Christina Skye - Butterfly Cove

Olivia knew that was true. Dealing with historical buildings was a huge pain in the neck. They were beautiful outside, but their inner structure was usually a nightmare.

Despite the headaches, Olivia would relish the challenge of the new design. A garden and eating area around the conservatory would be perfect for the coastal location. They could also use the garden plantings to attract the monarch butterflies that migrated south each winter to Pacific Grove and Santa Cruz. Fewer and fewer could be seen near the coast at Butterfly Cove, as available wild land was built up for expensive shore communities.

“It’s a great idea. I’ll help any way I can.”

“What about your job in Seattle?” Jilly drummed her fingers on the table. “You can’t be two places at once. This may be more than we should ask of you, Livie.”

“I’ll make it work.” Olivia took a deep breath. “Now can I have another cup of soup? And this time crank up the heat, will you?”

Jilly gave a wicked smile. “You want hot? I can give you hot.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THREE HOURS LATER Olivia had died—and gone straight to heaven. She was surrounded by a mound of cashmere, silk and merino, each yarn color-coded and separated by weight and fiber, to be displayed on rustic wooden shelves. Olivia had always been very organized, and she liked the security of knowing what was around her and how to find it fast.

Olivia had done a big part of the planning for the yarn shop. She had carefully chosen patterns for sale to reflect all ages and all skill levels. Each pattern was carefully inserted in a plastic folder and arranged by garment type. Her own hand-knitted shop samples were displayed on wooden dowels and antique dress forms. She and Caro had chosen the pink toile wallpaper and the curtain fabric. They had found an antique rug at a flea market in Seattle, and Olivia had brought two antique wing chairs of her own down to the shop on loan.

Now the space was bright and cozy, filled with a sense of welcome and inspiration, ready to become part of the community.

She put down the last ball of alpaca yarn and studied her list of invoices, pleased with the neat rows of numbers and check marks. All the yarn was accounted for. All the shop samples were finished. The yarn store would be ready to open on time, even if the plumbing repairs held up Jilly’s café opening.

She reached down for the file folder with the shop yarn orders and winced as pain shot through her shoulder. The pain reminded her that she had at least a week of rest before she would feel even close to normal.

“Livie, what’s wrong?” Jilly scowled at her. “I told you not to lift anything. That’s what we’re here for. Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I forgot, okay? I was distracted, thinking about the yarn shop and how beautiful it will be. I forgot that I’m a helpless mess.”

“You’re not helpless and you’re not a mess. You did a brave thing in the storm. So stop arguing when we try to help you.” Jilly picked up the box of sorted yarn and carried it to the nearby counter. She read each tag and put the ball in its color-coded shelf. “Besides, the lasagna is almost finished. I also think you should sleep here tonight. We have that spare bedroom nearly finished on the second floor. If you have a problem or need anything, you won’t be alone.” Jilly glanced at her watch. “Now it’s almost time for you to take a pain pill.”

Olivia rolled her eyes, but secretly enjoyed Jilly’s concern. Olivia’s role had always been to handle details quietly. She was usually the organized, capable one who worked without drama or attention.

Jilly crossed her arms, ready for a fight. “Well?”

“Well, it’s a good idea. I’ll stay.”

Jilly looked surprised that Olivia hadn’t argued. Before she could say anything else, car lights swept across the front porch. Jilly smiled. “It’s Walker. Let’s get ready to eat.”

A second set of car lights swept the front of the Harbor House.

Olivia glanced at the door as footsteps hammered across the porch. Walker opened the door and Olivia saw that he was nearly hidden behind a stack of boxes from the post office. “Mail delivery. I’m guessing this is more yarn. Why you would need more yarn is beyond me.”

Olivia stiffened when she saw the tall figure who followed Walker inside, carrying more boxes. She felt heat flood across her face.

Jilly took some boxes from Walker and carried them to the far wall of the yarn shop. “Rafe has been working around the clock. I figured it was our civic duty to feed the new deputy.”

Olivia shifted restlessly. It had been one thing when she lay in the hospital, hazy with pain pills. It was another thing entirely to face Rafe now, clearheaded and acutely aware of their tangled past. The whole thing was awkward—and stirred up far too many emotions better left forgotten.

Rafe put down his pile of boxes and turned slowly, studying Olivia’s face. “Is my being here a problem?” he asked quietly. “If you’d rather I go...”

“No.” Olivia answered in a breathless rush. “It’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You tell me.” Rafe’s voice was rough. “You’re the one who looks like she was just broadsided by a truck.”

Did she really look that way? Or was it only Rafe who could see through her?

Somehow he had always been able to see through her.

“What makes you think you’re so important? I’m hearing a Carly Simon song here.”

The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitched. He leaned down, his face inches from her mouth. Slowly he picked up the heating pad that had fallen onto the floor at her feet.

“This isn’t going to do much good on your feet.” The soft fabric curved over her shoulder. Olivia felt the brush of Rafe’s fingers.

That simple touch hit her hard, leaving her breathless and off-kilter. It had always been that way. If Rafe was in the same room, she felt it. As a girl, she hadn’t understood where that kind of desire could lead.

But Olivia was grown-up now. She knew exactly how passion could dull your logic...and open you to heartbreak.

She pushed away a flood of memories. “Is there something I can do, Jilly?” She ignored Rafe. “Maybe I should get the napkins—”

“You just sit there, rest and entertain Rafe,” Jilly called. “Tell him all about the yarn shop. I’m sure he’ll be fascinated by the fiber density and staple count of merino in comparison to alpaca,” Jilly said dryly.

Then she vanished back into the kitchen, rattling pans and laughing with Walker.

Olivia looked down at her hands. She couldn’t think of anything to say. Once she could have spoken about any subject with him.

She cleared her throat. “You must be exhausted from dealing with this storm.”

Rafe rubbed his neck. “One day normal, the next day traffic pileup and roads closed. This one storm could drain half the state’s total winter-road budget.” He walked to the window, studying the sweeping green lawns that led down to the rugged coast. “You four have really made something remarkable here. All I remember about this place is boarded-up windows, weeds in the grass and graffiti on the sidewalk. But you four always did have great vision, didn’t you? You saw what this place could become. That takes guts.”

Olivia felt her jangling nerves relax slightly. “It hasn’t come cheap. The house was in worse shape than any of us realized. Given its historical designation, we’ve been limited in the materials and kind of improvements that we can make. Jilly just told me that she wants to add a conservatory on the south side of the house so she can cater private weddings and have upscale brunches in the summer. It’s a fantastic idea—but it will be difficult to get zoning approval. The neighbors may object to the noise. There are groundwater issues to consider with a new business, and we need to maintain the house’s historic look. It will all be complicated.”