Bliss (8 page)

When she dragged her gaze back up to assess how her oafish question had gone over, it struck Sera that her distress was only exceeded by Asher's own, though the woman at his side had straightened proudly at the association she'd drawn. Immediately, she realized her guess had been way off. The light in Asher's eyes had dimmed, and he looked almost… sick? When he replied, after a pause that went on long enough for Sera to regret the hearty kashi-and-soymilk breakfast Pauline had urged upon her earlier, he spoke slowly, as if just remembering how after a long, solo journey. His usual vigor had deserted him, and Sera had a sinking surety she'd been the one to steal it.

“Not my wife, no.” He gathered himself visibly, and when he spoke again, it was with a simulacrum of his usual energy. “Bliss, this is Guadalupe. She assists me in the shop. Lupe, I'd like you to meet our new neighbor, Serafina Wilde—she's Pauline's niece.”

His assistant. Ah. Well, that made sense. Asher couldn't man the shop every minute. He would need someone to help out, possibly more than one someone.
But what
else
does she assist Asher with?
Sera couldn't help wondering as the woman squeezed in even closer to her employer. Asher didn't seem uncomfortable with it, but neither did he respond to her nearness with the kind of enthusiasm that would indicate a romantic relationship. Not that Lupe would mind if he
did
make a pass, Sera guessed. From the way the woman was eating Asher alive with her eyes, it was obvious that if he wasn't her conquest now, she'd every intention of changing that situation soon. She was pumping out fuck-me pheromones at such an alarming rate, Serafina felt embarrassed sharing the same room with the two of them.

Well. This puts the kibosh on any ideas I might have had about throwing my hat in the ring for Asher's affection,
she told herself.
And hell, that's for the best. Not only could I not compete with Lupe's brand of femme fatale-ry, I had no business considering flirting with my landlord anyhow.
A man like Asher, sexy from top to toe, belonged with a woman who was his match—a woman he could have gorgeous babies with and fuck senseless night after night. Not someone who…

Sera didn't care to finish the thought. She had a sudden, powerful urge to whip up a batch of rocky road bars. Somewhere far, far away from here.

“I see the resemblance,” murmured Lupe, eyeing Serafina's sagging skirt and dog-mussed hair. It took Sera a moment to realize she was talking about—and subtly insulting—both herself and her aunt. “How nice to meet you,” she intoned further, holding out a limp hand for Sera to shake. No calluses or scars marred
her
perfect mitts, Sera thought uncharitably as she accepted the other woman's chilly clasp. But maybe those $100 French tips were a requirement for someone who modeled and displayed jewelry for a living. She withdrew her own unmanicured paw as quickly as was polite, hoping her palms hadn't been too revealingly damp.

“Ah… nice to meet you, too, Guadalupe.” Sera drew herself up to her full five feet, two inches. “Well,” she chirped far more brightly than she felt, “I've taken up too much of your time, Asher. I'll get out of your hair now. Got a lot to do if I'm going to get my shop off the ground!” She turned blindly for the door, and caught her scarf—one of Pauline's brightly colored ethnic jobs, which she'd borrowed to combat the chilly morning air—on one of the countertop earring displays. Bright bits of metal scattered like buckshot, rolling and bouncing across the floor, and she choked as the suddenly tightening fabric grabbed her by the throat. Sera's face went pink, but it wasn't from lack of oxygen. Even in a lifetime of embarrassing exits, this had to rank in the top ten.

“Oh,” she cried, “I'm so sorry. Here, let me just…” She began frantically trying to untangle the sparkly threads of the scarf from the tines of the earring holder so she could gather the strewn silver items from the floor and make her escape.

Asher leaned across the counter, stilling her hands on the scarf with his own warm, strong ones. “Allow me, Bliss,” he commanded softly. “I untangle jewelry for a living. Lupe, would you please help Miss Wilde with the stray earrings?” he requested. It was clearly a boss-to-employee-type request.

Guadalupe looked as if she'd just bitten down on a raw jalapeño. “Of course,” she murmured through tight lips. She came around the counter on stiff legs and bent over ostentatiously at the waist to collect the loose studs that had rolled across the floor. In her pencil skirt and platform stilettos, her ass formed a perfect heart shape, but the message it was sending Serafina was anything but loving. Whatever the message to Asher, however, Sera was pleased to see he was oblivious to it, engrossed in the fine work of teasing her stubborn scarf free from the wires of the earring tree. His expressive face was intent and his sensitive fingers worked with total focus over the delicate operation of untethering Sera from his artwork. He was so close she could smell that unique Asher scent again—man, metal, fire, fresh air. She tried not to inhale too deeply of its heady aroma, resisting the impulse to reach out and touch the lock of antique gold hair that fell across his brow, just to test if it was as lustrous as it looked.

Just then he looked up, catching her staring. And winked. “Don't let her get to you, Bliss,” he said quietly. “Lupe doesn't like women much.” His fingers freed the last folds of fabric, making bold to reach around Serafina's suddenly sensitized neck and loosen the scarf until it fell free to puddle on the counter between them.

But do you?
she wondered, obediently reaching out to take the cloth as he laid it in her palm. She tried not to clutch it like a groupie clinging to some rock star's discarded sweat rag.
And could you learn to like
me,
in particular?
It took an effort of will not to ask.

“I'm tougher than I look,” was what Sera said aloud. It was suddenly very important that this man not see her as some fragile flower. “No one's ‘getting to me' unless I let 'em.”

“Good.” Asher smiled. All awkwardness had passed, the lively charm that was his armor firmly buckled in place once more. Sera didn't know whether to be happy or regretful. “I believe it. You have what it takes to succeed,” he pronounced authoritatively. “That's how I know Bliss will be a massive success.”

Sera beamed. “Why, thank you.” She felt like she'd just swallowed a cup of sunshine, and could barely contain it.

Lupe stalked up to the glass counter and dropped a handful of solid sterling earrings on it with a rat-a-tat like machine gun fire. “All present and accounted for,” she said with a disdainful sniff, “though some of them may have suffered in the… accident.” The way she sneered the word “accident,” she might as well have pinned a medal for klutziness on Sera's lapel.

Sera's sunny feeling clouded over as rapidly as the ever-shifting New Mexico weather. “Oh! I'm sorry… I'll be happy to pay for any damages,” she hastened to assure them both, her hand fluttering to her shoulder bag for her wallet and her cheeks flaming once again.

Asher stopped her with a hand over her own.
That's twice he's touched me today,
Sera's lizard brain noted. “Don't be silly. In fact… I would like you to have these.” He reached, not for the pile of assorted earrings Lupe had gathered on the countertop, but into the display area below, where some of the finest, most obviously costly pieces were showcased. He bypassed a spectacular pendant with an infinity spiral of silver limned in pure gold and inlaid with mother-of-pearl, reaching for a deceptively simple set of small hoop earrings worked in plain silver metal, but with such beautiful balance and weight that they looked still liquid, filled with energy and harmonious grace.

He lifted the delicate earrings out of the case, laying them on his callused palm and eyeing them ruminatively. He glanced up at Serafina, then back to his creation, then nodded decisively. “Yes, I believe these were meant for you. Please accept them as our way of welcoming you to the neighborhood.”

“Our” was probably a bit of a stretch for politeness' sake. If Guadalupe were in charge of the welcoming committee, Sera had a feeling those earrings would be spearing her eyelids, not her earlobes. How she worked in a jewelry shop with such a lousy attitude toward women was a mystery. But Sera was so tickled, she happily ignored Lupe's outraged glower.

“I should refuse these,” she murmured, already picking the first from Asher's palm and fixing it into her lobe. “But I'm just not that virtuous. Thank you, Asher, for this extraordinary gift.” She slipped the second earring into place, and felt the cold metal warm against her flesh. A glimpse into the mirror on the counter showed her what she'd already guessed. The hoops were perfect for her—they went beautifully with her short, angled haircut and made her neck look longer and more elegant. “They're gorgeous, and I will cherish them. I look forward to repaying you in cupcakes and coffee in the very near future.”

“Good.” Asher pushed back from the counter with a satisfied air.

Good that I'm not that virtuous, or good that I'll be serving up baked goods?
Sera wondered.

“You'll be slaving over a hot stove until you're ninety to pay those off,” she heard Lupe mutter.

The chime of a bell over the shop's front door drew the attention of all three, and in trooped a pair of plump, pasty women sporting sweatshirts with rhinestones and puffy animal decals, clutching bags printed with the logo of a well-known Santa Fe souvenir supplier.

“Do y'all sell those… those whaddaya call 'ems… those Cocoa Puffy statues?” one of the ladies asked loudly. Her hair was an alarming shade of magenta, and looked as if it had survived the fall of Atlanta.

“It's
Kokopelli,
Marla,” her friend, who had on a sweatshirt of a neon coyote baying at the crescent moon, corrected her.

“Right, that coconutty feller. The god of snacks or whatever. Y'all carry those?”

Sera bit back a smile as she watched both Asher and Guadalupe inhale deeply, plastering identically professional smiles into place. “I'll be going now,” she stage-whispered out of the side of her mouth. “Thanks again.” She touched her earlobes as she turned to go.

Asher's voice called after her as Lupe swayed over to assist the tourists, contempt held rigidly in check. “By the way, Bliss. If you're looking for fixtures—ovens, cooking implements, that sort of thing—I know of a restaurant auction coming up next week. I'll leave the details with Pauline, so she can give you proper directions. Be sure to ask for Malcolm, but don't be put off if he's a bit disagreeable. His bark is worse than his bite, and he's a fair man.”

“I'll do that.”
Restaurant auction, eh? Good tip.
Maybe she could pick up some bargains on secondhand equipment. It was a common practice in the industry, and Sera knew that, when restaurants went out of business, selling their fixtures was often the only way for the owners to recoup painful losses. She sidled past the shoppers, who were oohing and ahhing over a display of bracelets by the front window. Sera nodded briefly at Lupe, opening the front door, then turning within its frame.

“Oh, and, Ash?” She surprised herself with the nickname, not failing to note the lovely Miss Lupe's narrowing gaze. “I've thought of the puppy's name.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Silver. His name is Silver.”

The smile Asher gave her was pure gold.

S
erafina blinked. In the time she'd been inside Lyric Jewelry, it appeared the courtyard had acquired a new statue. To her sun-dazzled eyes, the figure, vaguely humanoid, looked as though some strange-humored god had yanked it free from its gravitational moorings, dragging it skyward and elongating it past all reason.
I knew Santa Fe had a flourishing art scene,
she thought,
but this is a bit… sudden. I'm sure this wasn't here before.
Perhaps she was still dizzy from her encounter with Asher and his unwelcoming minion. She blinked again, and the strange new sculpture resolved itself into something she recognized.

Ah. Nothing to be alarmed about. It's just a New Age spiritualist. I better get used to them out here.

Flanking—or possibly mocking—the generous curves of the earth mother fountain, a slender young woman in wide-legged yoga pants and a fairly unnecessary sports bra was poised on one bare foot, the other magically protruding from the clasp of her two hands
behind
her head, her back leg nearly parallel to her torso. She looked to be double or perhaps triple jointed, with a fluid, taffy-like muscle structure that made her pose seem like the most natural thing in the world, despite Sera's certainty that a professional ballerina would be hard-pressed to duplicate it.

She watched as the girl unwound slowly and flowed into yet another improbable posture, and then another. Just as she was wondering if she should announce herself or simply sneak past to get back to her rental car (she had planned to hit the chamber of commerce and pick up some forms before heading back to Pauline's), the impossibly lithe young woman pressed her hands together, murmured
“Jai Bhagwan,”
added in a
“Namaste”
for good measure, then bounced on the balls of her feet as if she couldn't contain herself. She opened sparkling brown eyes and sang out, “Hey, girl! You must be Bliss. I've been dying to meet you!”

The yogini bounded over to the porch, oblivious to Sera's flummoxed expression, and stuck out her hand for Sera to shake. “I'm Aruni. Aruni Sharon Lipschitz, but I just stick with Aruni,” she said, pumping Serafina's hand enthusiastically. “Please, for the love of the Buddha, don't call me by my given name, or I'll never forgive you.” She dimpled, a woman clearly used to charming others right out of their ten-toed socks.

Aruni wasn't precisely pretty, Sera observed; possessed of a nose that was slightly bulbous at the tip and a chin that didn't quite overcome her otherwise adorable overbite. Her shoulder-length hair, Sera guessed, would require all sorts of abstruse products to tame its woolly curls. Still, her vitality made the overall picture one of delicious, vibrant attractiveness. As Sera watched, the woman twisted a rubber band through her massive mane and secured it atop her head in a ponytail that would have done a shih tzu proud. “I run the yoga studio across the courtyard,” Aruni said helpfully.

Of course she did. Sera followed the graceful line of her arm as the woman pointed to indicate a storefront at the front of the
placita.
The wooden double doors of the studio were painted a pale pink that managed—barely—not to clash with the mellow brown adobe walls. On the generously sized plate glass front window, swirly lotus flower and
ohm
symbols were painted in a purple she supposed was very spiritual. Perhaps Aruni and Pauline had shared a bucket of Benjamin Moore, Sera thought, for P-HOP's sign, she now realized, was exactly the same shade. Sera had noticed the yoga studio in passing on previous reconnaissance missions to her new venture, but only in a “Hey, I really ought to sign up for a class one of these days… ha, ha, yeah right,” sort of way.

I've got neighbors,
she thought to herself with equal parts pleasure and foreboding.
And I
bet out here they expect you to, like, talk to them and stuff.
Another new experience.
Hmm. Well, I could probably get used to being sociable. After all, I did say I wanted to try new things.

“Oh, ah, yes,” she murmured, fumbling for something appropriately neighborly to say. “Tantrastic, right?”

Aruni nodded happily. “That's the place!”

“It's nice to meet you, too, ah…”

“Aruni,” Aruni reminded. “Like the sage.” Her eyes searched Serafina's face, expecting recognition.

Right. The sage. The only sage Sera was intimately familiar with came in the fresh produce aisle, and made a great addition to turkey stuffing.
Aruni?
Could she seriously call her that out loud? Then again, with a name like Serafina Bliss Wilde, who was she to take issue with unusual monikers?

“Most people call me Serafina or Sera, not Bliss,” Serafina said, hitching up Pauline's patchwork skirt and wrapping the scarf Asher had so recently touched closer about her neck. “I'm still not used to Pauline introducing me to folks the other way.”
And I'm getting to like Asher being the only one, besides her, who calls me Bliss.

“Sera, then. I'm a big believer in calling people by the names they choose. For obvious reasons.” Aruni pulled a rueful face. “I'm so excited you're here, Sera,” she rattled on. “Pauline stopped by and told me all about you the other day. She said you'd come to take over the store, and, I quote, ‘I was to give you all aid and succor' in an effort to convince you you've made the right choice. Well,” Aruni said brightly, “she didn't have to ask me twice. I'm, like, totally over the moon that you're here. Finally, some new blood in
Placita de Suerte y Sueños!
With you here, we're going to lower the average age of the merchants in this little shopping center by half, and make it twice as rockin' cool.”

“We are?” Sera asked faintly.

“Mos' def, girl!” Aruni slung a muscle-banded arm across Sera's shoulders. “I'm no energy reader, but I definitely get a vibe that you and I are going to be great pals. C'mon, let's go grab a burger and seal the deal.”

“Ah… a burger?” Sera hesitated.

“Well, yeah—a veggie burger for me, obviously, but I won't pass judgment if you haven't made the shift to a meatless lifestyle yet.” Shrugging on a sky blue hoodie, she linked arms with Sera and urged her forward.

Sera stepped down from the porch in Aruni's wake, feeling the sun warm the otherwise chilly late-morning air. Her inner voice was telling her, “Go ahead, make a friend,” while her native New Yorker was shaking its head and asking her what ulterior motives her new “pal” might have. A lifetime of scanning for subway pervs and pickpockets warned her she should be checking the other woman over for concealed weapons and/or cult propaganda. But the Santa Fe sunlight and the cool September breeze were clearing away those suspicions, making room for new possibilities.

“Um, sure, I could eat,” she found herself saying.

“Great! I know the perfect place, and my assistant's minding the studio for the next couple hours—we've got a beginner's class in there practicing their
durga
breathing right now—so I can sneak away for a bit. Let's walk—it's so nice out, and it's not too far from here.”

And ten minutes later, after a stroll down narrow streets lined with exquisite, screamingly expensive boutiques and galleries Sera promised herself she'd take the time to investigate soon, they were sliding into a booth at the Sunshine Diner.

“Was that who I think it was?” Sera whispered out of the corner of her mouth as they unfolded their napkins and settled in at the historic-coal-warehouse-turned-chrome-finished diner, shedding scarves and handbags on the seats beside them. Her gaze cut over to the left, over Aruni's shoulder, to the gentleman who had just paid his tab and was now ambling toward the front entrance with a peculiarly bowlegged gait. “The one who was in all the Western movies?”

Aruni did a totally unsubtle gawk over her shoulder while Sera tried not to cringe. “Yup,” she affirmed. “He's in here a lot. Likes the pies, I'm told. He has a compound in the hills just outside the city limits. I heard he had it built to look just like the ranch in his most famous film. We've got a lot of aging stars buying second homes in the area, so don't be surprised if you see one or two. But you must be used to celebrity sightings, being from New York and all. The way Pauline tells it, you were practically Donald Trump's personal chef.” Aruni was clearly fishing for info.

Sera considered sharing a few choice stories from her days in Blake Austin's kitchens. She'd met—and catered to—enough celebs that the mystique had mostly worn off. “I did have the occasional celebrity run-in here and there,” she admitted, and decided not to elaborate. She wasn't feeling particularly nostalgic for her hometown or her old life, and wasn't sure she ever would again. “So what's good here?” she asked, steering the subject away from her origins.

Aruni buried her gamine face in her menu, studying it earnestly. Her wiry corkscrew curls wiggled joyously above the top of the oversized diner menu with a life of their own. “Well, anything with green chile is great,” she advised, “but I mostly come here for the desserts.”

Sera privately marveled that the woman before her, slender to the point of being two-dimensional, had ever been intimately acquainted with sweets. She glanced down at her menu, her mouth quirking involuntarily into a smile as she read. The offerings were a mix of classic diner comfort foods and New American cuisine, all with what she was beginning to recognize as a signature Santa Fe twist. “The desserts are practically the only items on the menu that
don't
have green chile in them,” she observed wryly. “Guess they're trying to tell me something. Maybe I'll have to invent a green chile cupcake for my bakery.”

“Oh, for sure you have to,” Aruni said, as if shocked Serafina might ever have entertained a contrary idea. She slapped her menu down and focused intently on Sera, leaning forward across the table with her elbows bent and her pointy chin propped on her fists. “Have you decided on a menu for the bakery yet?”

“Oh yes.” Sera smiled. “About eighteen of them. It's narrowing it down to what's doable without forgoing sleep until retirement that's the tricky part.”

“Hmm.” Aruni's earnest brown eyes crinkled in thought. “Well, what are you best at?”

“Everything.” Serafina made this pronouncement without a trace of shame, and perhaps a
soupçon
of healthy arrogance. She slung her arms across the back of her side of the booth, gesturing broadly. “From macaroons to
pain au chocolat,
meringue to
petit four,
I pretty much rock the confectionary spectrum.” Seeing Aruni's eyebrows shoot up, she smiled. “Seriously, I'm like the puff pastry whisperer. I can make a choux paste that'll float your
éclair
on a sea of mocha yumminess. My lady fingers and biscotti scoff at the need for coffee. My chocolate mousse is so rich it makes Rupert Murdoch feel poor. And my wedding cakes—well, husbands may come and go, but my cakes are timeless. I've never wanted to do anything else with my life—the truth is, I've screwed up everything else I've touched—but pastries? We just seem to understand one another. It's been that way since I was a little kid.”

What Sera didn't say was that, as a painfully shy child with limited people skills, cooking had been both creative outlet and peace offering. Pleasing others with her pastries had been one way to placate them, make them like her, ensure she always had an invite to the party. Well, until alcohol had taken over the role of social lubricant… and subsequently ruined her life. But Sera wasn't thinking about that today.

“Now,” she continued, “all I have to do is master the altitude adjustments, and I should be wowing the taste buds of you Fe-heads in no time—that is, if they haven't been burnt off from eating all those chile peppers.”

Aruni looked a bit nonplussed by Sera's vehement speech. But then a wide grin spilled across her face. “You're going to make me fat, aren't you?”

“I might try,” Sera said with a smile of her own. “But maybe if we swap baked goods for yoga lessons, we'll manage to keep it in balance.”

“Rock on,” Aruni said, high-fiving her across the table. “I like the way you think. And as for your menu and the need for sleep—girl, you're going to need not just your z's but plenty of time to hang out with your new gal-pals now that you're living in Santa Fe. What about doing like those ladies on TV do—the ones on the Food Channel that have the cupcake chain stores? Like, just
only
do cupcakes?”

Sera had considered it. “Well, I still want to be around when the cupcake craze dies down—not that I think people will ever get tired of cupcakes, but a store that sells nothing else may get old. Back in New York they've already moved on to donuts and even ‘cronuts.' Don't ask me how to describe those,” she added with a smile, “but trust me, they're delicious. Anyhow, I also want to have coffee and some savories like quiches or simple sandwiches available for people who come in throughout the day, so I can have a constant flow of customers from breakfast through teatime, you know?”

“Totally. People are always poking their noses into our
placita,
asking if there's a place they can grab a coffee and a Danish or read a newspaper and just hang out for a few minutes, instead of having to have a formal sit-down meal at some spendy tourist joint. I know
I'd
love to have a place to pop by and get some tea or a veggie wrap once in a while. Coffee doesn't fit into the yoga lifestyle, but a girl
does
get thirsty.” She dimpled. “Speaking of which, are you gonna keep Big Mama around?”

“I have a feeling my aunt would go into mourning otherwise,” Sera said drily.

“Not just her,” Aruni said seriously. “
All
us girls. We love it, and it does wonders for our… well, you know.” She gestured below the belt. “Don't worry. I'm sure you'll find a way to please your customers and yourself as well, whatever you decide to serve. And speaking of pleasing…” Grinning conspiratorially, she leaned even farther forward across the laminated wooden table and lowered her voice. “Pauline tells me you've agreed to keep the back room going. I can't tell you what that'll mean to the girls.”