Dance Upon the Air (3 page)

T
he village,
Nell decided, was a bit like Brigadoon as seen by Nathaniel Hawthorne. She'd taken some time to explore before she'd gone to the market. For months she'd told herself she was safe. She was free. But for the first time, wandering the pretty streets with their quaint houses, breathing in the sea air, listening to the sharp New England voices, she
felt
safe. And free.

No one knew her, but they would. They would know Nell Channing, the clever cook who lived in the little cottage in the wood. She would make friends here, and a life. A future. Nothing from the past would touch her here.

One day she would be as much a part of the island as the narrow post office with its faded gray wood or the tourist center cobbled together by old clinker bricks, and the long, sturdy dock where fishermen brought their daily catch.

To celebrate she bought a wind chime fashioned of
stars that she saw in a shop window. It was her first purchase for pleasure in nearly a year.

She spent her first night on the island in the lovely bed, hugging her happiness to her as she listened to the stars ring and the sea breathe.

She was up before sunrise, eager to begin. While the day's soup simmered, she rolled out pastry dough. She'd spent every penny she had, including most of the advance and a good portion of her next month's salary on kitchen tools. It didn't matter. She would have the best and produce the best. Mia Devlin, her benefactor, would never have cause to regret taking her on.

Everything in the kitchen was precisely as she wanted it. Not as she'd been told it must be. When she had time, she would make a run to the island's garden center for herbs. Some she would plant outside the windowsill. All cluttered together the way she liked things to be. Nothing, absolutely nothing, in her home would be uniform and precise and stylishly sleek. She wouldn't have acres of marble or seas of glass or towering urns of terrifyingly exotic flowers without warmth or scent. There wouldn't be . . .

She stopped herself. It was time to stop reminding herself of what wouldn't be, and plan what would be. Yesterday would hound her until she firmly closed the door on it and shot the bolt.

While the sun came up, turning the east-facing windows to flame, she slid the first batch of tarts into the oven. She remembered the rosy-cheeked woman who had helped her at the market. Dorcas Burmingham—such a fine Yankee name, Nell thought. And full of welcome and curiosity. The curiosity would have shut
Nell down once, turned her inward. But she'd been able to chat, to answer some questions breezily and avoid others.

Tarts cooled on the rack and muffins went into the oven. As the kitchen filled with light, Nell sang to welcome the day.

Lulu folded
her arms over her skinny chest. It was, Mia knew, her way of trying to look intimidating. As Lulu barely inched up to five feet, weighed ninety pounds soaking wet, and had the face of a woeful pixie, it took work for her to look intimidating.

“You don't know anything about her.”

“I know she's alone, looking for work, and in the right place at the right time.”

“She's a stranger. You don't just hire a stranger,
and
lend her money, give her a house, without at least doing a background check. Not one reference, Mia. Not one. For all you know, she's a psychopath running from the law.”

“You've been reading true crime books again, haven't you?”

Lulu scowled, an expression that on her harmless face approximated a pained smile. “There are bad people in the world.”

“Yes, there are.” Mia printed out the mail-order requests that had come through her computer. “Without them we'd have no balance, no challenge. She's running from something, Lu, but not the law. And fate pointed her here. It brought her to me.”

“And sometimes fate's a backstabber.”

“I'm well aware of that.” With the printouts in hand, Mia walked out of the office, Lulu on her heels. Only the fact that Lulu Cabot had essentially raised her prevented Mia from telling her to mind her own business. “And you should know I can protect myself.”

“You take in strays, your guard goes down.”

“She's not a stray, she's a seeker. There's a difference. I felt something from her,” Mia added as she started downstairs to fill the orders. “When she's more comfortable I'll look closer.”

“At least get a reference.”

Mia lifted a brow as she heard the back door open. “I just got one. She's prompt. Don't poke at her, Lulu,” Mia ordered as she handed the printouts over. “She's also tender yet. Well, good morning, Nell.”

“Good morning.” Arms full of covered trays, Nell breezed in. “I pulled my car around back. That's all right, isn't it?”

“That's just fine. Need a hand?”

“Oh, no, thanks. I have everything stacked in the car.”

“Lulu, this is Nell. You can get acquainted later.”

“Nice to meet you, Lulu. I'll just start setting things up.”

“You go right ahead.” Mia waited until Nell climbed the stairs. “Looks dangerous, doesn't she?”

Lulu set her jaw. “Looks can be deceiving.”

Moments later Nell jogged downstairs again. She wore a plain white T-shirt tucked into her jeans. The little gold locket lay against it like a charm. “I started a first pot of coffee. I'll bring some down next trip, but I don't know how you like it.”

“Black for me, sweet and light for Lu. Thanks.”

“Um . . . would you mind not going up to the café until I've finished? I'd really like you to see the whole presentation. So just . . .” She backed toward the door, face flushed, as she spoke. “Wait. Okay?”

“Eager to please,” Mia commented as she and Lulu filled the orders. “Eager to work. Yes, definite psychopathic tendencies. Call the cops.”

“Shut up.”

Twenty minutes later, breathless, jangled with pleasure and nerves, Nell came downstairs again. “Can you come up now? I still have time to change things around if it doesn't suit you. Oh, could you come, too, Lulu? Mia said you know everything about the shop, so you'd know if it doesn't look the way it should.”

“Hmph.” Grudgingly Lulu stopped ringing up the mail orders. “Café's not my department.” But with a shrug, she followed Mia and Nell upstairs.

The display case was brimming with glossy pastries, wide-topped muffins and scones popping with golden currants. A tall torte gleamed under a sleek chocolate frosting and laces of whipped cream. Cookies as big as a man's palm covered two delicate white sheets of baker's paper. Wafting out of the kitchen was the scent of soup simmering.

On the chalkboard, written in a fine and careful hand, were the day's specials. The glass had been polished to a gleam, the coffee was irresistibly fragrant, and a pale blue canning jar filled with cinnamon sticks stood on the counter.

Mia walked up and down the display, like a
general inspecting troops, while Nell stood struggling not to wring her hands.

“I didn't put the salads and the soup out yet. I thought if I waited till around eleven for that, people would be more apt to go for the pastries. There're more tarts in the back, and the brownies. I didn't put them out because, well, I think people want them more if it doesn't look as if you're oversupplied. And the brownies are more lunch and afternoon items. I put the torte out now, hoping customers might think about it and end up coming back into the shop again later for a slice. But I can rearrange things if you'd rather—”

She broke off when Mia lifted a finger. “Let's sample one of those tarts.”

“Oh. Sure. Just let me get one from the back.” She darted into the kitchen, then back out again with a tart in a little paper doily.

Saying nothing, Mia broke it in two, handed half to Lulu. As she took the first bite, her lips curved. “How's that for a reference?” she murmured, then turned back to Nell. “If you keep looking so nervous, customers are going to think something's wrong with the food. Then they won't order it, and they'll miss something very special. You have a gift, Nell.”

“You like it?” Nell let out a relieved sigh. “I sampled one of everything this morning. I'm half sick,” she said as she pressed a hand to her stomach. “I wanted everything to be just right.”

“And so it is. Now relax, because once word gets out we've got a genius in the kitchen, you're going to be very busy.”

Nell didn't know
if word got out, but she was soon too busy for nerves. By ten-thirty she was brewing another pot of coffee and resupplying trays. Every time her cash register rang, it was a separate little thrill. And when she bagged up a half a dozen muffins for a customer who claimed she'd never tasted better, Nell had to order herself not to spring into a dance.

“Thanks. Come back soon.” Beaming, she turned to the next customer.

That was Zack's first impression of her. A pretty blonde wearing a white apron and a mile-wide smile with winking dimples. It gave him a quick and pleasant little jolt, and his own grin flashed in response.

“I heard about the muffins, but I didn't hear about the smile.”

“Smile's free. The muffins'll cost you.”

“I'll take one. Blueberry. And a large black coffee to go. I'm Zack. Zack Todd.”

“Nell.” She scooped up one of the to-go cups. She didn't have to shoot him a sidelong glance. Experience had taught her to read a face fast and remember it. His was still in her mind as she filled the cup.

Tanned, with faint lines fanning out from sharp green eyes. A firm jaw with an intriguing diagonal scar scoring it. Brown hair, a little long, with a bit of curl that was already sun-streaked in June. A narrow face with a long, straight nose, a mouth that smiled easily and showed a slightly crooked incisor.

It struck her as an honest face. Easygoing, friendly. She set the coffee on the counter, casting him another glance as she plucked a muffin from the tray.

He had broad shoulders and good arms. His shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and faded from sun and
water. The hand that curled around the coffee cup was big and wide. She tended to trust big hands on a man. It was the slender, manicured ones that could strike so lethally.

“Just one?” she said as she bagged his muffin.

“One'll do me for now. Word is you just got to the island yesterday.”

“Good timing for me.” She rang up his order, pleased when he opened the bag and sniffed.

“Good timing all around if this tastes as good as it smells. Where'd you come in from?”

“Boston.”

He cocked his head. “Doesn't sound like Boston. Your accent,” he explained when she simply stared at him.

“Oh.” She took his money with a steady hand, made change. “Not originally. A little town in the Midwest—outside of Columbus. I moved around a lot, though.” Her smile stayed in place as she handed him his change and receipt. “I guess that's why I don't sound like I'm from anywhere in particular.”

“Guess so.”

“Hey, Sheriff.”

Zack glanced over his shoulder, nodded. “Morning, Miz Macey.”

“You get 'round to talking to Pete Stahr about that dog of his?”

“Heading that way now.”

“Dog as soon roll in dead fish as he would in roses. Then what's he do but run right through my hanging wash. Had to do the lot of it again. I like dogs same as the next.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“But Pete's got to keep that hound on a leash.”

“I'll have a word with him this morning. You ought to get yourself one of these muffins, Miz Macey.”

“I just came in for a book.” But she looked at the display, her lips pursing in her wide face. “Do look tasty, don't they? You'd be the new girl.”

“Yes.” Nell's throat was raw and hot. She feared her voice sounded the same. “I'm Nell. Can I get you anything?”

“Maybe I'll just have a sit-down with a cup of tea and one of those tarts. I've got a weak spot for a good fruit tart. None of those fancy teas, mind. Give me good orange pekoe. You tell that Pete to keep his dog out of my wash,” she added to Zack. “Else he'll be doing my laundry.”