didn’t need luck for my pastries to turn out well. We Jins put our secret family ingredient into every bite: magic. CHAPTER 2
Our family magic flowed down from one generation to the next. I was the third generation here in the United States, and we still used our baked goods to create joy in our customers. Our usual rotation of Chinese pastries included egg tarts, fortune cookies, pineapple buns, and, now, almond cookies.
As I walked into the kitchen at the back of our shop, Jin Bakery, I wondered: Should I try to consult our heirloom recipe book for a new pastry? The precious tome had been lost for years but had since resurfaced. All the recipes in it were magical and tied to our ancestral talent for baking. As the specially chosen Jin in my generation, I, alone, could read the otherwise invisible words contained in the book. It was tempting to try something different, but no, I needed to stick to the consistent for this ladies’ getaway. Better safe than sorry.
I focused on my surroundings to center myself. Breathing in the sugary scent, I glanced down at the tangerine floor tiles and then up at the hanging teal pendant lights.
“Felicity,” my mom said, “are you okay?” I hadn’t even noticed her at a nearby metal table, making dough.
“Sure. Just need to get my head in the game.”
My mom gave me a knowing smile. “Had a nice time with your beau?”
I avoided her question. “Nobody uses that word anymore.”
“I’m not nobody,” she said. “And it’s about time you two became a couple.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. How long had she wanted that? Ever since she’d orchestrated our earliest playdates?
“You and Kelvin go well together,” she said, “like custard and crust.” Dan tats were Mom’s specialty. Every Jin had their own special treat: My grandma made pineapple buns, and I handcrafted fortune cookies.
In fact, I’d start a batch of them right now. I pulled out the eggs, sugar, and butter, and got to work. I’d make sure to let these cookies cool all the way down before letting anyone eat them. And I’d use the tongs to transfer them into take-out boxes and bags. Whenever I offered freshly baked cookies and physically touched a customer, the personalized predictions that bubbled up in my mind would come true. I saved those destined messages for special occasions … or desperate sleuthing times.
I rolled out the batter into round discs and slid them into our industrial oven before my mom spoke again. “Hey, Felicity. Did you leave the screen door open at home?”
“Huh? What?” I thought back to before we’d left for the bakery. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Strange. I noticed it ajar today.”
I wiped my floured hands against my apron and said, “I opened the patio door a couple of inches but left the screen closed, to give Whiskers some air.” Our free-roaming pet bunny could use a sweet breeze now and then. I felt bad about having her stay home all day, but bakery hours were long—we left in the wee hours of the morning and came back in the evening. At least it was a quick walk from Jin Bakery back to our apartment.
Besides, Whiskers was magical; I’m sure she could fend for herself. She’d shown up when I used my godmother Alma’s Wishes candle to hope for a companion. Then all of a sudden, I could no longer see in the sky the moon rabbit from Chinese mythology—but had discovered a real-life white bunny hopping on our front stoop.
My mom nodded her approval. “Everyone needs sunshine and fresh air.”
We continued baking in silence for a stretch. Not knowing what the visiting women would prefer, I’d decided on crafting different varieties of fortune cookies. The Neapolitan trio was the most popular: vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. I’d concentrate on those, with chocolate-dipped versions; the double-choco ones I named Leanne’s Lift-Me-Ups after I’d served some to cheer up a distraught bride.
I was busy mixing more batter and splashing in strawberry extract when my mom tapped my shoulder. I’d been concentrating so much I hadn’t noticed her creep behind me.
“Why are you making so many cookies?” Her lips grew taut. “Is it a bulk order for a certain local restaurant?”
hosting a group of women starting this weekend. Kelvin will do the flowers, but she wants to have a huge supply of treats readily available to them. And she wants to sample our wares this evening, so I need to present her with the best examples.”
Mom’s eyes widened. “All of our treats? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
Whoops. “I guess it slipped my mind,” I said. “You know, with all that teasing about having a beau.”
“I don’t regret my words,” Mom said, “but I’d better whip up some more pineapple buns and egg tarts.” Before she passed away, Po Po had magically given her unique recipe to my mom, so Mom could recreate her own mother’s special treat. I, though, was the keeper of the other Jin recipes, along with my own handcrafted fortune cookies.
My mom cocked her head. “I wonder, should I do the mini versions?”
“Mrs. Robson likes those,” I said. “Helps with portion control for her blood sugar.”
“But I also want to impress her guests,” Mom said. “I’ll do the full version. The bigger the better, right?”
I shrugged. Guess Mrs. Robson would tell us her verdict later today when she came by to check on our progress.
Mom and I continued baking all through the afternoon, with the requisite pauses when customers rolled in. They all walked off happily munching away, a sure sign of success. Right before closing time, Mrs. Robson graced us with her presence.
“What did you end up making?” she asked, inspecting our filled trays in the cooling racks.
Mom showed off traditional pineapple buns and ones filled with shredded coconut. She also had two versions of crusts for the egg tarts: flaky and cookie crust. I pulled out my different-flavored fortune cookies, along with some almond cookies. Mrs. Robson oohed and aahed over everything. She tried all the pastries and approved every single one.
We haggled over prices because Mom insisted on giving a family-and-friends discount while my previous teacher wanted to pay full price. They compromised on a rate in between, and then Mrs. Robson said, “Can you bring the treats over tomorrow morning? The new guests will arrive in the afternoon.”
“How many do you think you’ll need?” I asked.
Mrs. Robson fiddled with her skirt. “Let me show you the new sideboard, and you can give your expert opinion.”
“When?”
“Now, preferably.” She must really want to make a good impression on these customers.
“We probably have time to briefly visit Pixie Inn. Right, Mom?” I said.
My mom emitted a grunting noise, and I noticed her touching the small of her back with a wince.
I rushed over to her. “Are you all right?”
“A twinge of pain. Just need to rest at home for a bit.”
Mom never had back issues. What was happening?
She gave me a swift smile before addressing Mrs. Robson. “I hear Kelvin is doing the flowers for the guests. Maybe he’d like to take a look at the space as well.”
“Great idea,” Mrs. Robson said. “But are you okay, Angela?”
“I’m fine. And I always feel safer when Felicity and Kelvin are together. They can enjoy a leisurely stroll over to your inn.”
I resisted rolling my eyes. My mom was fine, more than fine. She’d literally “backed” out of this trip so Kelvin and I could go on a private outing. ...
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