“Wondering whether or not to go in?” an unmistakable voice called to her from beyond the fountain. Asher—once again wearing his adventurer’s hat—leaned over his porch rail, keys in hand after having obviously just locked up his shop. Guadalupe, she was glad to see, was nowhere in evidence, and Sera very much doubted the snooty sales clerk was in Pauline’s shop with the BRBs.
“Something like that.” Asher’s voice had unstuck her feet, and she ventured closer, fetching up at the base of his porch. Damn, he looked good. She hadn’t seen her new landlord in a week—except in some rather embarrassing dreams—and he seemed to have grown exponentially more attractive in her absence. Burnished blond hair: check. Lush lips: check. Glorious green eyes: double check.
Asher pushed his hat back, like a real old-fashioned cowboy. But instead of spurs, it was the chain that held his keys that jingled as he stuffed them into his rear pocket. “Well, I can’t speak from experience, as I have never penetrated the inner sanctum, but they seem like a harmless enough bunch.”
Sera immediately began picturing Asher penetrating inner sanctums, and her cheeks reddened. My God, this man makes me twelve years old again every time I see him. And given that she was about as talented as a twelve-year-old when it came to romance, that was a road she’d best not tread.I’ve got to get a grip. Find something innocuous to talk about, quick! “I met your friend Malcolm today,” she said, laying her box of goodies by her feet on the edge of the wooden porch, and noticing the pooches were nowhere to be seen tonight—Asher’s doghouse was dark and silent. Too bad, she thought. I’d love a little canine-inspired confidence right now.
Asher noticed the direction of her glance. “Sascha and the pups are with a sitter. With Zozobra and all the festivities, there’ll be too much going on in the streets tonight, and I don’t want them that worked up.”
The way he said “Zozobra” mesmerized Sera. It was as if his lips were weaving a spell, and its effect was to render her incapable of pondering anything but how those lips might taste and feel whispering similar mysteries against her mouth. Nuzzling the syllables against her neck…
“And speaking of excitable, how did you find our pie-making friend?” Asher cocked his head and studied her, as if wondering where her thoughts had roamed.
Sera snapped out of it as best she could. “I asked him to come work for me,” she confessed.
Asher’s laugh was a bark of delighted surprise. “You are an unusual woman, Serafina Wilde. But I think you may have done yourself a favor with that decision, though he may give you cause to question it now and then.”
“Maybe we can talk more about it next week?” she asked. “I’m meeting with him on Tuesday afternoon, and before I do, I’d like to go over some details about the space and the construction.”
“Not a problem. I’ll drop by the store around noon.”
“Thanks. Well, I should be going—I’ve been told I’ve got quite an evening ahead of me.” She wanted to ask him if he was going to this mysterious Zozobra thing, too, but she didn’t quite have the guts. His private life was really none of her business, and she didn’t want him to get the idea that she was unduly interested in his comings and goings.
“Um, before I go, could I ask one more favor, Ash?”
“Name it.”
Oh, lord. Those little crinkles around the corners of his eyes were going to be the death of her.
“Could you, ah, give me a push? I don’t think I can move under my own steam.”
Asher hopped over the porch rail in what she was beginning to think of as his signature move. Instead of a push, he did her one better—he took her shoulders in his large hands, squeezed gently, and captured her startled gray eyes with his depthless green gaze. “You’re going to be the best of them, Bliss,” he said.
And then he gave her a hug.
Sera was still wobbling on her feet long after he’d gone, enveloped in the afterglow of that embrace. She took a deep breath, perfumed with the blossoms of Asher’s night-blooming flowers and the echo of his forged-metal scent. She felt strong, exhilarated—and yes, maybe just a little bit sexy.
All right, ladies, let’s see what you got.
“Serafina!”
Now I know how Norm must have felt, coming into Cheers.
A rough dozen women were arrayed across the armchairs and atop the countertops of Pauline’s House of Passion, but upon Sera’s entrance, they straightened, raising glasses and whooping her name in a rousing chorus. Their boisterous clapping and waving filled the space as though they could boast twice their number. Out of the crowd stepped Pauline, resplendent in a flamingo pink belly-dancing outfit dangling scarves, coins, bells, and totems from every conceivable surface. Atop her head, in lieu of a veil, she’d plopped a Spaghetti Western–worthy sombrero. Yet despite the flamboyant getup, to Sera’s eyes, Pauline looked a trifle off her stride. “Let me introduce you to the ladies!” she cried, threading her arm through Sera’s and pulling her fully into the shop. Out of the side of her mouth, she muttered, “Hortencia isn’t with you, is she?”
Sera shook her head, still taking in the scene.
P-HOP’s cozy Victorian vibe had been replaced with a looser, though no less feminine feel tonight. The women inside ranged in age from their seventies all the way down to their early twenties, clad in festive fabrics and fascinating jewelry, sporting cowboy boots, Birkenstock sandals, and an array of hairstyles from the sober single braid to the teased bouffant. In every hand were glasses, though Sera was relieved to see they weren’t all margarita goblets—at least half of the women were sipping kombucha or soft drinks—so she wouldn’t stick out if she didn’t imbibe. All had jazzed up their cups with Polynesian paper umbrellas, and several of the women sported feather boas, Mardi Gras beads, or Hawaiian leis about their necks. The room was steamy with body heat and fragrant with the scent of jalapeño-heavy nachos and cocktail weenies.
Pauline put her arm around her niece and began the introductions. “Sera, this is Bobbie, Crystal, and River Wind.” Bobbie was a well-dressed woman of about fifty with a very businesslike hairdo who reminded Sera of a real estate broker, while Crystal was heavily tattooed, pierced, and had definitely served some time as a Brooklyn barista, if only in a past life. River Wind, an ageless raven-haired beauty, exuded the kind of serenity Sera strived for during meetings, and rarely found. She waved shyly at the three women. “I think you already met Janice, right?” Pauline continued. Sera nodded at the waitress, smiled, and smiled some more as more women crowded forward to greet her with robust shouts of welcome. Up next were a weathered, whip-thin woman who exemplified the ideal of the Western horsewoman in denim and riding boots, a cherubic redhead, and Sera’s new favorite gal pal. “And that’s Lou-Ellen, Syna September, and of course, Aruni.”
“Hey, girl!”
Sera saluted, glad to see the yogini beaming at her. The rest of the names flowed over her in a wash of welcoming faces.
“Everyone, this is my niece, Serafina. As I mentioned, she’s going to be opening a bakery here. It’s called Bliss.”