Wind Chime Café (A Wind Chime Novel) (6 page)

The kiss had only lasted a second, but it was long enough to learn that his lips were the perfect combination of soft and firm, that when he was that close his skin smelled like the ocean and sunlight, and the rest of him…

Good God.

What would it have felt like to lean in and run her hands all over those hard muscles?

At the knock on the door, she stepped back from the sink.
Get a hold of yourself!

The last thing she needed was to start fantasizing about the man who had the power to destroy all her hopes and dreams.

She dropped the rag in the sink and walked out of the kitchen, pausing when she spotted the woman peering in the glass with both hands cupped around her eyes. The contractor hadn’t said anything about sending someone else in his place, but maybe he’d gotten hung up on another job.

The woman straightened and waved.

Annie crossed the dining room and opened the door.

“Hi,” the woman said, holding out her hand. “I’m Grace Callahan. You must be Annie.”

Annie nodded, taking in the woman’s wide gray eyes and long blond hair tied back in a ponytail. She was dressed in running clothes and looked to be about her age. “Did the contractor send you?”

“The contractor?” Grace walked into the dining room, looking around at the bare walls and boxes stacked up on the floor. “No. I heard someone bought this place and I wanted to get a look at you before the gossip mill churned out its own muddled version later tonight.”

“The gossip mill?”

“You’ll get used to it.” Grace flashed her a smile and strolled over to the empty display case, running a hand over the dusty glass. “There aren’t any secrets on Heron Island. People here know everything about everybody.” She looked back at Annie. “We make it our business to know.”

“I see,” Annie said warily. She realized people were naturally curious. She
wanted
Taylor to grow up in a town where neighbors dropped by unannounced, where people cared enough to ask questions. But she didn’t like the idea of them gossiping about her later tonight, when she wasn’t there to defend herself. And she especially didn’t like the idea of them gossiping about Taylor.

Grace leaned against the counter, sizing her up from across the room. “I heard you moved here from D.C.”

“That’s right.”

“Did you work downtown? You look vaguely familiar.”

“I used to work at a restaurant on Pennsylvania Avenue, a few blocks from the Capitol.”

“Which one?”

“Citron Bleu.”

Grace nodded. “That’s where I’ve seen you before.”

“You’ve been there?” Annie asked, surprised.

“I’ve been there tons of times.”

Annie’s eyebrows shot up. Citron Bleu wasn’t the kind of restaurant you went to unless you were made of money or had serious connections to the top players in Washington politics. She hadn’t expected to meet someone on Heron Island who frequented her old restaurant.

She looked closer at the woman’s running clothes—a threadbare T-shirt over nylon shorts and a pair of beat-up sneakers. The outfit didn’t exactly scream money. “Do you work in D.C.?”

“I’m a reporter for
The Washington Tribune
.”

Annie’s whole body tensed as Grace pushed off the counter and walked over to the stack of boxes along the far wall.

“My father and brother live on the island so I come home a lot on the weekends,” Grace said, picking up a picture lying on top of one of the boxes.

It was a wallet-sized picture of Taylor, taken about a year ago. The name of her school and her grade were printed on the back.

“Is this your daughter?” Grace asked.

“Yes,” Annie said tightly.

Grace turned it over, her eyes going wide as she read the words on the back. “She went to Mount Pleasant?”

A reporter from D.C.’s largest newspaper wouldn’t have any trouble recognizing that name. Taylor’s school had made national news three weeks ago when a shooter had walked into the building and killed seventeen second-graders before turning his semi-automatic weapon on himself.

He’d murdered an entire class of children—all except for the one who’d been hiding in the broom closet.

Taylor.

“We’re not doing an interview,” Annie said coldly, striding across the room and taking the picture back.

Grace blinked. “What?”

“An interview,” Annie repeated, tucking the picture into her back pocket. “We’re not doing one.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

Annie turned away. She grabbed the nearest box, ripped the tape off and started pulling out dishes.

In the days following the shooting, every major newspaper and TV news network had called for an interview. They’d told her how sorry they were, that they couldn’t imagine what she and Taylor were going through, but they needed a firsthand account from the sole survivor. They needed a statement from Annie.

Some had even had the nerve to show up at the restaurant, at her
workplace
, hoping for a comment.

It was one of the reasons she’d wanted to get out of there. She didn’t want Taylor’s childhood to be defined by what had happened at Mount Pleasant. She wanted a fresh start, for both of them. “We came here to get away from that.”

“I don’t blame you,” Grace said quietly.

When Annie looked up and saw the compassion in Grace’s eyes, she took a deep breath and set the dishes down.

“Listen,” Grace said. “If you’re not doing anything later, you should come to Rusty’s. My brother and a bunch of our friends will be there. I’d be happy to introduce you around.”

“Isn’t that the bar at the end of Pier Street?” Annie asked.

Grace nodded. “The sign on the door says Rusty Rudder but everybody around here calls it Rusty’s.”

“I’m not sure I should bring my daughter to a bar.”

“It’s not like the bars you’re used to in D.C. It’s a family place. Lots of kids will be there. Your contractor will be there. In fact,” she said, glancing down at her watch, “he’s probably there now.”

Annie turned slowly to face her. “Now?”

Grace nodded. “If you come in tonight, find me first. I want to watch you give him hell for standing you up.”

The wind gusted through the streets, sending a flurry of leaves into a spin. “How do you know he’s standing me up?”

“Jimmy Faulkner’s damn good at what he does, but he never makes it to an appointment unless you drag his ass off the bar stool.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Don’t worry.” Grace’s sneakers squeaked over the tiles as she walked to the door. “You’ll get the hang of how things work around here, but don’t expect anything to operate on D.C. time.” She laid her hand on the doorknob, glancing back at Annie. “When were you thinking of opening?”

“December.”

“I’d plan for February or March, to be safe. You should expect to open at least two to three months after the date he gives you.”

Two to three months?
She didn’t have enough savings to survive with no income until March. She was barely going to make it to December.

Grace opened the door and a cold wind swirled into the room, carrying the salty scent of the Bay.

Annie walked out onto the porch after her. “You’re sure Jimmy’s at Rusty’s?”

“I’d say it’s a pretty safe bet.”

Annie slammed the door behind them. “I think I’ll go have a
chat
with him now.”

Annie marched into
Rusty’s, her gaze landing on the five men sitting on swivel stools at the wooden bar. “Which one is he?” she asked Grace, who’d insisted on tagging along.

“Second from the right,” Grace said.

Annie’s eyes locked on a man in a blue flannel shirt and ripped jeans. He wore a faded ball cap and his dark brown hair was shot with gray. He was probably in his mid-forties.

“Jimmy Faulkner,” she called, raising her voice over the baseball game blasting from the flat screen TV behind the bar.

Jimmy turned, a lazy smile on his tanned weathered face.

Annie crossed her arms over her chest. “Did you forget something?”

He looked her up and down, raising a brow in appreciation. “Honey, whatever it is I forgot, let me make it up to you.” He shoved playfully at the man on the stool beside him. “Move it, Robbie. The lady wants to sit down.”

“I do
not
want to sit down.” Annie walked toward him. “I want to know why you never made it to our appointment this afternoon.”

Jimmy took a pull from his Budweiser bottle. “So you’re the one who bought the Peasleys’ place.”

“I am.” Annie’s blood boiled when she saw that his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. “You were supposed to meet me there over an hour ago.”

Jimmy tapped his fingers on the bar. “Dave,” he said, his deep voice calling for the bartender. “How about a drink for our lady friend?” He swiveled back to face Annie. “What are you having?”

“I’m not
having
anything until you give me an estimate for my renovations.”

Jimmy smiled and hooked his work boot under an empty bar stool, dragging it over so it was right beside his. “Why don’t you hop on up here and tell me what you want done and I’ll give you a number.”

Grace walked up beside her, and Annie caught the angry look in the other woman’s eyes as Grace opened her mouth to tell Jimmy exactly
where
he could put that stool.

Annie put her hand on Grace’s arm, silencing her.
I’ll handle this.

“You know what,” Annie said, smiling sweetly at Jimmy, “I think I will take that drink.” She glanced up at the bartender. “I’ll have a gin and tonic, with lots of ice.”

“Coming right up,” Dave said, glancing over at Grace. “You having anything?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Grace said, looking back and forth between Annie and Jimmy.

Jimmy patted the bar stool beside him for Annie. “Listen, honey, I’ve done all the work at your place for the last three owners. I know that building as well as the back of my hand.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Annie slid onto the stool, edging close enough so their shoulders were touching and she could smell the beer on his breath. She lowered her voice. “I hear you’re pretty good at what you do.”

He took another pull from his bottle. “I am.”

She reached across him to retrieve her drink from the bar and her breasts brushed lightly against his arm. When she leaned back, she caught the shift in his eyes. He was focused on her now, extremely focused. “I hear your crew is the best on the island.”

“That’s right.”

She stirred her drink slowly, drawing his eyes down to the neckline of her shirt. “I don’t want to waste my time with a crew who can’t get it right the first time.”

He swallowed, and she watched the Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat.

“But I’ve also heard that your crew can be slow.” She lowered her lips to the straw, looking up at him through her lashes. “That they don’t finish when you say they’re going to.”

“Slow means quality.”

“I’m just wondering,” she said, sucking a sip of gin and tonic through the straw and holding his gaze, “how slow are we talking about?”

He tipped the brim of his John Deer cap back, wiping at the sweat forming on his brow. “I’ve got a crew of guys at a house in Sherwood and another working on a renovation project in St. Michaels. As soon as they’re done, you’re next.”

Annie fished a piece of ice out of the glass and rolled it around on her tongue. “When do you think they might be done?”

“December.” Jimmy’s voice was strained. “January, at the latest.”

Annie’s eyes widened innocently. “But when we spoke on the phone last week, you said you would be finished at
my
place by December.”

“That might have been a tad optimistic.”