Christina Skye - Butterfly Cove

The frown on his face and the concern in his eyes chased away the last of Walker’s reluctance. “Then don’t refuse. We’ll be up and the food is guaranteed to be good. Jilly’s been testing recipes for a new project. She can tell you about it tonight.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Rafe gave a little nod and headed down the hall.

He hadn’t given a clear answer to the invitation, Walker noticed. There was a whole lot of baggage hidden in those cool, distant eyes.

Walker had heard that recon teams who worked deep behind enemy lines sometimes dug into isolated mountain passes for weeks, forward observers in very dangerous places.

And Walker knew how hard it was to come home from war and try to remember that the world was a good and decent place. The change wasn’t easy. At 3:00 a.m., only ghosts and bad memories kept a soldier company.

Rafe Russo looked as if he had more than his share of both.

* * *

IT TOOK ALMOST an hour to finish Olivia’s paperwork for her release. But she balked at taking a wheelchair. “I don’t need one. I can walk perfectly well.”

Walker shrugged. “The nurse told me it was hospital policy. Something to do with lawsuits.”

Olivia sighed and then sat down carefully. “Fine. My shoulder feels much better already.” She hesitated and then scanned the parking lot. “Rafe left, I guess?”

“He had to go on duty. I invited him over for dinner, though.”

Olivia’s mouth tightened.

“Is that a problem?”

“No. Why should it be?”

“Because he said you two had some history between you.”

“We did. Past tense. He’s free to do whatever he wants.”

Walker rolled her toward his Jeep. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said thoughtfully. “You know, I dislocated my shoulder when I was thirteen, and I didn’t take time to let it mend the way it should have. I still have twinges in cold weather. So take my word for it, follow every instruction. Give yourself time to heal. You can’t cut corners with your health.”

“No work and no knitting,” Olivia said glumly. “I’ll go crazy long before I’m healed.”

* * *

“MORE TEA? HOW about another chocolate scone?”

Olivia smiled at Caro and shook her head. “I’m saving my appetite for lunch. But I could really get used to all this attention,” she joked. She drank in the wonderful aromas that came from the nearby kitchen.

Caro straightened Olivia’s heating pad and draped a blanket over her legs. “Jilly’s got something special planned. She’s been up cooking since dawn. I don’t know where she gets the energy.”

“You know Jilly. She has two speeds—fast-forward and out of control.”

Olivia surveyed the sunny room with quiet pride. The little café next to the yarn shop was almost finished. The freshly painted walls glowed, the old wooden floor gleamed and bright new curtains hung at the windows that overlooked the harbor.

No one would have believed how derelict the place had been. Olivia couldn’t even believe the change herself.

She tilted her head, caught by the smell of spicy soup and fresh bread. Her stomach gave a loud rumble. “If that’s your special chipotle tortilla soup, I promise you my firstborn,” Olivia called to Jilly, who was at work in the kitchen. But it was an easy promise to make. Olivia never planned to have any children.

Right on cue Jilly pushed open the pink café doors, a big tray in her hands. “No need to give up your children. You get this for free. It’s my new tortilla soup variation, but be careful. Those rolls are fresh from the oven and very hot.”

“Be still my beating heart,” Olivia murmured. But she quickly discovered that eating soup with her left hand was not going to be easy, especially with her shoulder in a brace.

Jilly frowned at Olivia’s clumsiness. “Sorry, I should give you a cup. Then you can just drink it.” Jilly carried the big bowl of soup back to the kitchen. “How’s that heating pad? Does it help?” she called over her shoulder.

Olivia nodded. She wasn’t used to being fussed over. She never asked for help unless she had no other option. Growing up, she had learned that displays of affection were frowned upon. She was expected to excel but to do it quietly, and without any assistance.

The one thing Olivia had wanted most as a girl was to earn her father’s love and respect, but that had never happened. She had never measured up to his critical eyes.

Olivia shrugged off dark memories as Jilly breezed back from the kitchen. Steam poured off a big cup of tortilla soup. “So when are you due back in Seattle?”

Olivia winced. She had put off telling her friends that she had been fired. Her job hunt had been going nowhere even before the accident. Once she had learned that no one was hiring locally, she had sent résumés all over the state and turned up two possible openings, but both had been quickly taken. “I have two more weeks. But I may be able to swing some extra time.”

Jilly shot a measuring glance at Caro. “How can you do that?”

“I’ve built up some sick days.” Olivia sipped the hot soup slowly. “This is fantastic, Jilly.”

“You like it?” Jilly glanced again at Caro. “I—that is, we have a question for you. No, let’s call it a proposition. Caro and I have been talking, and Grace agrees. We want to hire you.”

Olivia frowned. “Hire me for what?”

Jilly sat down beside Olivia. “We want you to build a conservatory on the far side of the Harbor House. Your job would be official. We’d be hiring you as our architect of record. You know how hard it’s been to maintain the authentic details of this house during restoration. But with a new conservatory—something bright and welcoming—we could rake in tourists. Then we can add a separate restaurant there, someplace for weekend brunch with a tasteful bar. Every seat would have unmatched views of the coast. With luck, we can book private weddings. That’s where serious money comes in. A yarn shop and a café are nice, but the moneymaker would be the restaurant...and the drinks. I’ve been playing around with recipes, and Grace has already crunched some numbers.”

Olivia stiffened. “How long have you three been planning this? You never consulted me.” She looked away, hurt at being excluded.

“Hold on.” Caro put down her box of cleaning supplies. “You had enough on your plate. Your father’s funeral was barely over when we had all those zoning applications to finish. You handled every one so we could focus on the repairs here. We didn’t want to bother you again so soon. And I only heard about this conservatory plan last week. No one is sneaking behind your back.”

Olivia flushed. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just a surprise.”

Caro sat down beside her. “Jilly and Walker had the idea first. Then Grace found a picture of a garden restaurant in Britain that was just perfect. We were going to discuss all this with you yesterday, but there was the storm and you were hurt. So what do you think?”

“It would be a great way to capitalize on revenues. And structure and design fees would be reasonable.” The renovations had run to twice the estimates. Olivia figured it would take five years to dig their way out of debt, but the women were willing to work hard. The Harbor House was a key part of Summer Island’s history. No way could it be lost, torn down for condominiums or a luxury resort.

And with her job gone, Olivia would have plenty of time to work on a design and then handle the construction plans. “I like the idea. But you don’t need to pay me.”

“Yes, we do,” Jilly said quickly. “You know how the zoning commission puts us through hoops because this is a historic property. It’s not going to be easy to find an exterior design that preserves the historic style while also serving a busy restaurant. You’re going to earn every penny of your salary.”