Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
But when they are ripe, then you’re in for a truly exquisite culinary experience. They’re sweet as candy and they melt in your mouth. They taste delicious any way you bake or cook them and their flavor lingers on your tongue for hours after you eat even a tiny slice of one.
The only magical side-effect of the pears is that they make you sing every word you try to say after you eat them. Mostly it only lasts for an hour but the more you eat, the longer the effects linger. People can tell if someone gets more than his fair share of the Golden-Skinned Warbler tarts by how long they’re sing-speaking afterwards.
I had been keeping a close eye on the tree—I was the only one who knew its location—and I was estimating that the pears would be ripe and ready to pick any day now. Once they were, I would pile as many as I could into my largest basket and take them back to the bakery to begin work. I would close up shop and spend most of the day making the special tarts with a big sign on the window letting folks know what to expect.
I wouldn’t open the doors to The Lost Lamb until I had plenty of tarts ready to sell. Word usually spread like wildfire and I would have a line out the door and round the block for hours afterwards.
Tart Day, as everyone had started calling it, was extremely busy. I was glad I would have Sarah to help me this time. Last year I had been run off my feet for twelve hours straight. It was great for business but extremely bad for my back and knees.
“You just be sure you put at least two or three dozen aside for me,” Goldie said to me now. “I’ll keep them back for the folks who didn’t get any because they were out of town on Tart Day.”
“I’ll do that,” I promised her.
“Good. I can’t wait—the whole town smells delicious when you start baking those.” Goldie smiled at me. “Don’t tell your Great Aunt I said it, but you’re a better baker than she ever was. I can taste the love you put into your food.”
“Well, thank you.” I was touched. Goldie was kind of a Kitchen Witch herself—though she definitely had some other powers I wasn’t quite sure about—so hearing her professional opinion of my baking was special to me.
Not long after that, the party broke up. I said goodbye to everyone and hugged a lot of people—I got asked about the special tarts several more times and promised they would be coming soon.
Then I left, having completely forgotten to ask anyone about the portrait or how to remove it from my bedroom wall.
CHAPTER FOUR
Iwalked home through the twilight, which always feels magical in Hidden Hollow. The air was cool and crisp with the scent of dried leaves, campfires, apple cider, and just a hint of snow. The bright fall leaves, their colors muted by the dusk, rustled on the trees and piled in drifts along the path I was walking on. They crunched under my feet as the chilly breeze ruffled my hair and made the tip of my nose go numb. Behind me, the lights of the town glowed golden and warm—the promise of comfort and a cozy fire burning in every hearth.
I inhaled deeply, taking the scents of Fall into my lungs. This was why I loved living in Hidden Hollow—that and the sense of community I felt and the safety and warmth of being somewhere I belonged with people I cared about and who cared about me. I told myself again that I didn’t need a Heartmate—I was perfectly happy just as I was.
And I almost believed it.
It was only a ten-minute walk from Goldie’s Diner to my house—I was inside and building up the magical fire which burned almost all year round in my main fireplace before I knew it.
Since I had taken a shower before I went to the party, I decided just to get into my nightgown and get some sleep. I wanted to get up early the next morning—I mean even earlier than usual—to check the pear tree. I decided I was going to bring my biggest basket too—you can only pick once from the Golden-Skinned Warbler tree before the pears start to wither and rot away, so I had to get as many as I could in one go.
I changed in the bathroom as usual, brushing my teeth and running a brush through my hair, before throwing my clothes in the dirty clothes hamper and sliding into a fresh silk nightgown.
I don’t own many fancy outfits—I practically live in my cooking whites—but I like to splurge on my underwear. The gown was pure white silk that fell to my knees. It had spaghetti straps and a plunging V neckline that showed the creamy inner curves of my large breasts.