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“You’re not an ex-chef yet, Jason. Not as long as you’re still answering your phone. We can salvage the book deal, and it’s not as if they canceled your contract with the network. Suspended, sure, but there’s always hope. Especially if you change your mind. If nothing else, let’s get you back in the kitchen at JD’s. Fight for what’s yours. Fight for that future you and David wanted for yourselves.”
“You still don’t get it, Gary.” Jason had to open his eyes to stop the ghostly image of David from appearing. “That future went down in the plane with David. Please don’t ask again. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Jason disconnected before he said something he’d regret. He was already down a father and brother—he didn’t need to alienate the last person still on his side.
He didn’t have answers to much right now, but he knew one thing for certain: he was done with the cooking world.
And nothing Gary or his father said would ever change that.
* * *
“DOUBLE MOCHA SHAKE, extra whipped cream, cheeseburger and fries, Holly. Stat.” Abby slunk into a booth at the Butterfly Diner and dropped her head into her folded arms. Not even the comforting confines of her best friend’s throwback diner decked out in hues of orange and black in honor of its monarch namesake were enough to lift her normally sparkly mood.
She gave a weak wave to Matt Knight and Fletcher Bradley as the two deputies dived elbow deep into drippy cheeseburgers of their own in the corner booth. It was nice to see the diner flush with customers, most of whom were longtime residents and business owners. Too bad none of them needed a room for the...year.
“Uh-oh.” Holly Campbell set a coffeepot on the table and crossed her arms. “The last time you ordered like this you had just gotten dumped on prom night. All that’s missing is the onion rings. What’s up? Did you have another online dating disaster? You couldn’t have found someone worse than rented-bowling-shoe guy.” Holly tightened her ponytail and aimed a sympathetic gaze Abby’s way.
“The newly engaged are not allowed to mock the emotionally unattached.” Nonetheless, her best friend’s teasing eased her mind. She honestly couldn’t remember a worse day. “And for the record, I wasn’t dumped. It was a mutual parting of the ways.”
“Rewriting history, check.” Holly grinned, but the concern in her eyes brushed lightly against Abby’s bruised heart. “What’s going on, Abs? You haven’t been your usual shiny self for a few weeks.”
“Oh, nothing much.” Abby took a deep breath as she realized Holly, and not lunch, was the real reason she’d come to the diner. There wasn’t anyone else she could confide in who would keep things quiet. “Aside from all the time-suck repairs the inn needs, I started the day by almost burning the kitchen to the ground—”
“Again?” Holly groaned. “You should come with a warning sign.”
“Not you, too.” It was bad enough to have Mr. Cranky Pants Corwin denounce her negligible cooking skills—she didn’t need to hear it from her best friend. “Believe it or not, that was the highlight of my morning. I just came from seeing Mr. Vartebetium at the hospital.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Pretty good for an eighty-two-year-old man who’s had his third heart attack.” At least he was getting the break he needed. “They’re still debating whether to send him to a transition facility before allowing him to go home. Remember all those months ago when I told you I thought maybe the Flutterby was in trouble? Yeah, well, I was wrong. It’s in huge trouble with a great big F for financial. He finally confided in me how bad things are. His words? The Flutterby would be better off if we launched it off the cliffs.”
“Oh, no.” Holly sagged onto the bench across from her. “That can’t be true. The Flutterby has been here forever. Maybe he’s exaggerating. Do you think?” The hope in her friend’s eyes didn’t do much to bolster her own.
“He wouldn’t come out with the details, but he gave me the keys to his filing cabinet,” Abby said. “It must be pretty bad considering he stopped letting me oversee the books months ago.” She’d assumed Mr. Vartebetium had wanted to keep as much control of his lifelong business as he could. Now Abby had to wonder if it was his way of keeping the truth about the finances secret. “How early is too early to crack open a bottle of pinot?”
She blinked back tears, which only made her mad. Abby Manning didn’t cry. Abby Manning was the town optimist—she got things done, and if she didn’t know how, she found a solution. Abby Manning never saw a gray cloud in the sky even when it was storming outside.
“The inn can’t close, Holl,” Abby whispered. “It’s the only home Gran’s ever known. It’s her last connection to Gramps, and now with her Parkinson’s diagnosis, ripping her out of that place will only make her decline faster.” And it would kill Abby. The Flutterby was the first home she’d ever known. “I’ve got to save it somehow. I won’t let it go without a fight.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Holly said. “I wish I could help, but between this place and Simon’s school tuition, not to mention Luke’s and my wedding—”
“Do not make these stupid tears spill over, do you hear me?” Abby ordered, appreciating more than words could say how much she loved Holly for the thought. Holly had her back, just as Abby had had hers a few weeks ago when Holly hit a rough patch with her son, Simon. That was before Holly went and fell tail over teakettle in love with the onetime bad boy of Butterfly Harbor turned sheriff, Luke Saxon.
Looking at Holly’s engagement ring glinting in the early afternoon sun made Abby’s heart ache and sing at the same time. Her friend deserved to be happy, especially after all she’d been through.
“I don’t suppose Simon is around?” Holly glanced at the half-filled diner. Whatever boost she needed, she’d bet her overly precocious eight-year-old godson could provide.
“He’s at the community center with my dad and Charlie. I swear my son and Paige’s daughter are tethered constantly, but at least they’re staying out of trouble these days. Good thing, too, since Paige has been putting in extra hours here at the diner.”
“As far as you know they’re staying out of trouble,” Abby mused, the idea of those two juvenile partners in crime roaming Butterfly Harbor on their bikes giving her heart a lift. “Tell him I’m up for a movie night anytime he’s ready.” But Abby figured her godson might already be aging out of sleepovers with his boring godmother. Well, boring when compared to seven-year-old Charlie Cooper with her crooked smile, equally crooked pigtails and mischievous personality.
“Is there anything Luke and I can do?” Holly asked, giving a nod of acknowledgment to one of her customers.
“I’ll let you know. But I should probably get back to the Flutterby and dive into those books. Can I get my order to go? Along with a turkey sandwich for Lori?”
“Of course. You know Paige, though. Chances are she’ll throw something unexpected on your burger.” Holly patted her hand and headed for the kitchen.
Considering Abby’s luck today, it would be a handful of jalapeños. Abby shuddered. She hated jalapeños. She took a calming breath and inhaled the familiar aroma—frying onions accompanied by hot sugar from Holly’s homemade pies.
How could some people make food sing while others, like her, made it scream?
Abby plucked the pamphlet advertising the By the Bay Food Festival from in front of the laminated menu of Holly’s desserts and grasped a final hope. Her full reservation book should bring in a good chunk of change for the coffers. If Matilda came home in time to get the kitchen up and running. If. If, if, if.
“Abby, what brings you by so early today?” Mayor Gil Hamilton, or Gil the Thrill, as he’d been known in high school, sidled up to her booth and leaned a hand on the table. With his longish blond hair and overbright blue eyes, Gil would forever be Butterfly Harbor’s charmer in residence. He might have spent a good portion of his thirty-two years trying to distance himself from his father’s financially irresponsible actions during his own term as mayor, but even benefit-of-the-doubt Abby had to admit Gil slipped too easily into the political swamp his father had polluted. Then again, she did believe his concern for the town’s survival was genuine. So long as some of his ideas didn’t strip the uniqueness out of Butterfly Harbor in the meantime. That was one of the reasons she was in support of the butterfly sanctuary he was trying to get off the ground.
“Errands,” she said and painted on her trademark smile. She’d keep smiling even as the ship began to sink. “How are the plans coming for the festival?”
“Amazingly well, actually. Tents and banners should start going up around town and in Skipper Park sometime tomorrow, and Calliope has offered her empty property at Duskywing Farm for the open house on Thursday night. We lucked out with the timing. Being able to celebrate Butterfly Harbor’s anniversary when we’ve got a town full of people gives us a chance to show off. One hundred twenty-five years is nothing to sneeze at. Plus, we’ll get that national exposure thanks to all the media coverage.”
“The Cocoon Club is anxious to expand on their success from the Pig in a Poke BBQ cook-off.” The group of Butterfly Harbor seniors had their fingers in a lot of events these days. She only wished she could convince Gran to get involved with them again. Abby flipped open the pamphlet for the upcoming festival and immediately locked on the bolded wording on the second page. “Wait. This is an amateur cooking competition? As in no talent required?” With a hefty fifty-thousand-dollar first prize. Was this the universe’s way of bashing her over the head with a skillet? “Who’s sponsoring this? ShopMax Foods?”
“Hardly,” Gil chuckled. “I told you, sponsorships have been rolling in. And NCN is footing most of it. They’re hoping to find some new on-air talent. Since Butterfly Harbor pitched in a good chunk from our discretionary fund, we get to host the two-day competition while Pacific Grove and Monterey will pick up the other events. You know, now that I think about it—” Gil angled a look at her that told Abby his thought wasn’t new at all “—it would be nice to have someone from Butterfly Harbor representing us to really get the community involved. I wonder if Matilda has any suggestions.”
Why did he insist on asking questions he already knew the answers to?
“Last I heard she and Ursula were somewhere around Ohio.” That motor home of theirs had more miles on it than the space shuttle, but the sisters’ charity trek had become an annual event, one Abby wasn’t about to get in the way of, not when both Matilda and Ursula were breast cancer survivors.
“What about you?” Gil asked.
“What about me?”
“You should enter, Abby. There’s no one more amateur than you. Think about it. They’re only allowing three competitors, so your chances of winning might be better than we think.”
Was he serious? “Sarcasm aside, I doubt that’s a good idea.” Even if she had the inclination, by the time word got around town of her scone BBQ this morning, they’d probably start a petition to ban her from even owning a kitchen.
Still... She bit her lip. Fifty thousand dollars.
“Including one of our oldest businesses would look great in the advertising. Besides, you have the personality for it,” Gil said. “Then there’s the added advertising the inn wouldn’t have to pay for. All you’d need to do is come up with the entry fee. Don’t say no. Not until you check it out, but FYI, the deadline to enter is tomorrow.” He rapped his knuckles on her table and headed out.
Temptation and opportunity knocked. That money could be the answer to her problems. Assuming she won, of course. And Gil was right about one thing: no one was more amateur than her. Oh, this was crazy, wasn’t it? Even crazy for Abby, who wasn’t known for always making the most reasoned decisions. The smoke detector was evidence of that.
She was getting ahead of herself. She couldn’t make any decision until she got a look at the books. It could be she was worried over something a good couple of months could fix, in which case she had time to come up with a gangbusters promotion plan.
No reason to put all her expectations on a competition she didn’t have any hope of winning. Not until she knew what she was dealing with. But...she supposed it could be an option. A nuclear option, but still an option.
“Your order will be ready in about ten.” Holly returned after filling her customers’ coffee cups and clearing some tables. “What was that about?” She aimed a suspicious glance at Gil’s retreating back.
“Possibilities.” Abby shoved the brochure into her purse and smiled. “Do me a favor—add a small strawberry shake to that order? Lori deserves to remember life is all about enjoyment and taking chances.”
Now all Abby had to do was remember the same thing.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_04f3da90-7a68-5560-ab86-b53607c71b0a)
ABBY MADE IT until five that afternoon before she uncorked that bottle of wine. The nuclear option was looking better by the second.
For the first time in memory, keeping a good thought had failed her. Not only had Mr. Vartebetium’s fiscal warnings been shy of the mark, but they’d be lucky to keep the doors of the Flutterby Inn open through the summer.
Her employees and friends’ jobs aside, she couldn’t, wouldn’t let Gran lose her home. Abby would go down swinging if she had to in order to make sure Alice lived out the rest of her life feeling safe and secure.
Meanwhile, Abby would start a list of words she didn’t ever want to see in print again, beginning with back taxes and ending with pipe replacement. Even worse, the money she’d been assured had been set aside for a booth at one of the food festival’s events didn’t exist. There wasn’t seventy dollars to spare, let alone seven hundred. She still had employees and bills to pay.
Not even the normally comforting waves of the Pacific worked their magic this evening. Nor did sitting on the bench in one of the more picturesque areas of Butterfly Harbor, on the hill outside the Flutterby. The cypress trees arched their branches in framed perfection while the frothy foam bubbled up and draped over the rocks below in the lazy tide. Every time Abby tried to find the bright spot, any bright spot, she floundered like a beached dolphin who had taken a wrong and very unfortunate turn.
What she did have, aside from a half-filled glass of wine and a too-thin sweater to keep the coastal chill off her skin, was a circling dread.
“I’ve learned one thing about your Butterfly Harbor today.” Jay Corwin’s voice scraped over her raw nerves as he approached from behind, his footfalls crunching in the gravel and sand. “You have a beautiful secret here.”
Abby couldn’t help it. She smiled, then hid the expression behind her wineglass as she sipped. “It won’t be secret much longer. The new butterfly sanctuary they’re hoping to build should put us on the map. So to speak,” she added. Albeit probably too late for the Flutterby to benefit.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
She looked at him, trying to find a diplomatic way to say no, but she couldn’t, especially not when she recognized the same tinge of tension and sadness she’d seen in her own reflection recently. Abby scooted over on the bench. “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring another glass.”
“It’s fine, I’m not a big pinot fan.” Jay glanced at the brass plaque on the back of the bench before he sat—a little closer than she’d expected, a lot farther than she wanted—and shoved his hands into the lightweight navy parka he wore. “Bob Manning. Your father?”
“Grandfather.” Abby took in Jay’s acclimated attire of jeans and flannel shirt. He struck her as a man who fit in wherever he went, especially with that assessing gaze of his. She’d never seen a color like his, with shimmering silver depths beneath the ocean blue. She didn’t need to note his strong jaw to be reminded of his stubbornness or the permanent crease in his brow to make her wonder if he ever smiled. She hadn’t really noticed before—probably hadn’t been paying attention. He seemed incredibly sad. Now she wished she hadn’t been quite so snippy with him.
“Grandpa Bob died five years ago,” she said. “Right here, as a matter of fact. Came out to watch the sunset one night and went peacefully. Broke Gran’s heart, but I can’t think of a better way for him to go. The sunsets here are worth waiting for.”
“It seems a nice place to grow up. What about your parents?” Perhaps if this friendlier, inquisitive Jay had appeared in her kitchen this morning, she might not have spent part of the day dreaming of putting itching powder in his bed.
“They died in a car accident when I was four.” She pulled out a pair of gold rings and a diamond solitaire on a thin gold chain and held them between her fingers. “I’ve seen pictures of them, but I can’t be sure if I remember them. Gran gave me these when I turned thirteen.” She kissed the rings and tucked them away again. “Makes me feel as if I have a couple of guardian angels. Friendly ghosts, you know? It’s why I never take it off.” And wow, wasn’t she chatty with someone she wasn’t sure she liked. “Butterfly Harbor’s been my home ever since.”
He looked as if he wanted to apologize or offer sympathy, but couldn’t quite find the words. When he did respond, he said, “I’ve never really understood the appeal of small towns. I’ve always lived in big cities. Even spent some time in London and Paris. They’re all busy. Loud. I didn’t realize silence could be just as loud.”
“So Gran was right?” Abby said, grateful for the distraction he provided. She didn’t want to dwell on the red marks in the inn’s accounting ledger. “New York?”
“Born and raised, then I traveled some.” He leaned back and stretched his long legs out, crossed his ankles and sank into the late afternoon. “I like the peacefulness. Not sure for how long, though.”
“I know a couple of kids who could shatter that silence in a second. Say the word. My godson and his best friend have been known to violate the town’s noise ordinance.”
Jay’s brow furrowed. “Noise ordinance?”
“I’m joking.” And not doing a very good job of it, for a change. Maybe she needed a nap. “We’d have to have a lot more residents to need an ordinance, and I don’t think Luke would want that on his shoulders, anyway.”
“Would that be Sheriff Saxon? I met him while I was walking around town earlier. Nice guy. Nice dog, too.”
Cash. How many times had she thought about ways to snatch that lovable mutt from the sheriff? “He’d better be, since he’s marrying my best friend.” As far as Abby was concerned, Luke was one of the most decent men she’d ever known, even though he’d be the first to shy from the compliment. “We’re hoping he’ll be done using the cane before the wedding.”
The wedding. Abby closed her eyes, bit her lip. Darn it. Holly’s early August wedding was scheduled to take place at the Flutterby. Add that to the list of things to worry about.
“What’s that look for?” Jay shifted to face her more fully, something Abby appreciated as she went back to focusing on him. She’d never found beards particularly attractive, but on Jay it worked. Gave him a bit of a sophisticated air she’d bet would only be accentuated should he drop into a crisp white shirt and dark suit— “Abby?”
“What? Oh, sorry.” Yeah, her thoughts really were getting away from her. “Just checking things off on my to-do list. That reminds me. I brought back more vouchers for the diner if you need them.”
“Yeah. About that.” He flinched as if she’d struck him. “I drove up to Monterey for lunch. Diners aren’t really my thing.”
There was that tone again, that authoritative I’m better than you are tone that proved she hadn’t imagined his arrogance this morning. “Not your thing?”
“You know.” He shifted his gaze out over the water. “Pedestrian. Boring.”
Pedestrian? There wasn’t anything pedestrian about Holly’s diner. Or her food. “In other words, diners are beneath you and your New York sensibilities.” So what had all the small-towns-are-charming comments been? Polite chitchat? Disarming her before he plunged the dagger in her heart?
“I didn’t say that.” But as he spoke, she heard the doubt in his voice.
“There’s a reason why diners last through the ages. They’re steadfast, sturdy.” Holly’s diner could be considered the spine of a shriveling town. A town she’d do anything to make successful again.
“Diners are also predictable and ordinary.”
She shifted on the bench. “They’re comfortable and homey.”
“They’re cheap and greasy.”
“Wow.” Abby shook her head, unable to fathom his disconnect from reality. “I knew it. You’re a snob. And fair warning, I wouldn’t throw any of those adjectives around when Holly’s nearby. She’s likely to smack you with her grandmother’s rolling pin.” And if Holly didn’t, Abby might. Who did this guy think he was, coming into town and passing judgment on everything she loved? Everything she’d fight until her last breath to protect?
“I’m not a snob.”
Given the offense in his voice, you’d have thought she called him a serial killer. “Tilt your nose down once in a while, Mr. Corwin. Otherwise you can’t see where you’re going. Or where you are.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Well, you did. Maybe you weren’t listening earlier, but this is my home. It’s the only place on earth where I belong. The people, the businesses, the cracks in the pavement I used to ride my tricycle over. You don’t get to come here to hide and judge anything you’re not willing to experience for yourself.”
“I don’t need to experience something to know it isn’t for me. And who says I’m hiding?”
“I run an inn, remember? I know hiding. And boy, Gran was right. You are New York through and through. Oh, wait. I’m sorry, am I judging you on someplace I haven’t been? Shame on me.” She swallowed the rest of her wine and got to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to take Gran to dinner at the diner before her bunco game. And FYI, you might want to get some earplugs, because believe it or not, we take silly things like bunco very seriously around here. Good night, Mr. Corwin.”
* * *
HOW DID “DINERS AREN’T my thing” lead to offending his hostess?
He really shouldn’t talk to people. It never went well. He wasn’t a snob. His father—now, he was a snob, and he didn’t make any apologies for it. Jason gnashed his teeth at the thought of being painted with the same brush as his father.
He didn’t get the impression Abby disliked many people—not after having witnessed her interact with her grandmother and those she worked with. He must have really pushed her buttons, which fascinated him. He wanted to think his interest in her was merely a result of having more time on his hands. He didn’t have the pressure of the restaurant or contracts or budgets or...anything. He couldn’t recall encountering anyone like her before, someone with more layers than an onion and the more he peeled away, the deeper he wanted to go.
Butterfly Harbor might not have the bustling activity of his native New York, but it had its own charm. He’d wandered around a good portion of it today, noticing the intricate puzzling of homes dotting the edges of Monarch Lane, what he assumed passed as Main Street, USA. He’d explored a couple of antique shops and the hardware store, even the throwback gift stores that reminded him of the old-fashioned five-and-dimes his mother had once told him about. He found their offerings eclectic, including all types of...yep, butterflies. The post office, reminiscent of a different era, sat wedged into one corner of a neighborhood grocery that had one of the best selections of organic meat and fish he’d ever come across. Truth be told, the selection of produce and food could have put the Chelsea Market to shame given a little extra push. Butterfly Harbor impressed him, but not nearly as much as the wide offering of locally farmed fresh produce.
David would have loved it here—the selection, the tight-knit community. If Vegas hadn’t already been knocking on their restaurant door, they’d have explored the idea of opening smaller, more specialized restaurants in places like Butterfly Harbor.
