A Call for Kelp

by Bree Baker

  Afterward, he’d leaned over the silver rail of my hospital bed and pressed a fist to his chest. He said he’d felt an undeniable need there. A compulsion that had pushed him into the surf despite any logic or evident reason, and that was how he’d discovered the opening. That same sensation had compelled him to swim inside, and he nearly hadn’t. He’d almost let logic overcome his instincts, and he beat himself up for it regularly.

  The music changed and guests clapped, sharply reminding me of where we were. The DJ played “Do the Funky Chicken” and locals, including Amelia’s dad and my Aunt Clara, took to the dance floor in elated droves.

  Amelia whistled long and loud as her dad flapped his bent arms like a chicken. “What did Rose decide to do about the documentary?” she asked, pulling her attention off the silliness on the dance floor.

  I smiled and sat straighter. This was the fun part of the story. Rose had been so horrified to learn that Quinn had done all those awful things under her nose, she refocused on the documentary she’d come to make, vowing to make it her best work ever. She’d even stayed an extra week to collect serious footage with my aunts and gather enough details to produce a first-class film. “She finished editing last week and is sending my aunts an early review copy very soon. She’s even pulled some strings to secure a November 1st release date. Aunt Fran’s hoping it will create some pre-election buzz.”

  “Perfect!” Amelia turned her attention on Grady, curiosity changing her expression slightly. “Is your mother-in-law still running for mayor? I don’t think I’ve seen her entourage around.”

  “It seems so,” he said flatly. “And it sounds as if her husband will be retiring to Charm as well. Not that Olivia’s retiring. She’s looking forward to making small-town politics the Act Two of her political career.”

  “Bummer,” I said, honestly. “I’d kind of hoped she’d go back to DC with Martin and Northrop Manor could become the living museum Charm had originally planned. My aunts already have ideas for some of the costumes and exhibits. Aunt Clara wants to volunteer as a weekend candlemaker and Aunt Fran is pulling favors from a local war reenactment group to help with the grand opening weekend. Plus, our family archives have detailed firsthand accounts of the evolution of Charm that can be used to ensure authenticity, at least from one family’s perspective.”

  Grady shifted beside me, and the corner of his mouth kicked into a lazy half-smile. “I could get behind that. Olivia and Martin belong in the city. We belong here. Look,” he said, his gaze tracking Aunt Fran to the sundae bar with Denver.

  She’d pulled a chair up to the table for him to kneel on so his limited height wouldn’t hinder his access. He filled a bowl with ice cream, then dug into the toppings with gusto. When he finally put the tiny tongs down, his chocolate ice cream had vanished beneath a pile of crushed cookies and candy. Aunt Fran added a flood of hot fudge and caramel to the top, then gave him a high five.

  Amelia laughed, and I realized she had been watching them too. “I don’t think Denver will ever run short of grandparent figures around here.”

  As if on cue, Amelia’s father and Aunt Clara moved in on the sundae action, shaking whipped cream cans and spraying them into their mouths.

  Grady smiled.

  The music slowed and a spotlight trailed Mary Grace and her new husband to the highly polished parquet dance floor. Her white beaded gown was stunning, a lovely contrast to his black suit as he took her into his arms. The image of a billowing American flag appeared on the large white wall behind them.

  “Oh boy,” Amelia groaned. “Nothing’s too subtle for these two.”

  I caught sight of Aunt Fran’s unhinged jaw and laughed. It was going to be an interesting November this year.

  Grady stood and buttoned his jacket, then reached for me. “How about a dance?”

  Amelia and Ryan followed us to the dance floor, along with a number of other couples.

  “Well, what do you think of that?” Ryan asked as Wyatt and Denise came into view, swaying close and smiling.

  I wasn’t sure who the question had been intended for, but I answered anyway, in case Grady was worried about Denise. “Wyatt’s a good guy. He deserves to be happy, and I don’t think he would hurt her.”

  Ryan snorted. “I don’t think he could hurt her.”

  I laughed. “No doubt.”

  “I hear he’s leaving the rodeo,” Amelia said, “is that true?”

  I watched as he and Denise spun and laughed. I saw an ease and comfort there I’d never seen in Wyatt before, and I recalled her words. “I think so,” I said. “It seems Wyatt fooled around and accidentally put down some roots. He found a life he cares more about than bulls and glory.”

  “This place does that to a man,” Grady said, spinning me away from Ryan and Amelia. He watched me intently as we moved in sync to the sweet song. “I asked Denise about Olivia’s intentions when she hired her,” he said. “The bit about her meeting all my needs. Do you remember?”

  My cheeks flamed hot. Of course I remembered. I’d had a crush on Grady since the moment I’d set eyes on him, and the senator had made a point of telling me she’d hired Denise to handle everything. Denise lived with Grady. She was five years younger, gorgeous, and fit. I’d eaten my weight in Häagen-Daz after that nightmarish revelation. “What did she say?”

  His smile widened. “She called me a pervert and said she was hired as personal protection, in addition to child care and general household administration. Nothing like you’d assumed.”

  I buried my face against his shirt and laughed. “Did you tell her I was the one who’d told you that?”

  “Yes.” His chest rose and fell in silent bursts of laughter. “She thought it was funny after she got past the shock.”

  I dragged my gaze to his and rested my chin against his chest. “She must think I’m an idiot.”

  “She thinks you might’ve been jealous,” he said, looking light and youthful as he spun me around the dance floor.

  “You’re not so bad,” I said. “And I like how you move. I also appreciate that you keep saving my life.”

  His expression darkened and his body slowed to an easy sway. “Speaking of that,” he said. “I hear you’re in the market for some self-defense lessons.”

  “I am,” I said. “Denise promised to help me as soon as I’m ready.” The brush with death had set me back emotionally by a few weeks, but I was having fewer nightmares and feeling more like myself every day.

  “How would you feel about getting the lessons from me?” he asked, his expression guarded and a little vulnerable.

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  “Yeah?” he asked, a hint of disbelief in his tone.

  “Sure,” I said, feeling a rush of heat hit my cheeks once more. “But I’ve never done anything like it before, so try not to hurt me.”

  “Never,” he breathed, pulling me close.

  I pressed my cheek back to his jacket and watched as my friends and family danced, laughed, and mingled. My heart expanded until it hurt. I’d never expected to find a perfect moment at Mary Grace’s wedding reception, but this one was incredibly close.

  Grady lowered his lips to my ear. “What are you thinking, Swan?”

  “That I’m happy,” I said. “That I feel safe and peaceful and proud.”

  I felt the curve of Grady’s smile against my cheek. “Me too,” he said. “You want to get out of here before someone ruins it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Grady lifted a hand in goodbye to Amelia and Ryan as we headed for the door.

  “I’m thinking we eat lemon cake on the beach and look at the stars,” I said.

  Grady held the door and watched me as I passed. “I can do you one better.”

  “Doubtful,” I said, narrowing suspicious eyes on him. “How?”

  He led me to his truck and leaned smugly against my d
oor without opening it. “I’ve got about two hundred letters in there that I busted out of evidence this afternoon.”

  Instant tears blurred my eyes. “You have my grandma’s letters?”

  “No,” he said. “You do.” He opened the door for me to climb inside.

  I threw my arms around his neck instead, and I knew our night was only going to get better.

  Recipes from Sun, Sand, and Tea

  Ginger Pear Iced Tea

  A Swan family favorite that’s sure to be yours too!

  Yield: 8 servings

  Total time: 2 hours 30 minutes

  8 cups water

  2 ripe pears, cored and cut into slices or chunks

  1 ginger root, peeled and sliced

  4 dates

  1 cinnamon stick

  Sugar (optional)

  Combine all ingredients in a pot and bring to a boil.

  Reduce the heat, partially cover the pot, and simmer up to 2 hours, until the pears are soft.

  Remove from the heat, cool, and strain out the solids.

  Pour over ice and sweeten with sugar as desired.

  Mango Shrimp Spring Rolls

  Yield: 8 servings

  Total time: 30–40 minutes

  8 spring roll wrappers or rice wrappers

  16 large cooked shrimp, peeled, deveined, and tails removed

  ½ ripe mango, peeled and cut into strips

  Fresh cilantro

  Bean sprouts

  Mint leaves (optional) or chili powder (optional)

  Set up an assembly line with items prepped and ready to go.

  Slice the shrimp into 2 pieces long ways.

  Prepare the rice wrappers by placing, individually, into a bowl or skillet of warm water until moist (3–4 seconds).

  Arrange 2 shrimp (4 slices) on the prepared wrapper. Top with the mango and remaining ingredients to taste.

  Garnish with mint or chili powder (or neither).

  Fold the wrapper’s ends in first, then roll as tightly as possible into a tube or cylinder.

  Tip: Serve with soy or a light peanut sauce for dipping.

  Swan Family Rum Cake

  Everly’s homemade rum cakes are going faster than she can make them, but you don’t have to wait for yours! Try her from-the-box version that’s easy as can be! It’s ready in about an hour and will have your family and friends begging for more!

  Yield: 8 servings

  Total time: 1 hour 15 minutes

  1 (15.25-ounce) box yellow cake mix

  1 (3.5-ounce) box instant vanilla pudding

  4 eggs

  1/2 cup vegetable oil

  1/2 cup water

  1/2 cup spiced rum

  1/2 cup chopped walnuts or pecans (optional)

  For Glaze:

  1 cup sugar

  1/2 cup butter

  1/2 cup rum

  1/2 cup water

  Preheat the oven to 325°F.

  Grease and flour a Bundt pan.

  Prepare the cake as instructed on the box.

  Stir in the rum.

  Place the nuts in the bottom of the pan.

  Pour the mix into the pan.

  Bake 1 hour, until golden brown and pulling away from the pan along the edges.

  Glaze:

  Melt all ingredients in a saucepan over medium heat, and simmer 2 minutes, stirring constantly.

  Pour over the warm cake, still in the pan.

  Cool completely, then turn out on a cake plate, cut, and enjoy!

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you, sweet reader, for joining Everly and the gang on another island adventure. You make my dream possible! I owe you all a debt of gratitude and delicious iced tea! Thank you Anna Michels for your incredible guidance and feedback. You challenge me and make my stories stronger. Beyond that, you allow me to be part of the amazing Sourcebooks team, and that is priceless! Thank you, Jill Marsal, my magnificent agent, advocate and friend. Your support and encouragement are changing my life. Thank you Darlene Lindsey, World’s Best Mother-in-Law and dearest friend. None of this could happen without you. None of it. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for making me believe I can do anything and for instilling a lifelong love of the seaside. And finally, thank you family for putting up with a goofy, pajama-clad, daydreaming author-mom like me. My heart and head are so full of love for you that there simply isn’t room for basic domestic skills and culinary excellence. I’m glad you understand.

  Read on for an excerpt from Live and Let Chai

  Chapter One

  “Welcome to Sun, Sand, and Tea.” I perked up at the precious sound of seashell wind chimes bouncing and tinkling against the front door of my new café. “I’ll be right with you.”

  A pair of ladies in windbreakers and capri pants smoothed their windblown hair and examined the seating options. Sounds of the sea had followed them inside, amplified briefly by the opening door.

  I bopped my head to a Temptations song and tapped the large sweet tea jug behind the counter. Until three months ago, owning and operating an iced tea shop on the shore of my hometown had been nothing more than a childish dream. I’d thought being a grown-up meant working a job I hated while wearing uncomfortable clothes, so I’d toed the line for a while, but my looming thirtieth birthday and a broken heart had changed all that.

  Now I did what I wanted—in comfy clothes for significantly less money, but at least I could wear flip-flops.

  I set a lidless canning jar of Old-Fashioned Sun Tea in front of the man sitting at my counter and beamed. “Let me know if I can fix you anything else, Sam.”

  He frowned at his phone, too engrossed or distracted to answer. Sam Smart was a local real estate agent. He’d arrived in Charm during the years I’d been away from home, and from what I could tell, he was a type-A, all-stress all-day kind of guy—a little sweet tea was probably just what he needed. I nudged the jar closer until his hand swept out to meet it. “Thanks.”

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  He flicked his gaze to mine, then back to his phone. “It’s Paine.” He shook his head and groaned.

  “Ah.” I grabbed a thin stack of napkins and patted Sam’s shoulder on my way to welcome the newcomers. “Good luck with that.”

  Benedict Paine had been a thorn in my side since the day I’d approached our town council about adding a café to the first floor of my new seaside home. Owning a sweet-tea shop was my dream come true, and honestly, I couldn’t afford the house’s mortgage payments without the business income. Despite the home’s fixer-upper condition, the price tag had been astronomical, making the café a must, and Mr. Paine had fought me the entire way, complaining that adding a business to a residential property would drag down the neighborhood. I could only imagine the kind of headache a man like Paine could cause a real estate agent.

  The space that was now my café stretched through the entire south side of the first floor. Walls had been strategically knocked out, opening the kitchen and formal dining area up to a large space for entertaining. The result was a stunning seaside setup, perfect for my shop.

  From the kitchen, a private hallway led to the rest of the first floor and another thousand or so square feet of potential expansion space. A staircase off that hall provided passage to my second-floor living quarters, which were just as big and full of potential. The stairs themselves were amazing, stained a faded red, with delicate carvings along the edges. They were mine alone to enjoy, shut off from the café by a locking door. I could probably thank the home’s history as a boarding house for my substantial second-floor kitchen. The cabinets and fixtures were all older than me, but I couldn’t complain—the café kitchen was what mattered, and it was fantastic.

  Seating at Sun, Sand, and Tea was a hodgepodge of repainted garage sale and thrift shop finds. Twenty seats in total, five at the
counter and fifteen scattered across the wide-planked, whitewashed floor, ranging from padded wicker numbers with low tables to tall bistro sets along the perimeter.

  The ladies had selected a high table near a wall of windows overlooking my deck.

  I refreshed my smile and set a napkin in front of each of them. “Hello. Welcome to Sun, Sand, and Tea.”

  They dragged their attention slowly away from the rolling waves and driftwood-speckled beach beyond the glass, reluctant to part with the amazing view for even a second.

  “Can I get something started for you?”

  The taller woman settled tortoiseshell glasses onto the ridge of her sunburned nose and fixed her attention to the café menu, scripted on an enormous blackboard covering the far wall. “Do you really make twenty flavors of iced tea?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Plus a daily array of desserts and finger foods.” The selection changed without notice, sometimes with the tide, depending on if I ran out of any necessary ingredients.

  “Fascinating. I came in for some good old-fashioned sweet tea, but now you’ve got me wondering about the Country Cranberry Hibiscus. What’s in that?” She leaned her elbows on the tabletop and twined her fingers.

  “Well, there—there’s black tea, hibiscus, and, uh, rose hips, and cranberries.” I stammered over the answer to her question the same way I had to similar inquiries on a near-daily basis since opening my café doors. It seemed a fine line between serving my family’s secret recipes and sharing them ingredient by ingredient.

  The woman glanced out the window again and pressed a palm to her collarbone as a massive gull flapped to a stop on the handrail outside the window. “Dear!”

  “Oh, there’s Lou,” I said.

  “Lou?”

  “I think he came with the house.”

  She lowered her hand, but kept one eye on Lou. “I’ll try the Cranberry Hibiscus,” she said. “What about you, Margo?”

  Her friend pursed her lips. “Make mine Summer Citrus Mint, and I’d like to try your crisp cucumber sandwich.”