Wind Chime Wedding (A Wind Chime Novel Book 2) (13 page)

A familiar female voice answered after a few rings. “Wind Chime Café, this is Della.”

“Hi, Della. It’s Colin.”

“Hi, Colin,” Della said over the noise in the background—muffled voices, the clatter of coffee cups, the hiss of an espresso machine. “Do you want to talk to Annie?”

Colin paused at a crosswalk with several other pedestrians, waiting for the traffic light to change. He had briefly considered asking Annie about Becca. The two women had become good friends since Annie had moved to the island last fall. But Annie didn’t have history there. She might not know much about Becca and Tom’s past.

Della, on the other hand, was from Heron Island. She had been around the whole time Becca and Tom were growing up. “Actually, I want to talk to you.”

“Well,” Della said, adding a teasing note of importance into her voice. The kitchen door opened and closed with a distinctive squeak and the background noise from the dining room dimmed. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“I called to see if you have plans for dinner on Wednesday night.”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“I’d like to take you out.”

“I’m flattered, Colin, but I’ve been happily married for over thirty-five years.”

Colin smiled, and some of the tension he’d been holding onto since his conversation with his mother the day before eased. “I know you’ve been wanting to try that new Italian restaurant that opened in St. Michaels a few weeks ago—the one across the street from the jewelry store. Name a time and I’ll meet you there.”

She let out a whistle. “That’s a fancy restaurant.”

“With an excellent chef, from what I hear. Maybe we can steal a few ideas for the café.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to butter me up for something?”

“I can’t imagine what you mean,” Colin said innocently.

Della laughed. “If you need a favor, hon, you can just ask. You don’t need to take me out to dinner first. Why don’t you drop by the café around closing time on Wednesday and we’ll talk then?”

“I’d rather take you out somewhere in St. Michaels.” The traffic light changed and he started across the street. “Somewhere…not on the island.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. “Because you don’t want anybody listening in?”

“Something like that.”

“I see,” Della said slowly and Colin heard the squeak of the oven door opening in the background, then the clatter of metal on wood as she set a tray of something that would probably make his mouth water on the counter. “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with why your truck was parked outside Becca’s house for over an hour last night?”

Colin faltered, almost missing the step up to the curb on the other side of the street. Della had noticed his truck outside Becca’s house last night?

He hadn’t thought twice about dropping by, but he’d forgotten that neighbors tended to be curious in small towns. And Heron Island was about as small as it got.

Becca had grown up on the island. She had friends there, family there—people who were watching out for her.

There were probably others who’d noticed his truck outside her house last night and wondered what he’d been doing there.

“Let’s just say I have a few questions,” he said.

“I’ll do my best to answer them,” Della said. “How about six o’clock?”

“I’ll see you then,” Colin said, and hung up.

The last thing he wanted was for Becca’s friends and neighbors to start asking questions, to scare her off before he’d had a chance to figure out his next step. If he was even going to think about moving in on another man’s territory this late in the game, he needed a plan, a solid one, one that wouldn’t backfire.

Because if it did backfire, and somehow Becca got hurt in the process, every single person on that island would turn against him.

He was already going to be on thin ice with the islanders when they found out about the threat to the school. He wanted to put down roots on Heron Island. He wanted to build a life there. But no one was going to accept the man responsible for closing down their children’s school.

He needed to find a way to save it to prove to Becca, and the rest of the islanders, that he was one of them.

It had been a year since he’d even considered getting close to a woman again for something more than just sex. But being in Becca’s house last night—seeing those student drawings on her walls, listening to her talk about the school, hearing the passion in her voice for a place that meant so much to her, watching her work so hard to save it even though she was leaving at the end of the year and her own job wasn’t even at stake—had hit him hard.

He’d spent a lot of time over the past year thinking about what kind of woman he didn’t want to be with anymore, but he hadn’t given much thought to what kind of woman he did want.

Until now.

He was starting to think he knew exactly who he wanted.

He’d lain awake most of last night, thinking of ways he could help Becca save the school. Sometime around 2AM, an idea had finally taken root. It was risky, and his father’s campaign manager was going to hate it, but it might be the only way.

Lifting his phone, he dialed a new number.

“
Washington Tribune
.” The receptionist answered after the first ring. “How may I direct your call?”

“Grace Callahan,” he said, walking onto the gated grounds of the State House. He had gotten to know Grace pretty well over the winter. While he’d never been a big fan of reporters, he liked her. He trusted her. And he knew she would do anything to protect her island, her community, and most of all Becca—who she’d been best friends with forever.

“This is Grace,” she said as she picked up the line.

“Hey, Grace. It’s Colin Foley.”

“Hey,” she said, her tone shifting from professional to friendly. “What’s up?”

Flashing his badge to the security guard, Colin strode into the historic brick building that housed his father’s offices. “I have a story idea I want to run by you.”

“Whoa,” Grace said,
pausing in the middle of the living room at the inn that night when she saw the gaping hole in the wall beside the fireplace. “What happened here?”

“They found a crack in the foundation,” Becca said, walking out of the farmhouse-style kitchen and handing her friend a glass of red wine from the bottle she’d brought over. “Jimmy’s crew started working on it today. They had to tear out a section of the drywall to fix it.”

Grace’s eyes swung back to meet hers, widening. “Will it be done in time for the wedding?”

“It’ll be done in time,” Becca said firmly. “I had a long chat with Jimmy this afternoon.”

Grace’s expression darkened. “Did he apologize for his behavior on Sunday?”

Becca shook her head. “I don’t think he even remembered being at the café.”

“Unbelievable.” Grace shrugged out of her black suit jacket and dropped it on the sofa. The white tank top and pencil skirt she wore underneath were rumpled from the long drive from D.C.

“What happened after Ryan walked him home?” Becca asked.

“Nothing,” Grace said, scooping her long blond hair into a ponytail and snapping a rubber band around it to secure it in place. “Jimmy passed out on the couch almost as soon as they got there. Ryan said his house was a mess—empty bottles all over the place, dishes in the sink, overflowing trash cans. He and Joe stayed for a while to clean up, but Jimmy probably didn’t even notice when he woke up.”

“It’s getting worse,” Becca murmured, thinking about how quiet Luke had been in school again today. He had given her another drawing—a dog this time—and said he was going to ask his mom if they could get one soon. Becca already knew what the answer to that question was going to be. Courtney was barely managing to keep it together as it was. There was no way she was going to agree to take on a pet right now, which meant it would just be one more disappointment to add to Luke’s growing list.

“Ryan said he didn’t like the way Jimmy talked to you on the porch,” Grace said, taking a sip of her wine.

Becca remembered the way her skin had crawled at the stench of whiskey on his breath, at the slurred voice so close to her ear. “I don’t think he would do anything stupid, if that’s what you mean.”

“I don’t think he would either, but he seems fixated on you right now for some reason. I know you have a lot of other things on your mind, but be careful, okay?”

“I’ll be careful,” Becca said.

It was all she had to say. The two women had been best friends since kindergarten. They had grown up on this island together. They had both lost their mothers at a young age. Both of their fathers were watermen and spent long stretches of time out on the water every day, which meant they hadn’t always had a parent around to watch out for them. They had learned to watch each other’s backs a long time ago.

Becca motioned for Grace to follow her over to the wide chopping block counter where Will’s grandmother had spent her days cooking Chesapeake Bay-style fare for the inn’s guests, but which was now covered in dozens of glass jars, boxes of tea lights, and piles of pre-cut lavender and lace ribbon.

“Is Annie here?” Grace asked.

“No,” Becca said. “She called a little while ago and said she wasn’t going to be able to make it.”

Walking around to the other side of the counter, Becca didn’t add that she’d actually been relieved when Annie had cancelled. It meant that she wouldn’t have to spend the next couple of hours pretending everything was fine to her face.

She had asked Shelley if they could tell Annie today, but Shelley had wanted to wait. She had wanted to give Lydia at least twenty-four hours to get back to her and she hadn’t wanted Annie finding out, and possibly letting the news slip, before she’d had a chance to tell the rest of the teachers.

Becca understood where she was coming from, but she hated keeping secrets from her friends. She was tempted to tell Grace tonight—she knew her friend wouldn’t tell anyone if she asked her not to—but it didn’t seem fair to tell Grace when she hadn’t told Annie.

Walking up to the counter, Grace gazed appreciatively at the gleaming remodeled kitchen. “This place looks amazing.”

“I know,” Becca said. “I can’t believe how much Annie accomplished in such a short amount of time.”

Grace pulled out one of the stools—the same stools Becca and Grace had spent hours on as kids when they’d come over to play with Will and had inevitably ended up staying for dinner. Each stool had been lovingly reupholstered and restored to mint condition, as had every other piece of furniture in this house.

Annie had done most of the work on the interior herself—repainting the rooms, replacing the curtains and a few of the rugs, adding a few new pieces of furniture here and there, and swapping out the broken appliances in the kitchen for modern energy efficient ones, while somehow managing to maintain all the original style and feel of the historic farmhouse that had been in Will’s family for generations.

She’d even rehung all the Dozier’s family pictures on the walls, right where they’d been before, re-matted and reframed to fit the new updated look. The effect was warm, welcoming, and made you feel like you were part of the family, even if you were only staying for one night.

At least, that’s the way it made
her
feel, Becca thought. She could only hope the small group of guests Tom had chosen to stay at the inn on their wedding night would feel the same way.

Grace reached for a strip of white lace, wrapping it around one of the glass jars. “Are these for the aisle or the centerpieces?”

“Aisle,” Becca answered, opening a box of tea lights and dropping one in each of the jars. She had moved most of the wedding supplies over to the inn this afternoon after Grace and Annie had offered to help with a few unfinished projects and discuss some last minute ideas for the food, flowers, and decorations.

“Is Gladys still doing the centerpieces?”

“Yes,” Becca said, the metal casings of the tea lights making a clinking sound against the glass as they hit the bottom of each jar. “I stopped by her house after work and she said she put in the order for the flowers this morning.”

“What about the vases?”