by Hope Ramsay
“I love you,” she said, and rested her head on his shoulder, her heart rate finally dropping into a normal rhythm.
“I love you too. And I’m going to have a word with Dylan about the things Ella said.”
“And I’m going to apologize to Ella and make it clear she doesn’t have to please everyone to be loved for herself.”
He gave her a kiss, and they smooched for a long time, until Momma came into the bathroom and said, “Are y’all going to help me unpack or what?”
Chapter Ten
By the time Ella settled into the back corner of the Howland House library and started to play her fiddle, her eyes had lost the I’ve-been-crying puffiness. She stuck with a medley of lively jigs and reels as Ashley’s customers arrived for tea service, which was set out in the dining room, buffet style.
Howland House had been built in the early 1800s, and Ashley Scott had recently restored the place, filling it with period-appropriate antiques, wallpapers, and window treatments. Her collection of antique china teacups was probably not quite as old as the house, but they certainly set the mood for her formal tea service.
The mismatched collection from various floral patterns gave the tea service a garden-party feel. Each teacup was festooned with flowers: yellow daffodils, pink and red roses, purple violets, and blue irises and forget-me-nots. A wide selection of cakes, muffins, scones, cookies, and dainty sandwiches had been put out in the dining room, where guests could load up their plates and grab tea, then circulate through the inn’s historic public rooms.
In addition to a fainting couch and a couple of armchairs covered in deep blue velvet, a handful of wooden folding chairs—the kind used for outdoor weddings—had been placed in the library to accommodate additional guests who wanted to listen to the music up close.
The spring day had turned warm, with temperatures in the low eighties, so many of the guests chose the solarium and the patio, but Ella’s music drew a few of them into the library. Maybe next week she should set up outside, although to do that effectively she’d need a sound system, which would cost a lot of money she didn’t have.
Ashley strictly limited the number of guests at her Saturday teas, which became an embarrassing problem when Doctor D arrived shortly after 4:15 p.m. From her station in the library, Ella had a great view of the front door through the room’s cased opening. So the moment he walked through the door, she knew about it.
He’d lost the jeans and ratty T-shirt he’d been wearing earlier and had shaved and donned his daily uniform of blue blazer, gray slacks, white shirt, and bow tie. Today the tie was red, which seemed daring for him somehow. He’d also lost the big bandage on his head in lieu of a smaller Band-Aid.
Even though he’d reverted to type, Ella was never going to see Dylan the same way again, not after she’d cried all over his Clemson T-shirt. Not after he’d shown a remarkable ability to see right through her.
He wasn’t Doctor Dull. Not with a bright bow tie like that. In fact, he was a lot more like Doctor Dreamy, standing there conversing with Candace Gladwin, the high school senior Ashley hired on Saturdays to check reservations at the door.
Ella’s finger slipped, and the note she’d been bowing went a tiny bit flat. Thank God Mom wasn’t in the room; she would have noticed.
She couldn’t hear what Dylan was saying to Candi, but he appeared to be arguing with her, no doubt trying to talk his way into the tea party without a reservation. Having taken the brunt of Dylan’s persistence, Ella sympathized with the young woman trying to play bouncer at the door.
Ella finished “Loch Lavan Castle” and was about to start playing “Rocky Road to Dublin,” when Candi left her post by the door and crossed the library. She leaned in. “I’m sorry, Ella, but Doctor D says he’s your brother and is only here to listen to you play. I didn’t know you were Doctor D’s sister.”
“Well, not exactly. His father is about to marry my mother.”
Candi’s gaze widened. “So you are his sister. Cool. He’s adorbs. But he doesn’t have a reservation. Do you think I should ask Ms. Scott if I can let him in?” Candi seemed uncertain.
“Let him in. But tell him he has to sit in the library and can’t have any tea,” Ella said.
“You don’t mind?”
Ella shook her head. “No. He’s my brother.” She had trouble keeping a straight face. What was Dylan up to? Was he here to get on her good side? Or was this another apology moment Jim had demanded from him? Either way, his penance would be to sit quietly and listen for the next hour and a half. And if he took out his cell phone one time, she’d never let him forget it.
Wasn’t that the sort of teasing siblings engaged in? Yeah. But even if she’d claimed him as a brother, she was so over the desire to have a father and a sibling. Besides, he was too…handsome?
To be her brother anyway.
Oh boy. She studied her set list and started to play, trying with all her might to push Doctor D from her mind. It proved impossible, since he sat there handsome as the devil with his leg cocked over his knee, taking up man space and never taking his gaze from her.
That look made her uncomfortable. It almost reminded her of those days when Mom would sit in the audience judging her performances. But Dylan wasn’t a musician. He wasn’t counting her mistakes. Or at least she hoped he wasn’t. So why did the intensity of his gaze make her skin tingle and itch?
She played straight through until five thirty, ending on the classic “Danny Boy.” When the last note rang and she dropped the fiddle from her chin, Dylan stood up and clapped. A moment later, Ashley, Candi, and the helpers from the kitchen came to the library door and applauded too. By then most of the guests had departed.
“That was wonderful,” Ashley said, sweeping into the room, her classic polka-dotted dress floating around her legs. Ashley and Dylan had each dressed for a garden party, while Ella wore one of her stage dresses—a bargain she’d found at a Value Mart a few years ago, made of paisley polyester in shades of peach and turquoise. That dress would have looked fine in So Ho. But it didn’t fit here.
And maybe it had never fit. Cody had always complained about the high waist, long pleated sleeves, and short flowing skirt. He’d always wanted her in something tight that showed too much skin. But Ella liked loose dresses. They were comfortable. And instead of wearing heels, she’d always opted for a pair of sturdy Doc Martens. A girl’s feet could get tired standing for hours on end.
Of course, her boots posed a sharp contrast to Ashley’s conservative navy-blue heels. Ella had only worn pumps like that back in high school, when she’d played in the school orchestra or participated in musical competitions. And only because Mom made her wear them.
“I would like to hire you for the rest of the summer,” Ashley said, pulling her away from her thoughts. “And we’ll need to adjust the fee.”
“Oh, um—”
“You’re worth double what I paid you,” Ashley interrupted. “And don’t argue with me. I just loved all that traditional music. Is that what your band played?”
“Uh, no. Like I told you the other day, we played mostly country music. You know, like Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash.”
“Oh, well, I think we should keep the music traditional for the teas. And at least one of the guests told me he enjoyed it when you played the medley of Strauss waltzes. So if you wanted to include a smattering of classical pieces, that would be great.”
“Sure,” she said, suddenly trapped by her limited success. She could play classical music, but she’d never truly liked doing it because it required a kind of perfection she hated. Classical music had to be played the way the composer wanted it played. Improvisation was frowned upon.
She remembered that summer in tenth grade when she’d gotten a spot at Interlochen Music Camp in Michigan. It had been the worst summer of her life. She’d been judged by her ability to play the notes on the page. No one cared much about her ability to play really fast jigs and reels. Instead of boosting her confidence, that summer had destroye
d it.
Candi and the kitchen help got busy with the dining room cleanup, while Ashley turned toward Dylan. “I’m so sorry you ended up sitting here. I require reservations, but I’ll let Candi know that you are welcome to tea any time when Ella is playing.”
The innkeeper turned back toward Ella. “Are you planning to play for your mother’s wedding?”
“Uh, well, um…”
“You should.” Ashley tapped her mouth as if in thought. “You know, we do our share of weddings out in the garden when June rolls around. And weddings often disrupt our Saturday-afternoon teas, so keep that in mind. But I’m wondering…Brides are always asking me to recommend musicians. I’ve got a harpist and a flutist I recommend, but I’d like to add you to the list, if that’s okay.”
“Yes, thanks. That would be great.” Wow, Ashley was such a kind person. Ella had never met anyone so interested in giving her a break.
“Wonderful job, Ella, really. I’m so glad you’ve joined our community in Magnolia Harbor.” With that praise, Ashley breezed out of the room, leaving Ella alone with Doctor D.
For the second time that day, Ella wanted him to disappear into thin air. But this time was different. Earlier he’d been destroying the family dynamic. But now he was charging the atmosphere, setting up a strange, almost electric hum in her brain that threatened to spark lightning.
“So,” he said. “I have reservations for two at Cibo Dell’anima. It’s a new Italian restaurant that just opened on Harbor Drive. It’s supposed to have a party room. Want to go check it out?”
“I thought you and Jim wanted the engagement party at the yacht club,” she said, turning away and putting her fiddle in its case.
“Change of plans. Your mother has nixed that idea.”
“Oh?” She turned. “When did she do that?”
“Right after you stormed off in a snit.”
A blush crawled up her face as she remembered the feel of his hard shoulder against her face as she’d cried. He’d been so sturdy and patient in that moment. He hadn’t told her to shut up or that she was stupid for crying. He’d just stood there and held her up. It had been…nice.
But now? Now she worried that he was judging her again. “Is that why you came this afternoon? To deliver that message?”
“No. Although for the record, I concede that you were right about your mom’s reaction to the yacht club.”
“Thanks. I think.”
The corner of his mouth curled into a little comma. Like the Amazon smile. “But I didn’t come for that reason. I came because I wanted to listen to you play this time, instead of surreptitiously watching the basketball game. And also, I came to, well…” He shrugged.
“Your father asked you to apologize again?” She snapped the fiddle case closed.
“No. He didn’t think I needed to apologize to you. He’s furious that I’m not down with this idea of him getting married. But that’s between him and me.”
“So…why are you here?”
“Like I said, I have dinner reservations. For two.”
She studied him for a long moment. He wasn’t handing her some BS line this time. He was being honest. And actually, he’d always been honest. From the start. He’d never tried to hide his feelings about Mom and Jim’s relationship.
“Okay, thanks for being honest.”
“Honest?” He seemed surprised.
“For telling me exactly what you think of my mother, even though I’m sure you knew I didn’t want to hear it. I almost admire that. It flies in the face of what we were always taught. You know, about not saying anything unless you had something nice to say.”
“Ella, I don’t think your mother follows that advice.”
He was right about that. Mom had always told her exactly what she thought of her violin performances. So maybe Mom had been honest from the start, and Ella’s biggest problem was that she didn’t like to hear the truth.
On the other hand, Cody’s BS had worn thin after a while.
“Well,” she said, “I guess there is something to be said about not wasting your time trying to make everyone happy.” The way I do. She didn’t say the last part out loud.
“I’m interested in my dad’s happiness,” he said. “We simply have different ideas about what that might look like.”
“Shouldn’t he be the one who chooses?”
“I’m sure he feels that way.”
“And you don’t?”
He shrugged. “I care about him. But I’m going to get with the program for the time being. And help with the party. So…dinner?”
He obviously expected her to drop everything and go off to dinner with him. It seemed a bit high-handed. But she didn’t have anything else going on in her life. And if they weren’t going to have the party at the yacht club, they needed to figure something else out quick.
And there was a free meal at a nice restaurant involved…
“Sure. Why not?” she said, giving him a smile. “But I’m going to hold you to your promise.”
“What promise?”
“The one you made on the sidewalk today. No sneaky attempts to sabotage the party planning, okay?”
“I promise.” He crossed his chest with his finger and held up his hand. The gesture was kind of adorable.
Dylan looked honest, and he sounded honest, and he was adorable with that curl falling over his forehead. She ought to trust him. But she didn’t. Even mild-mannered Clark Kent told lies and kept secrets from Lois, and she’d given her trust away one too many times.
* * *
Ella was a funny woman. Not ha-ha funny, but like a mystery or a puzzle that needed solving. When Dylan had applauded her stunning solo performance, she’d blushed right up to her hairline, almost as if she wasn’t used to being praised. But certainly, someone with her musical skills had gotten praise all her life.
There had been moments during her performance when her violin seemed to weep. Then in a flash, she’d segue to a tune that made him want to get up and dance, which was nothing short of astonishing because he was deathly afraid of dancing in public. She was that good.
He needed to change his assessment of Ella, and he needed to stop judging people so quickly. Maybe he’d spent too much time in Lauren’s company. His ex-girlfriend was exactly the kind of person who always wanted to know which clubs someone belonged to, whether they came from a wealthy or well-connected family, and how much they earned in annual income.
Ella was nothing like that. She had hidden depths that allowed her to channel deep emotion into her music. She wasn’t mean-spirited like Lauren. And she was every bit as beautiful, even though she wore army boots. In fact, Dylan was enjoying the hell out of the way the sea breeze floated her skirt, exposing the curve of her leg.
Whoa. Back off, boy. She’s your sister.
Almost. Sort of.
The reality of the situation should have stopped him cold, but the moment she climbed into the car, her scent—a heady mix of something exotic like sandalwood—tickled his nose and every one of the synapses in his brain.
By the time he pulled into the parking lot at Cibo Dell’anima, he was ready to put some distance between them. The woman made his head go fuzzy. Or maybe he was merely allergic to her perfume.
The new restaurant occupied an old brick storehouse at the corner of Ash Street and Harbor Drive, directly across from the commercial pier where local shrimpers sold their catches every day. The place billed itself as a new-age fusion restaurant blending classic Italian with traditional Southern soul food. Dylan regarded that as an impossibility, but one of his patients had recommended the place, and since it occupied an old warehouse, it had a party room upstairs.
It had been far too easy to get a reservation this Saturday evening on short notice though. And when he entered the dining room, he knew why. The place wasn’t exactly thriving, and the decor wasn’t new age anything. With its red-checked tablecloths and exposed-brick walls, Cibo Dell’anima could have been any of a thousand other I
talian restaurants around the world. The only things Southern about the place were the vintage sepia-tone photographs of Jonquil Island covering the walls.
They sat down at a table near the front window, and Dylan got his first look at the menu. Everything from the antipasto to the desserts was overpriced, which explained why the college kids who had flooded Magnolia Harbor for spring break were conspicuously absent in the nearly empty dining room.
Ella picked up the menu, her brows knitting as she read, and the resemblance between mother and daughter hit him like a two-by-four. Or maybe his headache had returned with a vengeance. The concussion had been mild, but the come-and-go headaches were annoying.
“So, you’re unhappy with the menu?” he asked.
She shifted her gaze, the frown melting away.
“No,” she said, cocking her head. “What makes you think that?”
“You were frowning.”
“Oh, jeez, I’m sorry. I hope it wasn’t the frown-of-death.”
“What?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. It’s an in-joke. You know, Cody used to say that I frowned when I was thinking.”
Would she ever stop saying sorry? What was up with that? “Cody?” he asked.
She turned and studied the traffic. “He was the leader of Urban Armadillo.”
“The outlaw band…” He drew out the words.
“Yeah. And you can go ahead and say it. The band’s name is awful.”
“I wasn’t thinking that.”
“No? What were you thinking?”
He couldn’t exactly tell her that he’d been studying her amazing eyes or that he liked the way the fire of the afternoon sun had gotten tangled up in her hair, or that Cody, whoever he was, was an idiot for letting her get away. “So was Cody just a guy in the band, or is he your ex?” he asked, and then regretted the question even though he wanted to know the details.
“He’s my ex,” she said, and then hid behind her menu. Served him right. He had no business prying into her private life. She wasn't a real sister. And besides, his main mission was to dig up dirt on her mother. Not that this afternoon’s blowup hadn’t provided plenty of ammunition. But he couldn’t be overtly obvious.
