by Donna Alward
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CHAPTER 1
Bright July sunshine soaked through Willow Dunaway’s bamboo T-shirt as she took a bite of her veggie wrap. The lunch rush at The Purple Pig Café was over, and she’d snuck out for twenty minutes or so just to enjoy a bit of fresh air and a snack. The “Green,” as the locals called it, was a park that ran alongside Fisher’s Creek. The town kept the grass neatly clipped, flower beds watered and weeded, and had installed several benches both in the sun and in the shade of trees. Willow loved it. Sure, it was more manicured than wild and natural, but it was still calm and restful. Even when, like today, the tourists came to take their turn on the Kissing Bridge that spanned the creek, guaranteeing that their love would last forever. It was a cute, if somewhat silly, concept that played a major part in the town’s economy.
Willow had been back in Darling, Vermont, for just over a year. After six years in Florida, she’d come back to northern climes and had to adjust to the change in seasons. She’d stayed through the cold winter, deep snow, frigid temperatures, and the ski season that brought downhillers to the inns and bed-and-breakfasts in town. Through the pale green of early spring, when the snow melted, tiny sprigs of grass poked up through the earth, testing to see if winter was truly over, and crocuses and snowdrops carpeted front yards with the first bursts of color. Through the warm, lazy summer beside the lake and a bright, cozy autumn filled with colors and the scent of fallen leaves in the air.
She’d liked living in Florida. And it had served its purpose. She’d had to get away—from memories, mostly. Someplace neutral where she could sort out her thoughts and feelings and get her feet beneath herself again. Clearwater had done that for her. But in the end, Darling had beckoned her back. And when she’d checked realty listings and noticed the café up for sale, she’d known it was time to come home. Now, a year later, some of the new-business pressure had eased as the café was a resounding success. For the first time in many, many years, Willow felt everything was just as it should be.
She took another bite of her wrap and watched a young couple trot along the path to the stone bridge, the town’s number one tourist attraction. Willow had heard at least three versions of how the Kissing Bridge got its name, but there was one consistency in every single story: when a couple kissed on the bridge, it was said that their love would last forever. She thought it was cute, and she smiled a little as the pair reached the top of the arch, looked out over the sparkling creek, and then kissed.
On a less sentimental side, no one could deny the revenue the Kissing Bridge brought to Darling. Whether it was a simple kiss, a proposal, or posing for wedding pictures, the bridge was a huge draw. Heck, her best friend had just been married there a month ago. Laurel and Aiden had surprised everyone with the impromptu ceremony disguised as a publicity photo shoot for the town’s new tourism campaign. Now the two of them were cozied up together in Laurel’s house, acting like newlyweds. Willow missed seeing her friend, but she wouldn’t begrudge Laurel this happiness for the world. She’d earned it.
The bridge kept The Purple Pig busy, too. Willow put the lid back on the container she’d used for the wrap and dropped it into her tote bag. She really should get back. There was supper prep that needed doing.
The couple on the bridge kissed again and stood with their arms around each other for a while. Willow watched for a few stolen seconds, feeling a wistfulness open up inside her. She hadn’t had a real relationship in so long. She’d tried, once, in Clearwater. He’d been in her yoga class. An ex-soldier with a soft spot for animals and meditation. At first he’d seemed perfect. But then Willow had discovered that he carried even more baggage than she did. Instead of healing wounds, they’d ended up bringing each other down. Walking away had been the right, if painful, decision.
Life was good now. She had the business. She had good friends. She was at peace with a lot of things from her past, and those she wasn’t, she’d at least accepted. She should feel perfectly happy. Not like there was something missing.
It was past two thirty, so she shouldered her bag and stood up, knowing her assistant manager, Emily, could use the help making sure things were ready for the supper rush. She’d just taken a step when a soccer ball came out of nowhere, bouncing between her feet.
She looked up and saw a boy, maybe five years old, running at her full tilt. “Whoa,” she ordered, laughing. “Slow down, buddy.”
“Sorry, lady.” Brown eyes flashed up at her, full of boyish charm. He looked familiar somehow. Maybe he’d come into the café before or something.
“No worries,” she replied, giving it a light kick with the side of her foot. “Here you go.” He trapped it—rather expertly for such a small boy, she thought—beneath the toe of his sneaker.
The kid squinted against the sun as he looked at her. “How come your hair is pink?”
She laughed again, enchanted by his honesty. It wasn’t the first time she’d been asked that question since she’d added the pink stripe. “Oh, I felt like doing something fun with it.” She squatted down in front of him. “Do you like it?”
“It’s all right, I guess. ’Cept I like green.” He peered at her closer. “And you have a thing in your nose.”
God, the little guy was charming. Dark auburn hair with just a hint of curl and eyes that were guaranteed to break a girl’s heart someday. She pointed toward her nose. “My stud? It’s a real diamond.”
“No way.”
“Way.”
“Cool.”
“Connor!”
The boy’s head shot up as a masculine voice called his name. “That’s my dad,” he said, biting his lip. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Have fun.”
He smiled and turned around, only his dad was walking toward them with purposeful steps. Another boy, a little younger, raced behind, trying to keep up.
Willow stood and tried hard not to gawk. He was tall—over six feet for sure, and in jeans and a plain T-shirt she could tell he was in good shape. When he looked at her it was as if she’d suddenly taken a blow to her chest, pushing out all the air so she couldn’t breathe. Even with the stern look on his face he was stunning in a rough way. Strong jaw, seriously blue eyes, and auburn hair, a little on the long side, unruly with a bit of natural curl. It wasn’t hard to imagine him in shorts and cleats, sweaty from playing soccer. Or in a kilt, like one of those highlanders in the books she’d been reading lately.
She had to get a grip.
“Connor, it’s time to go. Next time I tell you, you listen, rather than kicking the ball in the other direction, you hear?”
Alas, Willow thought with disappointment, there wasn’t a hint of a Scottish brogue in his terse voice. The boy’s face fell at his father’s sharp tone … Had it really been necessary for him to be so snappish? Any lingering romantic notions fizzled completely as she realized he was assessing her. From the look on
his face, he didn’t like what he saw.
Wait. He seemed familiar. He … that was it. He was one of Aiden and Hannah’s brothers. But which one? She frowned. She and Aiden were the same age. He had a younger brother … Rory. Hannah was a few years older than Willow. And there were the twins and then … that meant this was the older brother. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember his name. What she did remember, however, was Laurel and Aiden’s wedding reception. She’d caught the bouquet. He’d caught the garter. And he’d slipped it onto her calf in one of the most awkward, uncomfortable moments of her life. As soon as the elastic had snapped onto her leg, he’d extricated himself from the embarrassing situation. More like run away, a little voice in her head chided. As fast as he could manage it.
“Connor,” he said, only slightly softer, “take the ball and your brother and go put your stuff in the backpack.”
“Yes, Dad,” Connor said, the earlier ebullience gone from his voice. “Come on, Ronan.” He held out his hand and the other boy took it. Willow watched them and couldn’t help the little smile that curved her lips. The brothers were cute, and it was clear that the younger one idolized the older. He had similar hair and eyes, but he looked up at his big brother like he ruled the world.
“They’re very cute,” she said, hoping the pleasant tone would ease the stern look on the dad’s face.
“They’re very energetic. And stubborn.”
“Aw, don’t be too hard on them.” She tried smiling again. “It’s a beautiful day on the Green. You can’t blame them for wanting to play a little longer.”
He was quiet for a moment. She saw his gaze slide over the pink streak in her blond hair, and a tiny lift of his eyebrow telegraphed his disapproval. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. People put color in their hair all the time.
“I’m Willow,” she said, holding out her hand, determined to be polite.
“Of course you are,” he replied, and he shook her hand. Briefly. “Laurel’s … friend.”
Willow bristled at the dismissive way he said “friend.” She kind of wished he hadn’t opened his mouth. The fantasy of him being … well, different, was pretty much gone. Instead she got the impression that he didn’t know how to smile.
So she made her smile bigger and said, “And you’re one of Aiden’s brothers, right?”
“Ethan Gallagher.”
That’s right. Ethan. “I knew you looked familiar. It’s the Gallagher hair and eyes.”
His stern expression didn’t change.
“Come on, it’s a compliment. Hannah’s gorgeous.”
He sighed, then looked over his shoulder to check on the boys. “And she knows it, too. I’d better get back.”
Wow. Would it have killed him to say thank you? “Me, too. I’d better get back to work.”
“At The Purple Pig,” he said.
She frowned. She was sure he hadn’t been in before when she’d been working. “How did you know that?”
“It’s on your shirt?”
His tone was dry and condescending, and he voiced it as a question so that the word “duh” echoed in her head. She’d forgotten she was wearing the T-shirt that the employees wore in lieu of a uniform. Her shirt today was lilac with a darker purple pig embroidered on the left chest. He could have pointed it out without being so rude. Aiden and Hannah were warm, friendly people. Ethan, it seemed, was cold and pretty unapproachable.
“Oh. Right.” She was annoyed to realize that a stranger could make her feel small and a bit stupid, and so she couldn’t resist coming back with a bright smile. Just because he was unfriendly didn’t mean she had to lower herself to his level. “You should bring the boys in for a treat sometime.”
His lips finally curved, but his smile was patronizing and not warm, as if he were saying, “Yeah, right.” He wouldn’t be the first to roll their eyes at the café’s philosophy: local, organic, and fair trade food. Willow felt heat rise in her cheeks. It had been a long, long time since she’d allowed anyone to make her feel inferior, but Ethan Gallagher had managed it in a few short sentences and one down-the-nose look.
“The Pig isn’t really my style,” he said.
Yep. She was starting to feel sorry for his kids. Hopefully they had a kind and gentle mother who at least smiled once in a while. Something else twigged in her mind, from her conversations with Hannah and Laurel. Something about Ethan’s wife. She really needed to start paying better attention.
“You’d better get back to your boys.” Willow stepped back, done with trying to be nice. “Enjoy the afternoon.”
She turned her back on him and walked away, her sandals crunching on the fine crushed gravel of the pathway. Her brows pulled together as she frowned. Resemblance aside, it was hard to believe that man was Hannah Gallagher’s brother. Willow was pretty sure she couldn’t have done a single thing to offend Ethan, but there’d been no warmth whatsoever in his manner.
She left the Green and walked the block and a half back to the café along Main Street, shaking off the encounter and taking deep breaths. There was a reason she’d come back here. Darling was, simply, home. The little shops, the small-town vibe of familiarity, the personal touches to the storefronts that showed care and pride. The buildings in the town center were more often than not constructed of reassuring red brick, with lots of white trim and colonial design. Color was added in the form of shutters and doors, and one of Willow’s favorites was at the florist’s, where the red door boasted a heart-shaped window, and the trim around it was painted with vines and leaves.
The Purple Pig stood out from several other businesses. The building itself was newer, a three-unit row-house constructed in much the same colonial style, but with siding instead of brick, and two large storefront windows. The Pig’s siding was a muted shade of pink, with a white awning over the front door and the logo—a fat, curly-tailed, happy purple pig—painted on the bay window in the front.
It added a sense of whimsy to the street, to Willow’s mind. As she approached it, thoughts of Ethan Stick-Up-His-Butt Gallagher faded away. Running the café was like her particular talents and philosophies finally all blended together into one perfect job.
A little bell dinged overhead as she stepped inside to the aromas she loved: cinnamon, chocolate, tea, bread. There were two kinds of soup on special today, and a variety of sandwiches, all handmade to order from fresh, organic ingredients. She planned the menus on a simple principle: nourishing the mind, body, and soul.
She stowed her tote in the office and put her apron on, returning to the front to help her part-time employee, Steven. Willow and her assistant manager, Emily, both agreed he was doing great, so she was going to increase his hours to full time in August. He could use the money for college and he was a fast learner. Plus he was a fantastic up-seller. If someone came in for a scone, he’d sell a bowl of soup with it. A sandwich? Have a tea and cookie to round it out. She wasn’t sure how he did it, but customers had a hard time saying no to him. It showed in his tips, too.
He was currently making a turkey and cranberry sandwich for a customer, so Willow went to the next person waiting and took her order. It was Shelley Burke, a former nurse who spent a good deal of her time volunteering around town. Willow slid a blueberry scone into a bag and handed it over the counter along with a cup of licorice mint tea. “Here you go, Mrs. Burke. What are you up to today?”
“I just finished at the food bank.” She smiled widely. “And tomorrow’s book club.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“It is. We even talk about the book sometimes.”
Willow laughed.
Shelley took the food and drink and frowned a little. “I wish you could join us, Willow. Maybe for next month’s meeting?”
“We’re right in the middle of tourist season. It’s hard to get away.” She genuinely felt disappointment at having to say no. The café kept her so busy that she didn’t have much time for anything purely social, and a book club sounded like fun. The kind of thing you
did when living in a small town. Then she had an idea. “But if you want to hold it here, I can set up a little area for you in the corner, and you can have tea and treats. Then maybe I can sneak in for some of the discussion. Just let me know what the new book is.” Maybe that was something they could look into. Shouldn’t a café be a gathering place too? And for more than the occasional Chamber of Commerce meeting.
“I’ll ask the girls.” Shelley smiled. “Thanks for the offer.”
“See you soon,” Willow replied, and she slipped the change Shelley had left on the counter into the tip jar.
Emily came through the swinging doors of the kitchen to the front of the café, two trays of baked goods in her hands. “Brownies and cookies coming through.”
“Those smell delicious,” Willow said, sliding open the display case.
“Black-bean brownies and honey-oat trail-mix cookies. The apple muffins are coming out shortly.” Emily stood and brushed her hands down her apron.
Willow looked at Emily, and wondered yet again what it might be like if she joined the business as more of a partner rather than assistant manager. “Are you happy here, Em?”
“Are you kidding? I love it.”
“I know the pay isn’t great.”
“It’s the food service industry. I wasn’t expecting to get rich.” She laughed. “Good thing. Not that I’m asking for a raise or anything…” Her eyes widened and a blush crept into her cheeks.
Willow laughed. “That’s not what I was getting at. After the fall rush, we should sit down and talk. Think about expansion. Think about whether or not you want to join the business in a more permanent way.”
Emily’s face broke into a smile. “Oh my gosh. I’d love that. And I’m flattered. I have a bunch of ideas for the menu, and if we had more space…”
“Slow down,” Willow said, laughing again. “Let’s get through the next few months first. We work really well together, you know? I’m sure we can come up with some great plans.”
