Wind Chime Café (A Wind Chime Novel) (15 page)

Will gazed down at the silver threads running through the ribbon. The shine had worn down long ago, except for the smallest sliver inside the protected center of the knot. He peeled it back, wanting to see it, wanting to remember his sister. Wanting to remember the way everything had sparkled when she was around.

Outside, doves cooed on the rooftop and a warbler sang from the branches of the hackberry. The wind rustled the leaves of the tulip poplars, only just beginning to change colors. Will pushed to his feet, picking up his sister’s box and carrying it toward the stairs.

He’d come home to get rid of the things in this attic, to clean the house out and erase the memories. But the longer he stayed, the more he remembered and the more he wanted to keep.

S
pencer Townsend leaned against the railing of Bob Hargrove’s charter boat. The wind whipped over the Bay, spitting saltwater over the bow. His clients—three men from the Western Shore who were each in the market for a weekend home—had their lines in the water, waiting for the rockfish to bite.

When the phone in his pocket buzzed, Spencer welcomed the distraction. He’d never really understood the appeal of fishing. He’d much rather be out on a sailboat, cruising sleek and fast through the open water.

Walking back to the helm, he ignored Captain Bob’s eye roll as he pulled out his phone to answer the call. “This is Spencer Townsend.”

“Spencer,” a deep southern voice came through the line. “Lance Hadley here.”

Lance Hadley?
Spencer stood up straighter. Up until now, he had only dealt with the regional acquisitions team. He hadn’t expected to speak directly with the CEO and owner of Hadley Hotels. “Yes, sir? What can I do for you?”

“I understand there’s been a delay with the purchase of one of our resort properties.”

“Yes.” Spencer cleared his throat. “There’s been a slight delay.”

“Is someone bidding against us?”

“No.” Spencer stepped behind the plastic wind cover, lowering his voice. “The current owner is dragging his feet.”

“Why?”

“He has an emotional attachment to the place.”

There was a long pause at the other end. “An emotional attachment?”

Spencer winced. “Yes.”

“I believe one of our acquisition managers discussed setting up an arrangement for you to keep an eye out for similar properties in the Mid-Atlantic, an arrangement that you would be compensated for.”

Spencer swallowed. “That’s right.”

“I like the idea of having someone in the area to keep us apprised of valuable pieces of real estate before they go on the market. With your connections and your father’s position as owner of a bank, you seemed like an obvious choice. But if you can’t convince a man to let go of a piece of land because of an emotional attachment, you can consider that offer rescinded.”

“I’ll talk to him today,” Spencer said quickly. “I know he’ll come around. I was just giving him a little time to get used to the idea.”

“I want this deal closed within the next two weeks, before one of our competitors gets wind of it,” Lance said. “This property is perfect for Morningstar.”

“I understand.” Spencer glanced up at the raised voices coming from the bow. One of his clients had a fish on. From the strain in the line and the bend in the pole, it looked like a big one.

“Spencer?”

“Yes, Mr. Hadley?”

“How strong is this emotional attachment?”

Spencer thought back to Will’s initial reaction to the resort company’s offer, and his own failed attempts to talk him into the sale over the past couple of weeks. “It’s pretty strong.”

There was another long pause at the other end of the line. “Do I need to up the offer?”

Up the offer?
Spencer watched Bob reach for the net, dipping it into the water as his client reeled the fish in closer to the boat.

Will had said he wouldn’t accept a buyer who planned to tear down his grandparents’ house, but surely there was a number that could change his mind, if it was high enough. “Potentially.”

“How much?”

“I’m not—”

“How
much
?” Lance bit out, his impatience coming through the line. “Give me a number.”

Spencer gave him one off the top of his head.

“Fine,” Lance said brusquely. “Do it.”

Spencer calculated the new percentage he’d get from the commission. He had to find a way to convince Will to take the new offer.

“If you can’t close this deal, tell me now. I’ll send someone else up there to persuade him.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Spencer said, knowing that if Lance Hadley sent someone else up to the island to close the deal, any future working arrangements between them would be off. “You can count on me.”

“Della?” Annie asked,
stepping into the kitchen. “What are you doing? I thought you finished the desserts hours ago?”

“I did.” Della dashed from the fridge to the stove, where a saucepan of melted chocolate was threatening to boil over. “This is a new recipe I wanted to try out.”

“A new recipe?” Annie scanned the crowded counters and overflowing dishes in the sink. Before she’d gone upstairs to change half an hour ago, everything had been on track. Now, it looked like a tornado had hit. “I thought we agreed on only four sweets today?”

“I know, I know.” Della scooted bowls and plates out of the way to roll out a circle of sugary dough. “I got excited.”

Annie looked fleetingly at the rockfish stations Della had set up earlier: one with bowls of egg, flour and bread crumbs for frying; one with a lemon zest and thyme marinade for broiling; and one with lemon wedges and slices of butter for sautéing.

She peered down at the chocolate, which was starting to burn. “Are you sure you have time for all this? It’s almost eleven o’clock.”

“Of course!” Della said, but her face had gone pale and beads of sweat were forming along her brow. “I have everything under control!”

It sure didn’t look like she had everything under control.

Annie grabbed Della’s hand, pulling her away from the cookies. “What’s going on?”

Della’s panicked eyes flickered up to hers. “I think you made a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Annie’s heart rate spiked. Had she forgotten to order something, some crucial ingredient Della needed to do her job today? “With what?”

“Hiring me.”

Annie gaped at her. “What?”

“I’m not a chef,” Della said in a small voice.

“Yes, you are.”

Della shook her head. “I’m not.”

“You
are
a chef,” Annie said firmly. “You are
my
chef.”

Della looked down at her feet. “I should have found another job answering phones.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve done this before!”

“But that was for fun,” Della protested. “It was never a job. You and Taylor—you’re counting on me. What if I let you down? What if the tourists don’t like my cooking?”

“They
will
like your cooking, Della. They’ll love it. You’re an amazing chef.”

“What if—?”

“I did
not
make a mistake in hiring you!”

“You didn’t?” Della asked tentatively.

“No.” Annie stared at the woman who’d hardly left her side over the past two weeks. She’d lost track of the number of times Della had waved her off when she’d told her to go home because she couldn’t possibly pay her for all her extra work. Della had already put in more hours than Annie could ever repay her for.

Della had taken on the task of opening this café as it if were her own, as if it meant as much to her as it did to Annie.

Maybe it did.

Annie squeezed her hands. “I have faith in you, Della.”

“You do?”

“Yes, but you need to get a grip.”

“I know,” Della said, letting out a long breath. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“Mom!” Taylor called from the front porch. “They’re coming!”

Annie looked back at Della. “Nothing is going to go wrong.”

Della sent her a small smile and Annie stepped back, pressing a hand to her suddenly queasy stomach. Their first customers were about to arrive. There was no turning back now.

She checked her reflection in the stove. She’d changed into gray slacks and a white scoop neck sweater, and added a pair of dangly silver earrings.

She was as ready as she’d ever be.

Taking a deep breath, she walked out to join her daughter on the porch as two middle-aged couples strolled up the sidewalk to the café.

A man in a blue windbreaker held up a plastic bag filled with fillets. “Our captain said you were offering to fry up the fish we caught this morning.”

“That’s right,” Annie said, smiling. “We can prepare it any way you like, and we have a full menu of soups and salads if you want something else to go with it.”

“Look, Stacey!” a blond woman gushed, nudging her friend and pointing up to the top of the porch. “Look at all the wind chimes!”

Taylor took the bag of fillets from the man and carried them toward the kitchen to deliver to Della as Annie led the two couples inside.

“Oh!” the blond woman exclaimed, pausing in the doorway. “Look at this place! It’s adorable!”

Adorable?
Annie felt a swell of pride as she led them to a corner table by the window.

The woman laid her arm over her husband’s. “Wouldn’t it be fun to have a room like this at home for the girls?”

The man muttered an incoherent response as he sat down beside his buddy and started trading fishing stories.

The woman looked up at Annie. “Who’s your decorator?”

Annie paused, her hand on the menus stacked up beside the door. “Um…I am.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “You did all this yourself?”

Annie nodded.

“I’m impressed,” she said, lifting her cloth napkin. Her eyes lit up when she saw that everyone’s napkin was a different material and every glass and dish on the table was mismatched. “It’s all just so cute!”

Annie poured their waters, explained the three rockfish preparations, and left them each with a menu. The word “cute” rang in her ears as she walked back to the kitchen. “Classy,” “reserved,” “elegant”—those were the words she’d been hoping for when she finally opened her own place.

But she could work with “cute.” It was better than “cheap” and “tacky”—the two most common words her mother had used to describe her wind chimes. She’d been worried about how the tourists would react to her homemade decorations, but maybe they could see the same charm in them that Will had seen earlier that morning.

Maybe she was actually going to be able to pull this off.

More footsteps hit the front porch, and Annie turned. Three men and two women were walking up the steps. Another group of men wasn’t far behind. She spotted Spencer Townsend with the second group and waved, wondering if he had any news on the resort, but she didn’t have a chance to say more than a brief hello because, before long, every table in the café was full.