Holiday Kisses
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Anna J. Stewart
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19.3K
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16
HarlequinChapter One
WITH HIS TAILORED jacket tossed over one arm and designer tie knotted hard into his throat, Xander Costas stood on the bottom plank of the steps and cringed at the deafening roar of waves crashing onto the beach before him. “Well, they’ve got plenty of water and sand, that’s for sure.”
He’d never understood the appeal of water, other than as a hydration agent, of course. The ocean was so unpredictable. Uncontrollable. So...loud. The way the tide left a foamy film across the damp sand reminded him of a badly topped-off latte or a rejected Jackson Pollock painting.
He was a city boy, born and bred. His family joked he had steel for bones—strong, unbending. Their code word for stubborn, no doubt, but he didn’t take offense. Steel stood the test of time—it shaped civilizations. Nature served its purpose, but it wasn’t the first thing Xander thought of.
Yet here he was, thousands of miles from home, placing all his hopes—and his family’s financial future—on an ocean-side town rebuilding its reputation as green and nature-friendly. A town that, up until a few months ago, few people had ever heard of.
Xander’s fists clenched as he forced himself to inhale. He nearly choked on the briny tang that scraped the back of his throat. His lungs would need at least a week to adjust from the smog-tinged air he’d been inhaling for thirty-three years. He missed the blaring traffic, the hard strength of cement and reinforced concrete, and what was with that sun? Didn’t California know it was only weeks before Christmas? His first without snow. He never thought he’d miss the snow-capped bite of an early winter cutting across his skin, and as the late afternoon rays beat down on him he wondered if he hadn’t just traveled across the country, but perhaps been transported to a different planet.
What on earth had he gotten himself into?
“Cash! Tabitha!”
The sound of urgent children’s cries accompanied by the frenetic, enthusiastic barking of two dogs drew Xander’s attention to the shore. Not only did the dogs dive snout-first into the ocean, but their adolescent owners also hurried after them. The boy hit the water face-first and came up sputtering, his arm filled with golden retriever. The little girl had come to a screeching halt. Her toes barely kissed the water before she backed away. The second dog, a terrier mix of some kind, bounded back onto the beach and plopped her drenched hindquarters into the damp sand beside her mistress.
“You’re gonna get in big trouble, Simon!” The superior tone in the little girl’s voice had Xander’s lips twitching as he was reminded of his youngest sister, Alethea. Strong, determined and most definitely unique. But where Alethea maintained a penchant for Bohemian-chic clothing and untamed curls, this little girl had crooked red pigtails, wore purple overalls and carried a worn butterfly backpack with a missing gossamer wing.
Alethea. Xander’s big-brother sigh rivaled the roar of the ocean. In the past six months his college-aged sister had to deal with their father’s debilitating stroke, plus the death of her best friend—a friend who had been just as much a part of the Costas family as any of their siblings. A car accident, he could understand. Just about anything else he could understand, but a drug overdose? Talia? The grief that had lodged itself in his chest six months ago surged. Sweet, pretty, ebullient Talia, who had made all of them laugh with her goofy antics was gone. It hadn’t taken Xander long to realize Alethea didn’t have any idea how to live without her.
“Give her time,” his mother had said when Xander broached the subject of therapy. His mother, who had her hands full dealing with their father and his caregivers, while Xander and his brother argued over how to save the family’s architectural firm. Alethea seemed okay, on the outside at least. She’d gone back to school for her last year, had insisted she needed to get back to her routine, move on with her life, sounding, at least to Xander’s ears, suspiciously like their mother. Xander had only one request when she’d left—to call him if she needed anything. Anything.
That he hadn’t received that call hopefully meant she was doing okay, if not stressing over finals.
The children’s laughter cut through his sour air-travel-related mood. The tension in his chest eased. His father and brother were content to believe the damage done to their company’s reputation a year ago would repair itself. That previous clients would be willing to stand up for them and continue to recommend them. Xander knew better. If Costas Architecture was going to put the past behind them and be in the running to build a new corporate headquarters for a massive banking and real estate empire moving to Chicago, they had to have active clients. Not just big conglomerates, but smaller, unassuming projects many firms their size would have passed on.
The only thing he and his brother agreed on, other than keeping their father as far out of the picture as they could, was that rebuilding their reputation step by step, job by job, was the only solution. What those steps would be was where they parted ways. If Antony thought going straight to the top would help them leapfrog over re-earning the industry’s respect, not to mention trust, his brother was seriously out of touch with reality.
Little jobs, projects with a modicum of fuss and expectation, were the best way to climb back up the ladder. Xander knew this in his gut, a gut that had never steered him wrong. That ladder’s first rung was Butterfly Harbor. He couldn’t explain it; he didn’t try to. He just knew it.
And he refused to feel guilty about it.
Not when there were dozens of employees counting on them for their livelihood. Not when the Costas name was on the verge of becoming a punch line in the architectural world. Not when Xander had his own future to consider.
Still, guilt climbed up his spine and attempted to claw apart the few minutes of peace he’d taken to recharge. He’d acted as long-distance deal-maker and silent partner in the family firm for long enough. He wasn’t going to stand by and let his brother and father ignore the financial earthquake that had shaken the company to its core. People they cared about were relying on them to find stable ground.
They needed to get back to what had made the firm successful in the first place—originality and reliability. To do otherwise would be tantamount to surrender.
And Xander Costas never surrendered. Not to anything. Not to anyone.
Much like the boy and his dog on the beach, both of whom seemed determined to empty their part of the ocean one splash at a time.
“I’m not the one not allowed to go in the water!” the boy called back, but he slogged his way out of the surf and shook himself almost as hard as his canine companion. Thick-rimmed glasses soared off his face and landed in the sand beside his friend, who was squealing away from the salty shower.
Okay, Xander admitted. Maybe being able to swim in the ocean in mid-December wasn’t such a bad thing. In the hour or so since he’d driven down the main road of Butterfly Harbor he’d seen plenty of people—more than he’d expected—wandering about. Local businesses lined Monarch Lane, which ran parallel to the ocean. The street was decked out in holiday finery, from wreath-topped streetlamps to candy cane-accented garlands that stretched across the entry to town. He’d spotted a diner, which appeared to do a brisk business and a bookstore he’d somehow resisted the pull to explore. The hardware store could prove interesting and seemed to stock every kind of Christmas bulb one could think of. Local businesses like that sometimes carried the most unusual items and offered unexpected inspiration. He was determined to keep his mind open. The local grocery store boasted an extensive deli, while the ice-cream shop on the corner seemed to appeal to those out and about. Peppermint ice cream? Lavender honey? Might be worth a try.
What he’d read online about the tourist town located only a hop, skip and jump away from the more popular Monterey had been brief and incomplete. It would take him a while to acclimate, to really get a feel for the town. Only then could he solidify their plans for the new butterfly sanctuary. Then, and only then, could he finally get back to rebuilding his own life.
He shielded his eyes and inclined his chin toward the historic Flutterby Inn, which graced the edge of the cliffs above him. The bright yellow structure with stark white trim harkened back to classic Victorian style. Predictable, but solid. Welcoming. His home for the next couple of days while the town mayor and council approved his proposal for the butterfly sanctuary on which they hoped to break ground next spring.
When the wind picked up and a number of beachgoers turned away from the water, Xander took that as a hint he’d spent enough time mulling. He cast another quick glance up at the cliffs.
His heart stopped.
Even from this distance, the woman he saw was tall, with long arms, and was draped in color, from her sun-fire red hair to the blues and purples of the dress swirling about her legs. He stood there, transfixed, as she held out her hands, palms up. Tiny flecks of color exploded from her fingers and flittered around her so fast he swore he saw a golden circle of light appear.
Xander watched the light fade and shift into tiny sparks that drifted down the side of the rocks, spinning, racing, darting around each other as they approached...him.
He couldn’t move; didn’t remember how. And then he realized they weren’t lights at all. The sun’s rays had caught the colors of the butterflies’ wings. Butterflies that flittered their way closer, so close he could see the patterns of black spots among the light orange of the town’s namesake Monarch Festival.
The winged creatures darted around him, whipping in a circle, before they arced up and returned to the cliff face and disappeared into the rocks.
For a second, he wondered if he’d dreamed them. Xander tilted his chin higher, squinted into the bright daylight. The woman turned, just a step, and angled her face down. And looked at him.
“Woof! Woof, woof!”
Xander jumped and broke his gaze. As he shifted his foggy attention back to the sand, he found the terrier mix—Tabitha, wasn’t it?—sitting in front of him, tail wagging so hard she tossed sand onto his shoes. He swore the dog was grinning at him. “Hello,” he said.
“Sorry, mister!” The girl with the butterfly backpack raced toward him, a neon pink leash in her hand. “She’s friendly, I promise.” She dropped into the sand and locked her arm around the dog’s neck, latched the leash and wound her hand to secure her hold. “She likes butterflies.” She pointed a finger up the cliffs. “Especially Calliope’s butterflies. They’re special.”
“Calliope?” Xander blinked and looked back up the cliff, but the woman was gone.
“Calliope Jones. She runs Duskywing Farm. My mom and I do deliveries for her. Um... I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” she stated matter-of-factly, but didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get away.
Xander glanced over the girl’s head to see the boy and his dog trudging through the sand toward them. “That sounds like a wise rule,” he agreed. He liked kids. While he wasn’t in any rush for a house full of his own, he’d found his niece and nephew exceedingly talented at keeping him grounded. “My name is Xander Costas.”
Her eyes went wide. “Ooooh! You’re going to build the new home for our butterflies!”
“Well, I’m helping to design the building.” As if he and his brother could agree on anything when it came to this place. “I mainly just draw, at this point.” To say he was rusty was an understatement, and he’d had to learn some new technology as drafting tables and protractors had become a thing of the past. He’d spent the last few years as the face of Costas Architecture based in New York with occasional trips to their Chicago headquarters. He was the deal-maker. The client-getter. Concepts had been where his brother and father dwelled.
Until disaster had come calling.
“That’s cool,” the little girl said. “Weren’t you supposed to be here a long time ago? Like during the Monarch Festival?”
Xander nodded. Might as well practice his mea culpas while he could. “My father got sick. I had to postpone. But I’m here now.”
“I hope he’s better. I’m Charlie, by the way.” She took a step closer and held out her hand, which Xander accepted. “Charlie Coo—oops. Bradley. I got a new name with my new dad ’cause he adopted me.”
She grinned, accentuating the dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks. She had the brightest green eyes Xander had ever seen. Sea glass, he thought. Interesting.
“He’s a deputy here in town. You’ll meet him soon I bet. Simon! It’s the archi—archi-nerts. I can never say that word. It’s the building guy for the sanctuary! He’s finally here!”
Coated in damp sand, the boy reached her and, Xander noted, took a protective stance in front of his friend. “Hi. My dad’s the sheriff.”
“Noted.” Xander gave the boy a sharp nod of understanding. “Are you two the welcoming committee?”
Charlie laughed and Simon’s lips twitched. “Nah.” Simon pushed his sand-caked glasses higher up his nose. “But where Calliope’s butterflies go, she follows.” He jerked a thumb at Charlie. “Even when it’s to talk to strangers.”
“He’s not a stranger. His name is Xander Costas,” Charlie announced. “We know each other now.”
A sharp whistle sounded from the top of the stairs. Charlie’s cheeks went instantly pink as she looked up.
“Charlie!” The man in a khaki law-enforcement uniform must be the dad she was talking about. “Hustle it up! We’re already late!”
“I gotta go.” Charlie scrambled around him. “We’re planning my mom’s surprise graduation party. I get to help decide on the cake! It was nice to meet you, Mr. Costas.” Charlie raced up the steps. “Come on, Simon!”
“You can call me Xander. Huh.” Whatever unease he’d been feeling had vanished in the last few minutes. The tide didn’t sound quite so loud now. The air wasn’t quite so sharp. He felt...more comfortable.
He looked back up to the cliffs, a smile curving his lips as he remembered the image of the woman standing above him. There was something...odd about her. There was also a sense of calm and peace he couldn’t quite identify. Whatever he’d been expecting of Butterfly Harbor, this wasn’t it. “Can’t wait to see what else this town has to offer.”
“HE’S HERE.” CALLIOPE watched the man from her dreams interact with Charlie and Simon on the beach, uncertainty spreading through her body before settling into an uneven beat. The energy she’d pushed into the air, a test of sorts, had spun its way toward him—directly toward him, as if it hadn’t a choice of where to go. It had circled and observed, absorbing what information it could beneath the gray storm clouds the man had brought with him.
Calliope steeled herself against the shiver.
It seemed as if her family’s legacy of heartache wouldn’t bypass her after all.
Unease crept over her, an unusual sensation for a woman who prided herself on self-assuredness and clearheadedness. Reading people came naturally to Calliope. Call it intuition, empathy or whatever qualifier made people comfortable—it was all fine with her. She couldn’t explain it, had never fought it; not even when the ability pegged her as the strange girl growing up, or the eccentric woman who lived on what passed for a farm in Butterfly Harbor. Most of the time it brought her a sense of peace.
Now? A sensation she could only describe as panic crawled inside her and settled. As hard as she focused, try as she might, her take on the man was as blank as a rain-washed morning.
In that moment, the solitary future she’d seen so clearly for herself blurred. Or perhaps it had dwindled away earlier. She’d been distracted lately by the possibility of losing her farm and everything she’d worked for. Thankfully, trouble had been averted when the mayor decided to go with his second location choice for the sanctuary and education center. Instead of encroaching on her property—endangering both her livelihood and the land her family had lived on for decades—the center would be built on the recently designated protected area between her farm and Liberty Lighthouse. The project would still have to be developed in just the right way, with respect, understanding and, hopefully, deference. Not everything would survive as a good portion of the historic trees in the area would have to be cut down, but Calliope understood the importance of this venture, not only to the town, but also to its residents. It would take a special person to bring the sanctuary project to fruition and give her beloved butterflies a safe place to migrate. But this man?
Doubt knocked at the back of her mind as she gnawed on her lower lip. Would a man raised among skyscrapers and freeways understand the delicate balance between nature and its inhabitants?
Calliope sighed. These days she overthought everything, uncertain about any answers. No doubt her worrying was asking for trouble. Diving into the darkness and pessimistic possibilities wouldn’t do anyone any good, least of all her. She could only control what she could control. And so she forced herself to relax as she watched the man climb the stairs to the road.
A wave of energy washed over her, invisible, powerful, but in those few seconds, she identified strength. Determination. Concern.
And passion. It was buried, simmering deep and low. But it was there.
So much passion.
Calliope took a shuddering breath.
“Calliope! Come see!”
She stepped back, broke whatever tenuous connection she’d created with the newcomer and turned toward Stella’s excited call. The ten-year-old’s enthusiasm was contagious. Calliope had never been able to wallow for long around her. For that alone, she was endlessly grateful for the gift of her little sister. With a quiet word of thanks to the day and all it had brought, Calliope turned her back on the ocean and made her way down the uneven path to the Flutterby Inn.
The three-story inn felt like a second home to most who lived in Butterfly Harbor. It was on its second—or was it third?—life. Thanks to a restaurant reinvention and new ownership, the business was thriving as never before, and bringing in a whole new clientele to the reinvigorated town.
It had been a rough few years for Butterfly Harbor, but the town had worked together and instead of floundering in their depressed economic circumstance, they now embraced what was to come with eagerness and enthusiasm.
For the most part.
Calliope refused to dwell on the downside of town politics and possible ulterior motives. Not at this time of year. Christmas. The season of gratitude and new beginnings.
And just like that, she settled.
Christmas lights had been strung across every horizontal line of the inn, and around the windows that had been topped with hand-formed wreathes with oversize red and gold bows. Along the porch, icicle lights glowed. Since there was no snow to be found in this part of California, they added that frosty touch once the sun went down and the cool air kicked in off the Pacific. They brought to mind chilly winters and crackling fires made for roasting chestnuts and marshmallows. Mmm. Marshmallows. She’d have to make up a batch of her famous hot chocolate in the next day or so.
It had taken numerous volunteers, spearheaded by inn manager Abby Manning, to deck the halls and everything else at the Flutterby. But this wasn’t just any Christmas. Come Christmas Eve, Butterfly Harbor would be celebrating the wedding of their beloved Abby to former celebrity chef Jason Corwin, who, near as Calliope could tell, was becoming increasingly nervous with every day that passed. Funny how a man could oversee a multimillion-dollar company and own three restaurants, and still be flummoxed by the very mention of his starring role in a wedding. Literally a starring role, as the camera crews and advance photographers were due to arrive in little more than a week.
Calliope blinked back tears. Butterfly Harbor’s first holiday wedding in decades. And if Abby’s friends and family and the rest of the town had their way, the day would be absolutely perfect.
She found Stella—a mini replica of herself with long red curls and a spark in her eye kneeling in the garden bed that was spilling over with recently planted poinsettias and rosemary shrubs. Shrubs that Stella and Lori, the inn’s part-time assistant manager, had spent the last few hours decorating as fully and elegantly as the seven-foot tree glowing in the corner window of the inn’s lobby.
“It’s a baby butterfly,” Stella whispered as she drew her outstretched finger free of the bush beside her. “I just wished for one and it came even though it’s the wrong time of year.” She turned, and there, delicate as lace and strong as the sea, the butterfly’s wings pulsed against the beckoning sun. “You were right.” Stella raised her porcelain face to Calliope. “They do listen.”
“When they want to.” Calliope bent down beside her sister and trailed a gentle finger across the edge of the butterfly’s wing. She could feel it tremble before it took flight once more. “Lori.” Calliope leaned over. “You’re looking exceedingly giddy. I take it marriage is agreeing with you?”
Words couldn’t express the joy Calliope felt at the healthy pink flush that erupted on her friend’s round face. Lori had been trapped by her own insecurities for as long as Calliope had known her. She had allowed herself to be controlled by what she thought other people believed, that because she was heavy, or too tall, or...whatever, she didn’t deserve the same happiness as others. It only proved how powerful falling in love with the right man could be. Lori was flourishing more heartily than her tour-worthy garden under Matt Knight’s gentle, loving care.
“It’s taken some getting used to,” Lori said. “But so far I haven’t found any loopholes I want to escape through. Have I thanked you for letting us use your farm for the wedding?”
“Profusely and many times.” That Lori and Matt had wanted to hold their small wedding at Duskywing Farm last month had been an honor. To be able to look out her kitchen window every morning and remember the celebration that had taken place in her beloved gardens was an added blessing. “And how is Kyle doing?”
Lori paused. “It’s an adjustment for him. Going from an abusive home to juvenile detention to living with me and Matt. There have been a few bumps.” But none so big as to erase the smile of contentment that had settled on Lori’s face, even before she’d said, “I do.” Still, becoming an instant mom to a troubled teen wasn’t the easiest road to take.
“Harder roads make the journey more interesting,” Calliope said.
“Kyle seems sad,” Stella observed as she patted in the dirt around the last of the rosemary shrubs. “Quiet and sad.”
“Matt took him to San Francisco this morning for the weekend. Some ‘guy time,’” Lori explained. “And I was thinking about maybe having him help me plan out BethAnn Bromley’s landscaping makeover. Seems someone talked her into updating her family’s home and I was the only one capable of taking on the job.”
Calliope ignored the knowing expression aimed in her direction. BethAnn’s recent return to Butterfly Harbor after many years away hadn’t been a smooth one. The former senator’s wife had ruffled more than a few feathers, including Lori’s. But it had been Lori who had taken the first step and helped the woman who had been silently grieving the loss of her husband. She hadn’t found where she fit without him. She’d only needed reminding that she would always fit at home in the Harbor.
“I don’t talk anyone into anything.” Calliope made a fuss of brushing a nonexistent piece of lint off her skirt. “I merely make suggestions.”
“Mmm-hmmm. Seems to me your ‘suggestion’ at the town-council meeting a few months ago is how I ended up married.”
“Don’t give away your accomplishments.” Calliope wasn’t about to take credit for anything where Lori and Matt Knight were concerned. They’d both overcome their inner doubts to earn their happily-ever-after. However, she was more than eager to help Lori build her clientele base for the gardening and landscaping business she’d started to talk about. “What can you tell me about the architect they’ve hired to design the butterfly sanctuary?” Her distraction these last weeks had meant she hadn’t been paying close attention to the goings on around town.
“Me?” Lori blinked, sat back on her heels and frowned. “Not a lot. Only what I’ve heard through the...gossip mill. Which I’m sure you already know,” she added with a laugh. “Word is the firm is in trouble and they’ve been looking for a project to use as part of their comeback. Seems as if we hired this Xander Costas for a steal and a half. Gil’s hoping there’s enough prestige attached to the firm that it’ll help with publicity for the sanctuary.”
“Xander Costas.” Calliope rolled the name in her mouth. “He’s already arrived.”
“What?” Lori’s head snapped around. “No, Monday. His reservation is for Mon...” Her voice trailed off at the sound of a car engine. She looked to Calliope. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Calliope smiled and pushed herself to her feet. “I’m afraid not.” Every inch of her skin felt as if it had been charged with electricity. An awareness overtook her. “Stella, I think it’s time we head into town. We’re going to see Mama tomorrow and I’d like to take her one of Holly’s pies.”
“Holly’s gone on pie overdrive ever since she’s been pregnant,” Lori muttered. “Jason’s stopped baking because we’re getting flooded with them.”
“It’s Holly’s happy place,” Calliope reminded Lori and helped her to her feet. “Go on inside. I’ll delay Mr. Costas for a few moments so you can find a place to put him.”
“Wow, good thing we have spare rooms available. Thanks, Calliope.” Lori brushed off her pink striped maxi dress, picked up her shoes and hurried up the porch steps and through the etched glass doors.
“I thought being really early is as rude as being really late.” Stella scrunched her nose and looked up at Calliope.
“It can be. It depends on the individual.”
The practical sedan that rounded the corner came as a surprise, and for a moment, Calliope wondered if she was wrong about who the new arrival was. But that thought faded as he climbed out of the car.
Her entire body went from ice-block chilled to volcanic flames, as if her system was resetting itself. He was tall, well over six feet, with jet-black hair that glistened almost blue in the sun. His skin had that rich, olive tone to it, as if his name hadn’t been hint enough of his Greek heritage. As he gathered a suitcase and garment bag out of the car, she noticed how the muscles in his arms strained against the perfectly tailored lines of his clothes.
Nicely made. The clothes and the man.
But when he faced her, and she looked into eyes as deep and clear as the Mediterranean, she found she couldn’t breathe. She trembled, recalling a face that had haunted her dreams not for weeks or even months, but for years. For almost as long as she could remember. He’d grown with her, from a boy to a man, and was oddly and unnervingly familiar.
Stella gripped hold of her dress, ducked behind Calliope and poked her head out as the man—and fate—approached.
“My second welcoming committee.” His voice washed over her like the evening tide. “It was you on the cliffs a while ago, wasn’t it?”
“It was.” Calliope’s voice shook. It wasn’t often she had to look up at people and until now she’d considered her height a bit of a curse. She felt Stella’s fingers clench tighter in her skirt and forced herself to relax. No need to make her sister as anxious as she felt. “Calliope Jones.”
“So Charlie said. The butterfly lady.” He set down his bag and held out his hand. “Xander Costas.”
Calliope looked down at it and considered it a few moments longer than normal before returning the greeting. The second she clasped his hand in hers, she gasped. Pride was the first thing she felt, strong and pulsing, followed closely by the faintest twinge of...nerves. Interesting. Not as confident as he appeared. “Welcome to Butterfly Harbor, Mr. Costas.”
He grinned at her formality but before she could amend her greeting, he shifted his attention to Stella. “And you are?”
“Stella. Stella Jones.” She slipped around Calliope’s side and kept an arm securely around her waist.
“My sister,” Calliope said before he jumped to the same conclusion most people did. The almost twenty-year age gap left plenty of room for misconception.
“You’re early,” Stella said. “For your reservation.”
“Yeah, I know.” He shrugged and retrieved his bag. “I had some meetings cancelled so figured I might as well come on out. Given it’s a small town, I’m sure they’ll have a room for me.”
“Are you?” Calliope wasn’t fond of assumptions and leery of those who made them. “Why?”
“Why?” Xander blinked those entrancing eyes of his as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
“They could be booked up. Butterfly Harbor is growing more popular every day. It seems to me it would have been appropriate for you to call and at least check before you made the trip out here. In case they don’t have one.”
“I honestly didn’t think it would be an issue.” He looked confused but not at all concerned. “I’m sure a room can be had for the right price.”
“Not everything has a price.” Calliope arched an eyebrow, uncomfortable with the way her thoughts escaped her usual careful control. “We look forward to hearing about your plans for the butterfly sanctuary.” She reached around for Stella’s hand and squeezed. “One thing you might not know about small towns, Mr. Costas, is how involved we are with every aspect of our home. Just a word of caution as you settle in.”
“Okay.” He frowned and Calliope took more pleasure than expected in seeing him knocked down a peg. “Did I do something to offend you? Normally, people take to me right away.”
“Normal and I have never been on speaking terms, Mr. Costas.”
“Xander.” His grin returned and it was then she realized he assumed she was flirting with him. She wasn’t. Was she? He hefted his bag over his shoulder. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around. Small town and all.”
“Yes, you will.” Calliope stood stone-still as she watched him head inside. The troubling gray haze hovering around him on the beach had dissipated, but sparkles of silver and gold still appeared. Indications of hope to offset the worry and concern that plagued him.
“You weren’t very nice to him,” Stella said. “You’re nice to everyone.”
“I was nice enough.” Guilt drifted down and settled on Calliope’s shoulders. She didn’t want to like him. But she’d learned a long time ago that when fate had set its mind on something that was that. As much as she hated the idea, Calliope couldn’t shake the sensation that as of this moment, her life—her happy, contented, safe life—was never going to be the same.
