The Abalone Shell
Sea Glass Cove - Book One
Suzie O’Connell
Copyright © 2017 by Suzie O'Connell
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
In loving memory of Jenny Ferguson.
Happy 101st birthday, Grandma.
Contents
Map of Sea Glass Cove
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Sneak Peek of “The Driftwood Promise”
Also by Suzie O’Connell
About the Author
One
If divorcing her husband was the best decision she’d made in the last year, spending the summer at her family’s clifftop cottage in Sea Glass Cove was the second best. From her vantage point on the back deck, Hope had a spectacular view of the cove, the mile-long beach, and the town, and the islands and sea stacks that sheltered it all from the Pacific Ocean. Waves pounded the rocky bluffs in a ceaseless rhythm that filled the thick coastal air with salt spray, and her lips curved in a slow smile.
The cottage was one of eleven houses perched on the rocky point that marked the northern boundary of Sea Glass Cove. Half-hidden by the native, wind-stunted cedars and firs that dotted the point, it was sided like the rest of the houses on North Point with weather-grayed cedar shakes that further helped it disappear into the vegetation. With the houses spaced far apart, it was always quiet and private up here, and Hope was looking forward to using that peace to find a new routine for her life. She loved her home in Montana, but Dan’s presence lingered everywhere, and so far, she hadn’t been able to focus on the future.
She turned her back on the cove and ocean and took in the familiar angles of the home her grandfather had built. There were so many cherished memories here, unblemished by the shadow of her marriage, and among them were all the pieces she needed to start the healing process. In August, when it was time to go home, she’d be able to do it with a clear head.
“Well?” she asked, glancing down at her seven-year-old daughter. “What do you think?”
Daphne wrinkled her nose, but she was grinning. “It’s… wow. It’s beautiful. And just look at the waves crashing!”
Hope smoothed her hand over the girl’s hair and pulled her in close for a one-armed hug.
“We’re going to have lots of fun here this summer, huh?” Daphne asked.
“Yes, we are. Just like Uncle Christian and Gideon and I did. We used to get into so much trouble!” She tugged on the girl’s hand and led her to the French doors at the back of the house that opened into the dining room. “Let’s open some windows, and then we’ll head into town and go grocery shopping and see what else we can find.”
“Aren’t we going to bring our stuff in first?”
Hope laughed softly and shook her head. She rummaged through her purse until she found the tiny abalone shell keychain with the keys to the cottage.
The cottage was furnished with a haphazard collection of furniture her family had brought out over the years, and not one piece was newer than twenty years. Somehow, the randomness of it suited the place as much as the nautical knickknacks scattered everywhere. Except for the den, which jutted out the back, the cottage was a simple rectangle. The dining room, kitchen, and bathroom occupied the southern side, and the den, stairs, and living room took up the north. It was on the small side, but open and inviting with its white walls, scarred cedar floors, and exposed, dark-stained beams. A big stone hearth stood proud in the middle of the northern wall in the living room, and Hope almost sighed with contentment as memories of rainy nights spent in front of a crackling fire paraded through her mind.
The air inside the cottage was musty and stale, but after she pushed the thick drapes back from the numerous large windows, light streamed inside and the place felt open and airy even if it would be a few hours before it smelled like it.
Daphne followed her inside, wrinkling her nose again.
“Yeah, I know it stinks in here,” Hope said, “but a little fresh air will clear it right out. Why don’t you open those windows over there while I get these?”
Within five minutes, they had every window in the living area open, and a fresh sea breeze wafted through them, chasing out the dank air. Hope stepped into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, praying her brother hadn’t left any food in it to rot when he’d been here earlier in the year. There was nothing in it but a box of baking soda. Good.
They headed upstairs to open the windows up there, too. The upper floor covered only two-thirds of the main floor and was comprised of two small bedrooms and a sitting room with more picture windows looking out over the cove and the ocean beyond. Hope folded her arms on one of the window sills while her daughter investigated her room.
After a few moments, she pushed off the sill and headed back downstairs. She located the old notepad in its home beside the refrigerator and took it to the table. Digging a pen out of her purse, she made a list of things she needed to pick up in town. Once she was finished, she checked it twice, tapping her pen against her chin. She was forgetting something. Lifting her eyes from the notepad, her gaze drifted again to the windows. And then she remembered. She added the items to the list, beaming. Daphne was going to love that.
“All right, Daph, let’s go!” she called up the stairs.
A clatter of rapid footfalls marked her daughter’s descent. Hope shook her head, amused. For being such a small, light nymph, her little girl could make enough noise to make the breakers crashing against the rocky cliffs jealous.
Daphne joined her at the table, folding her small arms around her mother and resting her chin on Hope’s shoulder while she peered at the list. She pointed to a word.
“What’s that say?”
“Sound it out.”
“Cand…less? Oh, candles!” She frowned. “What do we need candles for?”
“Other than for power outages—which happen a lot here….” Hope craned her head around and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “You’ll just have to wait until tonight to see.”
“Can we get some clam chowder for lunch, Mom?”
“You betcha.” Hope rose to her feet, tucked her shopping list in her purse, and offered her daughter a mischievous wink. “Race you out to the car!”
With squeals of laughter trailing after them, they sped out the French doors, across the deck and around to the driveway, which was barely long enough for her SUV to be safely off the narrow road that connected the houses on North Point. Daphne beat her to the car, and Hope slid in behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition, laughing breathlessly.
“I love you, baby girl,” she said.
“I love you, too, Mom.”
Just after she turned right from North Point Loop onto the coastal highway, a building caught Hope’s eye. It had a great view of the cove. The northern half, adorably called the Salty Dog Ch
owder House, promised exactly what she and her daughter were on the hunt for. The other half housed a shop called The Sea Glass Gallery, and a quick glance in the windows showed a lot of sea glass art—jewelry, wind chimes, and whatnot—and the usual touristy fair of kites, sand castle buckets, and nautical souvenirs. Like most of the buildings in Sea Glass Cove, the eatery and gallery were sided with cedar shakes. The trim around the doors and big picture windows sported a fresh coat of navy blue stain.
The chowder house was busy and she spied several people wandering through the gallery. Surprising for the middle of the week before the official start of tourist season and a little past the lunch rush. Food must be good.
There was no parking, but just as she was about to keep driving, a couple walked out of the restaurant and got into a car. She waited for them to pull out and snuck into their spot just as another car appeared around the bend in the highway.
The waitress, a beautiful woman a few years younger than Hope with sun-streaked medium brown hair and eyes the color of blue-green sea glass, led them to the only empty table in the place. Like her family’s cottage, the Salty Dog had windows everywhere, and on a clear day like today with the sun far enough west to stream through them, the place was dazzling. Rainbows danced on the walls, cast by the sea glass and crystal prisms decorating the windows, and Daphne was unsurprisingly enthralled.
“Wow,” the little girl breathed. “So beautiful.”
Hope scanned the room but didn’t expect to see any familiar faces. She hadn’t ever spent enough time here to get to know anyone but a few of their closest neighbors, and several of them had sold their cottages and left Sea Glass Cove since she’d last been here. As she perused the faces, her gaze snagged on a man sitting at the counter near the door between the Salty Dog and the Sea Glass Gallery. At first, she thought she’d noticed him because their waitress had stopped to talk to him, but when her eyes remained defiantly on him after the waitress stepped away, she knew she would’ve noticed him regardless. She guessed he was about her age, and he was undeniably good looking with a sturdy, toned build, medium brown hair streaked by the sun and salty air, and that might be what had first captured her attention, but that wasn’t what held it. There was an indefinable something about him, a sadness that haunted those sea-green eyes that tugged at her heart. The kind that came from a deep hurt dulled but not erased by time.
“Uh, Mom, you want clam chowder, too, right?”
Hope jerked her attention back to her daughter only to realize their waitress had returned to take their order. She hadn’t even opened her menu yet. “I’m sorry. I was distracted by the, uh, wind chimes in the shop over there. They’re gorgeous.”
The waitress lifted a brow, and Hope’s cheeks warmed. She was busted.
“His name is Owen,” the waitress said. “If you want to know about the wind chimes, he’s your man.”
“He made them?”
“Yes, ma’am. Would you like me to call him over?”
“No, I don’t want to interrupt his lunch. I can wait until we’ve all eaten. So, um, yes, I’d love a bowl of clam chowder.”
“Would you like that in a sourdough bowl?”
“Oh, yes. That would be wonderful.”
The waitress sauntered away, and Hope let out a long, contented sigh. Embarrassing though that might have been, she wasn’t going to chide herself for either staring or getting caught. She was single, after all, and it was perfectly acceptable for her to appreciate a handsome man, right? Besides, it felt good to acknowledge that side of her again. It had been a long time since her baser instincts had been so unfettered by the stress of making a living and trying to cobble her marriage together even as it poisoned her.
Relaxing back in her chair, she indulged in a guilt-free, honest smile. It was good to be back in Sea Glass Cove. She snuck another glance at the man. It was even better to find a piece of herself she’d lost somewhere in her fifteen years of marriage. Maybe she’d see about going on a date or two while she was here.
Two
“Hey, big brother.”
Owen eyed his sister with his spoon hovering millimeters from his mouth. She leaned beside him with her hip against the counter and a Cheshire cat gleam in her eyes. He sucked the spoonful of chowder into his mouth and savored it for a moment before he addressed her. “Is there a reason why you’re interrupting my lunch again? I need to get back to work, Erin, and I’d really like to finish my chowder before I do.”
“Whine, whine, whine. See that pretty woman at the table over by the window?”
“Which window?”
“Like you need to ask.”
He didn’t. He’d spotted the woman and her beautiful little girl when they’d walked through the door and again after he’d sensed her watching him. Svelte build and on the taller side, light brown hair pulled back in a short, playful ponytail, and blue eyes. And her daughter was the spitting image of her. “What about her?”
“She seems pretty interested in your wind chimes.”
The way she said it with that devious smile hovering at the corners of her mouth told him the wind chimes were only part of the woman’s interest, and not a large part.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Come on, Owen. It’s been three years.”
“So?”
“So… Mom’s getting antsy again.”
“So… it’s your turn to get married and give her a grandbaby.”
“I’m not the marrying type.”
Owen snorted. “How would you know? You’ve never given a man a chance to prove you might be.”
“I have yet to date a man worthy of a chance.”
Rolling his eyes, he ate another spoonful of his clam chowder. They’d had this conversation more times than he could recall, and for the last three years, it always ended the same, with him angry and bitter and heartbroken all over again, so he headed it off before his pleasant day took a turn south. He waved his hand in dismissal. “If that’s all you wanted, buzz off.”
“Just thought you might like to know you have an admirer. That’s all.”
She sauntered off to check on her tables, and Owen didn’t watch her go. Fearing another interruption—this time from his mother, because Erin was sure to mention the woman and her daughter as soon as she returned to the kitchen—he ate the rest of his lunch in a rush and carried his dishes into the kitchen.
“Amazing as always, Mom,” he said. “Thanks.”
“You’re done already?”
“I’ve got customers.” A half-truth. He’d already checked with the couple browsing his gallery and they were waiting for the rest of their party to arrive for lunch. He leaned down, kissed her cheek, and scooted out of the kitchen just as his sister entered, suspecting closing time wasn’t going to come fast enough today.
A few of the diners came into his gallery after finishing their lunches, and most bought something. When one woman—a young mother of twin girls who reminded him strongly of his wife—begged her husband for his most expensive wind chimes and two kites, he threw in a sea-glass pendant for each of their girls.
“You don’t have to do that!” the mother said. “Please. Let us pay for the necklaces.”
“Their smiles are payment enough,” he replied. “Please. My gift.”
“If you’re sure….”
“I am.”
“What do you say, girls?”
“Thank you!” they chorused.
“You’re most welcome.”
Sensing someone watching him, he turned toward the Salty Dog and found the woman his sister had mentioned standing in the doorway between the two businesses with a curious expression. When their gazes met, her cheeks pinkened prettily. What had his sister said to the poor woman?
He ambled over to her, extending his hand in greeting. “I’m Owen.”
“Hope,” she said, shaking his hand. “And this is my daughter, Daphne.”
“Daphne St. Cloud,” the little girl said. “Well, my name is a
ctually Daphne Andrews, but since Mom and Dad aren’t married anymore, I want to go by St. Cloud ‘cause I like it better. It’s special.”
Owen’s brows rose. Hope’s embarrassment darkened into mortification.
A divorcée, huh? Curiosity sparked.
“It suits you,” he replied to the girl.
“I’m sorry,” Hope said in a rush. “She’s not usually so chatty around strangers. In fact, she’s usually so shy she hides behind me.”
He studied her with narrowed eyes as she recovered from her shock. Up close, she was even prettier, and she glanced over him with an intriguing appreciation that made his pulse quicken.
It had been a while since he’d felt that.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Erin said you might be interested in some wind chimes.”
“Erin? Oh, our waitress. Right. Yes, I was admiring your wind chimes. Did you find all the glass on the beach here?”
“Yes, ma’am, I did.”
“There’s glass on the beach?” Daphne asked, concerned.
“Lots of it,” Owen replied. He snatched another necklace—this one braided twine woven with a half a dozen varied pieces of aqua and cobalt glass and as many bits of iridescent abalone shell—and squatted in front of the girl. “The ocean tumbles it against the sand and rocks and takes off the sharp edges. See how smooth and soft it is now?”
“Oh….”
He glanced at her mother. “May I?”
Her brows dipped briefly, and she opened her mouth to object.
“My gift,” he interrupted. “It isn’t the first one I’ve given away today, and it probably won’t be the last.”
The Abalone Shell Page 1
