Wind Chime Café (A Wind Chime Novel)

by Sophie Moss

  But he wanted this woman. He wanted her for more than just one night.

  Where the hell did that leave them?

  Will looked down into her pretty green eyes. “What if we took things one day at a time?”

  Annie shook her head. “I’m not okay with that. I can’t start a relationship with a man who I know is leaving. I need a commitment, or at least the possibility of one.”

  He couldn’t give her that.

  But he couldn’t let her go either.

  He reached for her, pulling her close again. He bent his head back to hers, kissing her slowly this time. He wrapped his arms around her, wishing he knew what to say to convince her to spend some time with him, that everything didn’t need to be planned out.

  “Will Dozier!”

  Annie jumped, twisting out of his arms.

  Della Dozier stalked across the street with her hands full of baked goods and an expression of murder on her face. “What do you think you’re doing?” She set two giant plastic containers on the steps and turned to face him, her hands on her hips. “This is our opening day! We are busy women! We cannot afford any distractions this morning!”

  Will fought back a bubble of laughter as he caught Annie frantically smoothing out her hair. A blush crept up her pale cheeks as she stared at the floorboards. He resisted the urge to pull her close again and wrap her up in his arms one last time. Instead, he reached over and picked a leaf out of her hair.

  “Get out of here!” Della ordered, pointing to the street. “Right now!”

  Will walked over to his aunt and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, reaching into the paper bag in her arm and pulling out a sweet roll.

  “Will!” Della smacked his hand.

  Will laughed and jogged down the steps. When he got to the street, he looked back at Annie and silently mouthed, “Say yes.”

  I swear,” Della huffed, carting the baked goods inside the café. “Give that man an inch and he’ll take a mile.”

  Yep, Annie thought, she’d given him an inch all right. She’d practically crawled into his lap and asked him to carry her upstairs to her bedroom. Right next door to where her daughter was peacefully sleeping!

  What was she thinking?

  Della turned sideways to fit her plastic containers through the narrow door leading into the kitchen. “How long have you been dating my nephew?”

  “We’re not dating,” Annie said quickly.

  Della raised an eyebrow. “That didn’t look like a first date kind of kiss, if you know what I mean.”

  “We’re not dating,” Annie repeated, walking into the café. “We have not been on a date. We are not dating.” She switched on the espresso machine and grabbed two mugs from the rack behind the counter. “Do you want a cup of coffee?” she asked, desperate to change the subject. “How about a latte or a cappuccino? I could use another practice run before we open.”

  “Here,” Della walked out of the kitchen, handing her a big slice of coffee cake covered in brown sugar. “Eat this first. You’re too skinny. Look at those legs.” Della clucked her tongue at Annie’s leggings. “And, yes, since it’s opening day, I’ll take a latte.”

  “Coming right up,” Annie said, fitting the scoop of dark coffee beans into the machine and snagging a quick bite of the cake. “Wow,” she added, gazing reverently at the sugary topping of cinnamon and pecans. “This is amazing.”

  Della beamed, walking back into the kitchen. “I cut an extra piece for Taylor to have when she wakes up. By the way,” she added, raising her voice so Annie could hear her over the hiss of frothing milk. “When you do go out with Will, tell him to take you to someplace nice in St. Michaels. He’s more likely to ask you to join him and his friends for a beer at Rusty’s.”

  Annie watched the steam rising off the bubbling milk in the metal beaker. “I’m not going out with him.”

  Della stuck her head out of the kitchen. “If it’s Taylor you’re worried about, I’d be happy to watch her.”

  “It’s not Taylor.” Annie turned off the heater and wiped it down with a towel. “He’s leaving.”

  Della looked at her curiously. “Well, of course he is, Annie. He’s in the military. That’s part of what he signed up for.”

  “No, I mean when he sells the inn and goes back to San Diego, when he leaves for good.” Annie set the towel back on the counter. “What you saw earlier—that was a one time thing. It just…happened.”

  “Sure it did.” Della ducked back into the kitchen.

  “You don’t believe me?” Annie asked, following her into the kitchen.

  “I believe,” Della said, “that you’re about as stubborn as he is.” Parchment paper rustled as she unloaded the rest of the baked goods. “Once Will sets his mind to something, he doesn’t give up.”

  “I’m sure Will has his mind set on plenty of other women on this island,” Annie said, walking back out to the counter and pouring the hot milk over the espresso shots. “I’ll do us both a favor and scratch myself off the list.”

  Della walked out of the kitchen and eyed Annie curiously. “Will’s been at my house every night for dinner for the past two weeks. When he’s not at my house, he’s working like a mad man trying to fix up that old inn. If you’re worried about him dating someone else, then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  Annie passed the latte to Della. This wasn’t exactly the picture of Will she’d imagined. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who sat at home pining after one woman. She’d figured when she hadn’t seen much of him these past two weeks, he’d moved on. She’d given him enough reason to.

  In her experience, there weren’t many men who had the patience or persistence to pursue her once they found out she was a single mother. Most lost interest as soon as they heard she came in a package deal. But Will had already invited Taylor to join them three times. First for the sail, then to play with the dogs, and this morning right before kissing her, to come over tonight and watch the sunset.

  That had to count for something.

  “What about ex-girlfriends,” Annie asked. “Didn’t he used to date anyone on the island?”

  “The only woman on this island Will has a history with is Hannah Elliott. They dated all through high school and most of college. Everyone thought they’d get married. But then…9/11 happened.”

  A shadow passed over Della’s eyes.

  Annie set her coffee cup down. “Did something happen to her on 9/11?”

  Della shook her head slowly. “Nothing happened to Hannah. Will’s mother and sister were in the plane that crashed into the Pentagon.”

  “No,” Annie breathed.

  Della’s gaze drifted out the window, where yellow leaves swirled down from the willow oak. “Will changed after that. He and Hannah went their separate ways. She’s married to Ronnie Faulkner now and pregnant with their third child. So, to answer your question,” she said, sending Annie a sad smile, “you don’t have anything to worry about in terms of ex-girlfriends.”

  “Was Will’s mother your sister?” Annie asked, still trying to wrap her head around the fact that Will had lost both his mother and his sister on 9/11.

  “My husband and Will’s father were brothers.”

  “Where’s Will’s father now?”

  “He passed away when Will was five.”

  He’d grown up without a father, Annie realized. Just like Taylor. Just like her. “Is that why he lived at the inn with his grandparents?”

  Della nodded. “After his father died, Will’s mother moved him and his sister back to the inn. She needed help caring for Bethany.”

  “Bethany?”

  “Will’s little sister.”

  The one who used to make wind chimes, Annie thought.

  “They were five years apart, but I’ve never known a brother and sister who were closer than the two of them,” Della said quietly. “Bethany was born with Down’s Syndrome. Life wasn’t always easy for her. But she was always smiling, always laughing
. And she loved her older brother more than anything in the world.”

  Annie felt a lump form in her throat.

  Della lifted her coffee cup, taking a long sip. “She was never supposed to live past the age of fourteen, but she was seventeen on 9/11. Will still blames himself for not being able to protect her from what happened.”

  It wasn’t his fault, Annie thought. There was nothing he could have done to prevent it. She looked down at her coffee cake, not hungry anymore. “How did he change, Della? What was he like before?”

  “He was happy,” Della said simply. Her coffee cup clinked as she set it back in the saucer. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of him. I’m honored to be able to call him family. But I’m not surprised he made it into the most elite team of warriors in the world. Nothing can stop Will when he sets his mind to something, and joining the SEALs became an obsession after 9/11.”

  Good God. Will had said he was in the Navy. He hadn’t said anything about being a SEAL.

  Della rubbed her thumb over a stain on the counter. “Sometimes I wonder if this obsession, this thirst for revenge on the people who killed his family, is ever going to go away. I keep thinking that one day, maybe we’ll get him back…the old Will. That one day, maybe he’ll realize it’s time to let go and live a normal life again.”

  “How could anyone ever let go of something like that?” Annie asked.

  “He could move on if he had a family,” Della said firmly, looking up at her. “A wife to love, and children to raise in that big old house. What he needs is a reason to come back home and build a life here on the island. That man belongs here, Annie.”

  Will climbed the attic stairs. The air was dark and musty. Dust motes floated in the thin beams of sunlight that peeked in through the two small upper windows. He walked slowly through the cluttered maze of boxes—boxes his grandparents had kept for him even though he’d told them to get rid of them long ago.

  When he found the one he was looking for, he knelt beside it. His fingers brushed at the layer of dust and then snuck under the tape, snapping it open. He lifted the cardboard flap, and the memories of his sister released like butterflies into the wind.

  All her chimes were still there, tangled up in knots, the colorful ribbons faded and crinkled from years of neglect. He swept a scattering of mothballs aside, and carefully unwound a long string of pink ribbons and bottle caps.

  Bethany used to spend hours combing the marshes for feathers and driftwood, for oyster shells and glass bottles that would wash up after a storm. Her chimes were simpler than Annie’s. Sometimes they were only painted ropes knotted together with a sprig of dried herbs and pop tops at the end. It was the sparkles that mattered most to Bethany. She especially liked the pieces that shined.

  He reached into the pocket of his running shorts, his fingers closing over the yellow ribbon entwined with silver thread. To anyone else, it looked like a simple square knot tied into a faded ribbon fraying at the ends.

  But it was the first knot he’d taught his little sister how to tie.

  She had kept it, and given it to him as a present before he left for college. Back before 9/11, when he was only planning to serve the obligatory five years to repay the military for putting him through the Naval Academy. Back before those four planes went down on U.S. soil and his whole life changed.

  He let the faded yellow ribbon roll through his fingers. He carried it everywhere now. On every deployment. On every training exercise. It went with him on every mission to every God forsaken place on this earth.

  Will gazed down at the silver threads running through the ribbon. The shine had worn down long ago, except for the smallest sliver inside the protected center of the knot. He peeled it back, wanting to see it, wanting to remember his sister. Wanting to remember the way everything had sparkled when she was around.

  Outside, doves cooed on the rooftop and a warbler sang from the branches of the hackberry. The wind rustled the leaves of the tulip poplars, only just beginning to change colors. Will pushed to his feet, picking up his sister’s box and carrying it toward the stairs.

  He’d come home to get rid of the things in this attic, to clean the house out and erase the memories. But the longer he stayed, the more he remembered and the more he wanted to keep.

  Spencer Townsend leaned against the railing of Bob Hargrove’s charter boat. The wind whipped over the Bay, spitting saltwater over the bow. His clients—three men from the Western Shore who were each in the market for a weekend home—had their lines in the water, waiting for the rockfish to bite.

  When the phone in his pocket buzzed, Spencer welcomed the distraction. He’d never really understood the appeal of fishing. He’d much rather be out on a sailboat, cruising sleek and fast through the open water.

  Walking back to the helm, he ignored Captain Bob’s eye roll as he pulled out his phone to answer the call. “This is Spencer Townsend.”

  “Spencer,” a deep southern voice came through the line. “Lance Hadley here.”

  Lance Hadley? Spencer stood up straighter. Up until now, he had only dealt with the regional acquisitions team. He hadn’t expected to speak directly with the CEO and owner of Hadley Hotels. “Yes, sir? What can I do for you?”

  “I understand there’s been a delay with the purchase of one of our resort properties.”

  “Yes.” Spencer cleared his throat. “There’s been a slight delay.”

  “Is someone bidding against us?”

  “No.” Spencer stepped behind the plastic wind cover, lowering his voice. “The current owner is dragging his feet.”

  “Why?”

  “He has an emotional attachment to the place.”

  There was a long pause at the other end. “An emotional attachment?”

  Spencer winced. “Yes.”

  “I believe one of our acquisition managers discussed setting up an arrangement for you to keep an eye out for similar properties in the Mid-Atlantic, an arrangement that you would be compensated for.”

  Spencer swallowed. “That’s right.”

  “I like the idea of having someone in the area to keep us apprised of valuable pieces of real estate before they go on the market. With your connections and your father’s position as owner of a bank, you seemed like an obvious choice. But if you can’t convince a man to let go of a piece of land because of an emotional attachment, you can consider that offer rescinded.”

  “I’ll talk to him today,” Spencer said quickly. “I know he’ll come around. I was just giving him a little time to get used to the idea.”

  “I want this deal closed within the next two weeks, before one of our competitors gets wind of it,” Lance said. “This property is perfect for Morningstar.”

  “I understand.” Spencer glanced up at the raised voices coming from the bow. One of his clients had a fish on. From the strain in the line and the bend in the pole, it looked like a big one.

  “Spencer?”

  “Yes, Mr. Hadley?”

  “How strong is this emotional attachment?”

  Spencer thought back to Will’s initial reaction to the resort company’s offer, and his own failed attempts to talk him into the sale over the past couple of weeks. “It’s pretty strong.”

  There was another long pause at the other end of the line. “Do I need to up the offer?”

  Up the offer? Spencer watched Bob reach for the net, dipping it into the water as his client reeled the fish in closer to the boat.

  Will had said he wouldn’t accept a buyer who planned to tear down his grandparents’ house, but surely there was a number that could change his mind, if it was high enough. “Potentially.”

  “How much?”

  “I’m not—”

  “How much?” Lance bit out, his impatience coming through the line. “Give me a number.”

  Spencer gave him one off the top of his head.

  “Fine,” Lance said brusquely. “Do it.”

  Spencer calculated the new percentage he’d get from the commiss
ion. He had to find a way to convince Will to take the new offer.

  “If you can’t close this deal, tell me now. I’ll send someone else up there to persuade him.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Spencer said, knowing that if Lance Hadley sent someone else up to the island to close the deal, any future working arrangements between them would be off. “You can count on me.”

  “Della?” Annie asked, stepping into the kitchen. “What are you doing? I thought you finished the desserts hours ago?”

  “I did.” Della dashed from the fridge to the stove, where a saucepan of melted chocolate was threatening to boil over. “This is a new recipe I wanted to try out.”

  “A new recipe?” Annie scanned the crowded counters and overflowing dishes in the sink. Before she’d gone upstairs to change half an hour ago, everything had been on track. Now, it looked like a tornado had hit. “I thought we agreed on only four sweets today?”

  “I know, I know.” Della scooted bowls and plates out of the way to roll out a circle of sugary dough. “I got excited.”

  Annie looked fleetingly at the rockfish stations Della had set up earlier: one with bowls of egg, flour and bread crumbs for frying; one with a lemon zest and thyme marinade for broiling; and one with lemon wedges and slices of butter for sautéing.

  She peered down at the chocolate, which was starting to burn. “Are you sure you have time for all this? It’s almost eleven o’clock.”

  “Of course!” Della said, but her face had gone pale and beads of sweat were forming along her brow. “I have everything under control!”

  It sure didn’t look like she had everything under control.

  Annie grabbed Della’s hand, pulling her away from the cookies. “What’s going on?”

  Della’s panicked eyes flickered up to hers. “I think you made a mistake.”

  “A mistake?” Annie’s heart rate spiked. Had she forgotten to order something, some crucial ingredient Della needed to do her job today? “With what?”