YOU HAVE anything that will inspire lust? You know, like magical Viagra that can be slipped into a drink or sprinkled on a plate of spaghetti.”
“Have you considered a little lace chemise? Maybe add in candlelight to go with the wine and meatballs.”
“Lark!” The tone danced somewhere between a whine and a laugh as the woman on the other side of the counter lifted a pink striped shopping bag to wave it back and forth. “C’mon, you know I’ve already covered the basics. I need oomph, though. A little guarantee.”
Lark wanted to point out that nothing in life came with a guarantee, but she knew the pretty brunette wouldn’t listen. The only thing Jenny wanted to hear was the magic phrase that would get her into Dave White’s tighty whities. But Lark didn’t have magic, nor did she feel right encouraging Jenny sneak into Dave’s underwear.
“Jenny—”
“C’mon, Lark. Nobody’s here, to hear us. Besides, everyone knows The Magic Beans sells special treats. Heather says all those exotic ingredients she uses have a special kick.” Her elbows on the cherrywood counter, Jenny leaned forward and added in a persuasive tone, “Your mom would have something for me.”
Lark clenched her teeth so tight, she thought she heard cracking. Then, because she knew from experience that the nagging wouldn’t stop, she angled her head toward the glossy frosting of the brownies under the dessert dome.
“Chocolate is reputed to be an aphrodisiac,” she said, trying to make her voice sound mysterious. “From the time of the ancient Aztecs, it’s been fueling passion-filled nights.”
So had cheap beer in recent times.
But Lark kept that to herself, preferring to hurry Jenny on her way with two huge brownies and a pound of freshly ground dark roast.
The horny housewife hadn’t been gone ten minutes before the source of Lark’s frustration came sweeping through the front door, her lavender hair curling over her wide hips and a trio of crystals dangling from her ears. In her plump arms was a large purple bakery box and on her face was a loving smile.
Lark wanted to scream, but that smile stopped her.
“Darling, I had a baking epiphany after my morning meditation and had to try a new recipe. Sesame mango cupcakes with almond frosting. What do you think? Will your afternoon crowd like them?”
“Heather, you have to stop—”
“Stop?” Heather interrupted, setting the box on the counter and lifting the lid. The scent of fruit and almonds filled the air. “Would you ask Mozart to stop composing? Van Gogh to stop painting? I’m an artist, darling. I must create.”
“Fine, then create edible art instead of rumors.”
“Rumors?” Heather’s brows, as black as Lark’s own, rose to meet her pastel hair.
“Aphrodisiacs.”
“Well, darling, many of my ingredients have been reputed to have desire-invoking results. Just look it up on the internet.”
Lark closed her eyes, wishing for the millionth time that she had her mother’s patience. But, nada. Fortunately, she did have her sense of humor.
“Did you know the internet claims that Elvis is alive, living on Neptune partying with Freud?”
“Well, that’d be a trick, wouldn’t it? Especially as I heard that Elvis was in Brooklyn imprinting his profile on toast.”
Lark burst into laughter. She couldn’t help it. Heather was too sweet, too fun and too much like her sister for Lark to stay mad at her.
“Please stop,” she asked, pulling a glossy red ceramic tray off the highest shelf. “It’s bringing in the crazies. Last week, Mrs. Bell from the post office asked if I could sell her cookies for the nursing home. Apparently the residents are bored.”
“Are they? Well, I’ll have to make a batch and drop off a few dozen.”
“No,” Lark exclaimed, throwing up one hand. “I mean it. The last thing I need are more customers with a sweet tooth looking for the easy way to get lucky.”
“Magic isn’t a cure-all,” Heather agreed, bustling around the counter to unbox the cupcakes, arranging them neatly on the tray. “It’s more a boost, a little extra help. You know that.”
“No.” While Heather arranged cupcakes, Lark began putting freshly washed mugs back on the shelf. “I know that things can happen, sometimes, because of the power of suggestion, subliminal messaging and luck. Not magic.”
“Your mom believed in magic,” Heather insisted, jutting out her chin as she refilled the coffeemaker in preparation for the busy afternoon crowd.
Her own jaw tight, Lark kept her eyes on the mug-lined shelves, carefully inspecting them for chips or dings. Her mom had believed a lot of things. She’d thought dancing in the rain brought good luck, she’d believed in magic and she’d been sure that positive energy and clean living could keep her healthy, that a shaman with his herbal tea or the healer with her glowing crystals could beat cancer.
Lark had believed all of that, too.
Turns out, they’d both been wrong.
“If you’d just believe, just have faith, you’d be happier, Lark.”
“I’m happy enough.”
“You could be happier.”
“Sure,” Lark agreed, refilling the whipped cream dispenser. Most of the afternoon crowd considered their drinks as a segue to dessert. “Maybe if I was planning for a weekend of naked games and wild sex, I’d be happier. But I’m not.”
“You could be,” Heather said. “If that’s what you want, you could eat a cupcake, open your mind to that power of suggestion and make it happen.”
With who?
Lark had spent over a year in this little town and had yet to see a man who gave her the tingles, let alone one who made her think of all-night-sexcapades. No amount of positive energy or suggestive powers were going to change that.
“I’d be happier if you’d quit trying to convince my customers that your desserts will get them great sex. I’m starting to feel like I should be wearing a purple pimp fedora to sell cookies.”
“A lot of them are asking for special treats, are they?”
“Way too many.” Lark rolled her eyes.
“New customers?” Heather asked, her voice muffled because her head was in the supply cupboard.
“Absolute strangers, people who’ve never come in before. Last week a busload from the ski resort stopped in. It’s crazy.” Lark took the stack of paper to-go cups from her aunt, waiting for the other woman to get to her feet before adding, “It’s like you took out an ad or something.”
She stopped talking when she saw the triumphant look flash across Heather’s face.
“What?”
