Free Bliss by Hilary Fields Page A

space, she pictured vintage marble-topped side tables for customers to lay their cupcakes and confections on while they relaxed and sipped a latte. She’d have a stand for newspapers and periodicals. Maybe even offer Wi-Fi, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to go that route. (The laptop-toting student/starving writer crowd didn’t tend to lay down a lot of cash.) She wanted everything elegant, appealing, and absolutely delectable. Fresh flowers in bud vases would add notes of color, while the aromas of chocolate, coffee, and piping hot cake would surround her customers in a sensual web.
    But hold on. Speaking of scents, something didn’t smell quite right around here. Serafina was used to identifying ingredients and judging flavorings by their odors, and this one was… odd, to say the least. Vinegary. Following her nose, her attention was drawn to a large glass jar sitting on a dusty shelf. Was that… She drifted closer, afraid of what she might find. Plucking up her courage, Sera reached out with thumb and forefinger and gingerly drew aside the cheesecloth covering the top of the jar.
    â€œYeeeoowza! What is that? ”
    Pauline drifted forward to peer over her shoulder. “Oh, that? It’s nothing to worry about. It’s just Big Mama. Hello, Big Mama!” She leaned in to whisper confidingly in Sera’s ear, as though to keep the contents of the jar from hearing. “Don’t mind the smell, dear. She’s just hungry. I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting her shockingly since the… well, since Hortencia…”
    â€œBig… Mama? ” Sera breathed, staring at the enormous brown glob floating in the jar of sickly-looking liquid. “You don’t mean—”
    â€œYup,” Pauline confirmed. “Kombucha. It’s my own special culture. Go ahead and taste some if you like, but it’ll be better if we feed her first.”
    Ugh, no thanks, Sera thought. She knew about kombucha, of course. Chefs heard about all the crazy ingestible trends out there in the world. She’d read somewhere that the mushroom-like culture that floated at the top—mostly comprised of a form of yeast—was known as a “mother,” and that these mamas sometimes spawned “daughters” that brewers used to spin off their signature blends for family and friends. In theory, it sounded okay, if a bit unsanitary. But until today, she’d never actually seen the fermented home brew in person. And now that she had, she didn’t think she cared to see it again. It smelled like hippie feet, and it looked like a monstrous, wet, flabby mushroom. Or a dead stingray. Gross.
    â€œIt was very popular with our ladies,” Pauline offered. “A lot of them thought it had special properties, if you know what I mean.” Sera blushed as the meaning became clear, but her aunt must not have noticed, because she continued in a stage whisper, “ Sexual properties, dear.”
    A snort sounded from behind them. Asher was staring studiously into the middle distance, but he couldn’t hide the little grin that lifted his generous lips.
    â€œWhat, you want some?” Sera flashed, teasing the outrageously sexy Mr. Wolf before she could think better of it.
    â€œMy sexual properties are in no need of enhancement at the moment, thank you,” he shot back with elaborate politeness, and the blush on Sera’s cheeks bloomed into a full-body affair.
    â€œUm, right. Moving on!” Sera wasn’t about to discuss aphrodisiac beverages while a hot guy stood around making quips about his sexual prowess. Even if it was secretly kind of fun.
    â€œWhat’s back here—the restrooms?” Sera asked as she headed for the rear of the store. A beaded curtain with an image of Ingres’s La Grande Odalisque hand-painted upon it hung across a discreetly placed doorway. Maybe that “back room” Pauline had mentioned so offhandedly a few