“I’ve never yelled at you,” Jason said, and she caught a frown wrinkling his brow as if he wasn’t so sure.
“Maybe not. But I bet you wanted to.” She’d become an expert in identifying his varying expressions of irritability and frustration. He’d definitely wanted to.
“Oh, well, wanting to is an entirely different thing.” Jason chuckled, a sound she never tired of hearing. “No one learns well under negative instruction. One thing’s for sure, Abby Manning. You have done wonders for building up my patience.”
“And maybe reminding you where you started?”
He pushed his hands into his pockets. “Maybe.”
He still wasn’t overly chatty when it came to talking about New York or his brother, so she’d stopped pushing. He’d get there. Eventually. When he was ready.
Abby loved mornings like this when the chill burned off early and the sun beat down in tempting warmth. She’d purposely pushed him out the door ahead of schedule so he wouldn’t make a big deal about the detour she wanted to take.
He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he’d be a taskmaster. The hours had been long and her feet had definitely hurt—she’d even ordered new chefy shoes with extra-padded insoles—but she no longer felt like breaking out in hives when she walked into the kitchen. And she’d stopped dropping eggs and stabbing herself with the knives.
Little things like that made her happy.
She was planning on taking advantage of every free minute she got today, especially since Matt Knight had managed to put another serious dent in the fixes and repairs around the inn. Abby wasn’t entirely convinced of Matt’s willingness to play handyman. She had a suspicion that his hanging around the Flutterby had more to do with Lori. No matter how many hints Abby dropped, Lori still wasn’t picking them up. She really had to work on that girl’s self-esteem.
“Hang on.” She touched Jason’s arm when they crested the hill on Skipper Way. “There’s something I want you to see.”
He looked at his watch.
“For once, can you ignore your schedule?” Abby groaned and pushed his hand down. “You’re so predictable. It’s a beautiful day, and besides, how can I be a sponge for information if you don’t give me a chance to let things soak in? Another day in the kitchen like yesterday and I’m going to boil over. Everything’s going to spill out.”
“You are getting pretty good with those cooking puns,” Jason said. “Fine. What is it you want me to see?”
“One of the things that makes Butterfly Harbor so special.” Even a brief bout of impulsiveness invigorated her. She held out her hand, waited the extra beat of five for him to remove his hands from his pockets to wrap his fingers solidly around hers. “It’s still early, but...”
Abby lifted her chin and felt the morning warmth bathe her face and neck, a sure sign they were in time for the magic awaiting them under the eucalyptus grove. The uneven road had seen better days, but its cracks and potholes, while making driving a hazard for even the sturdiest vehicles, meant fewer visitors. Due to budget cuts and reassessments, the underbrush was overgrown, and she stopped long enough to expose the rickety picket sign at the beginning of the footpath.
“Just a little ways down here.” She glanced at Jason and smiled as the tension in his hand and arm melted away. He gazed up at the thick trees, that sense of peace she always felt washing over her evident on his handsome face. “It’s early in the year. The real magic starts in late October through the winter, but I’m betting there are some eager arrivals hanging around. Shh.” She pressed a finger against her lips, tempted to tap another against the brow he arched her way as they stepped under the thick canopy of the natural butterfly habitat.
The smell of damp earth and thick leaves drifted into her lungs. Their feet rustled in nature’s debris as she pushed vines and branches out of their path. She couldn’t wait for the town council to finally approve the mayor’s plans for the sanctuary. This place needed tending if they were going to continue to have an impact when it came to keeping the monarch butterfly off the endangered-species list. The thought of these creatures becoming extinct hurt her soul. What would the world become without butterflies?
“This used to be my secret hideaway,” she whispered, grabbing hold of his arm to hug it against her as they picked their way through another overgrown section. “Here. Sit down.”
She released his hand and brushed her own over the rough seat of the weathered wooden bench.
“What are we looking for?”
“Wait. You’ll see.” He didn’t strike her as someone who stopped to smell the roses or, in this case, to watch the butterflies. “There are some things you need to see to believe.” She gazed up into the thicket of eucalyptus as thin beams of sun shimmered into the grove.
“I don’t see anything.”
“It’s not a scheduled TV show,” Abby said. “There. Do you hear that?” A rustle, ever so slight, for a fraction of a second. And again. “They’re waking up.”
Jason fidgeted, as if he couldn’t get comfortable. Abby slipped her hand to her side and covered his, squeezed his fingers in a silent order to relax.
“Give it a few minutes, Jason. There’s nothing so urgent that you can’t enjoy something not a lot of people experience.”
That rustle and fluttering sound increased, as did the spread of the sun’s rays as morning fully blossomed. As light streamed through the openings, the leaves began to shift, to move.
And come to life.
“Are those...?” The disbelief in Jason’s voice brought a smile to Abby’s lips. “There’s so many of them.”
A flicker of wings, black obscured by the awakening orange, dainty lives fluttering into the new day as they launched, one by one, two by two, arcing in and around the other clusters as if giving their fellow butterflies a wake-up call.
“I used to come here all the time growing up.” Abby leaned her head on his shoulder. “Gran told me it was magic, watching the butterflies wake up. Sitting here makes me realize how powerful nature is and how insignificant all those things we stress about are.” Like money and bills and looming property taxes. Broken showerheads and blaring smoke alarms didn’t belong here. Not for these few minutes in her grove. With Jason. “How can anyone worry about anything when they’re surrounded by...this.”
She waved her hand in front of her as if in slow motion and felt her heart expand as a monarch landed on her finger. “That’s good luck, you know.” She kept her arm and hand steady, watching in amazement as the thread-thin legs twitched and grasped, lacy, tissue-like wings pulsing against the infinitesimal life force coursing inside it.
Jason lifted his hand toward the insect with more hesitation, or perhaps it was reverence, that she’d seen him use. Having had enough human interaction, the butterfly pushed away and disappeared into the thicket.
The butterflies continued to swirl around them, darting close to them before they flew away. A few dropped silently to the forest floor like drifting pieces of discarded paper.
“Are they dead?” Jason asked, pushing off the bench. Crouching, he held out a hand.
“Maybe. Then again.” She joined him, cupping her hand under his to scoop the butterfly into his warm palm. “Maybe they’re not awake yet. It’s the warmth of the sun that does it. And if that doesn’t work—” She arced her hand and covered his, leaving enough room to incubate the insect.
The smile that spread across his mouth entranced her and lit up his eyes as if he too were being awakened. “I can feel it. It tickles.”
Abby pulled her hand away and the butterfly righted itself, as if shaking off the shock of its gentle fall. “See? Magic,” she whispered. “There’s not a more perfect place on earth as far as I’m concerned.” She watched as the butterfly took flight. “There used to be thousands upon thousands of them clustered on the leaves. Draping over
one another like a protective curtain after their migration from Mexico. The numbers have dwindled significantly, but as long as there’s one, there’s hope.”
Jason rose, brushing his palms against his thighs before holding out a hand for hers. She took it, feeling, for a moment, at least, like a princess in a fairy-tale garden that only the two of them knew about. “I think I am beginning to understand,” Jason said as he drew her hand close to his heart. “About how special this...place is. Thank you, Abby.”
“Anytime.” She blinked faster than the butterflies around her fluttered their wings. “But let’s keep it our secret, okay? At least while we can.”
“Agreed.” He stroked a finger down the side of her face as a frown marred his forehead. She swallowed, losing herself in the ocean depths of his eyes as quickly as a ray of sunlight could bring a butterfly out of slumber. “Our secret.”
* * *
“I HAD A TEACHER at cooking school who suggested I should meditate,” Jason told Abby as they rounded the corner and stepped through a large trellised gate. Overhead a sign with uneven lettering said Duskywing Farm. The dirt parking lot had more cars in it than he would have expected, which explained the sounds of laughter, conversation and...was that flute music coming from inside the property? “I need to tell him about your butterfly grove.” Until today, he’d wondered who had time to meditate. With the calming effect Abby’s secret had on him, however, he added yet another item to his I’ve been wrong list.
“I only hope the plans for the new sanctuary won’t change it too much,” Abby said. “It doesn’t need more than basic upkeep.”
“I’ve heard plenty of people talk about the sanctuary, but everything still sounds up in the air.” As opposed to the big-city politics he was familiar with, where everything seemed a done deal well before it should have been.
“Mayor Gil’s been tweaking his original plans and the town council isn’t happy about it.” They headed across the thick lawn, following the staked signs toward the market. “Originally the project wasn’t supposed to include any chain stores or big businesses, but it seems Gil’s changed his mind and started making deals for new tenants and owners.”
“Big business would strangle this place,” Jason said. He’d seen it before. The idea that the charm of this town would be swallowed up by capitalism and commerce felt like a crime against society.
“Maybe his ideas have stopped the exodus of folks for now. People want to see how things play out before they commit to selling up, but what price will we pay in the long run? We want places here no one else has. That should be the attraction, not the same old restaurants, the same old stores people have in their own towns. That’s what makes the Flutterby so special. There’s no place on earth like it.
“The sanctuary and research facility fit perfectly. The rest?” Abby shrugged. “Who knows what we’re in for. Morning, Calliope!” Abby stood up on her toes and waved to someone in the throng of tents and stalls.
“Abby, hi!”
The visual punch that was Calliope Jones spun in a rainbow of colors, from her tie-dyed maxi dress to the bright red of her hair. She favored intricate beaded braids worthy of a production of his favorite medieval fantasy novel.
“She’s...unique,” Jason said.
“You have no idea,” Abby sang under her breath, holding out her hands as a barefoot Calliope greeted them.
“Last time I saw you here you were buying up all the eggplants for Matilda.” Calliope wrapped her arms around Abby in a big hug before turning a blinding smile and excessively twinkling amethyst eyes on him. “Jason Corwin. Welcome.” Calliope grabbed hold of his hand, the tangle of bracelets and yarn around her wrists jangling and shining in the sun like a mutant form of butterfly. “I’m Calliope Jones. You’ve been making a name for yourself around the harbor.”
“Have I?” Jason’s stomach dipped and that tension he thought he’d left in Abby’s grove returned.
“Taking on this one in the kitchen? You’re a man who appreciates a challenge. I like that.”
“She’s been a very eager student.” The need to defend Abby sprang to life on its own.
“Ah, that would be Abby Manning working her magic, I take it? Tell me something.” Calliope stepped closer and angled her head in one direction, then the other. Jason smelled jasmine and honey with a touch of lavender. “Has she shown you the secret grove yet?”
“She has,” he answered. “But she said your garden and market are even more spectacular. I’ve been trying to convince Abby to start a garden in her front yard.”
“That’s a spectacular idea.” Calliope looped her arm through his before doing the same to Abby’s. “I’ve always told her I thought she had a green thumb. She’s never had the proper motivation to put it to use. Right, Abs?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Abby shot Jason a wide-eyed panicked look behind Calliope while he marveled at the fact there was someone even more bubbly than Abby. But he wouldn’t call Abby eccentric. Not when the dictionary definition was currently leading the way around the back of her fairy cottage of a house.
“Tell me something, Jason,” Calliope said.
“If I can.”
Calliope tightened her hold on him. “That competition you were a part of. The one where you tried to pass off your assistant’s dish in place of your own. I’d like to know—”
“Calliope!” Abby turned furious eyes on her. “That’s none of your business.”
Jason couldn’t speak. Not because of Calliope’s question. It was refreshing someone came right out and asked him about it. But no one had ever defended him so vehemently before, especially not to one of their friends.
“I haven’t asked my question yet,” Calliope said as if she didn’t get the message. She turned her full attention to Jason, who was trying not to kick himself for thinking his past would stay in the past.
“Go ahead,” he said in what he hoped wasn’t too hostile a voice. “Ask.”
“What was it you fixed that day? Because honestly, I thought it looked far superior to that slop your assistant made.”
Jason blinked. “Ah.” What was it with the women in this town short-circuiting his brain? “Roasted lamb with a rosemary butter and peppercorn sauce. But it was the popovers that had me worried.”
“That was your mistake.” Calliope smiled warmly at him. “You didn’t have faith in yourself. Lost your way, didn’t you? Before that show and since.”
Jason had to stop walking so he could process what Calliope was saying. “I wanted to win.”
“Pah!” Calliope got them moving again, the beads in her hair clacking against each other like dull wind chimes. “Didn’t have anything to do with winning and everything to do with losing who you are. You, sir, are a master at what you do. An artist. You’ve lost your light. Bet this one will help you find it again, right, Abby?”
“Sometimes you give me a headache, Calliope.” Abby looked as shell-shocked as he felt. “He wanted a tour of your garden, not a psych evaluation.”
“Oh, the eval is a bonus,” Calliope said. “But the garden.” She pushed open a small wooden gate and led them inside. “That’s my pride and joy.”
If Calliope Jones was a surprise, her garden could qualify as another wonder of the world. “This is—” His breath left him as he pulled free of his guide and wandered down the narrow path. He moved past billowing bushels of kale and green leaf lettuces and went into the fragrant, elegant-patterned herb garden that not so long ago he would have killed to have had at his disposal.
The extensive acreage behind her house was completely encompassed by every color of the rainbow, and as he took an inventory, provided every possible offering a yard in this part of the state could offer. It was all he could do not to drop to his knees and dive his hands into the rich soil. “Are those beehives?” He couldn’t decide which direction to head
in first, but found himself entranced by the seven, no, ten white hives buzzing with activity. “You make your own honey?”
“Of course. Allergies.” Calliope grinned and stepped out of the way of a chicken pecking toward its elaborate cage. “Family’s been cursed by them. Mom and Stella especially. And the bees have done wonders for my vegetables. So does this pass your inspection?”
“Pass?” Jason bent down and snapped a plump green bean off the climbing stalk of a trellis nearby and broke it apart, popping one half in his mouth. “Calliope, I’ve been to some of the finest gardens in France and every market in New York and Chicago, and I can tell you, I’d use your garden in a heartbeat over theirs. This is incredible.”
“Calliope’s always had a way with nature,” Abby agreed as she snagged a handful of mini tomatoes and devoured them like candy. “Milk thistle, especially.”
“For the butterflies,” Calliope explained as she wandered in the other direction, lifting her hands out in front of her.
“She’s like their dealer.” Abby laughed.
Jason stared as a flock of butterflies swirled around Calliope, topping her hair and dancing across her arms and fingers as if they were coming home.
“Calliope, Mama needs her tea and we’re out of mint.”
“You know where it is, poppet,” Calliope called to the young girl who raced around the corner into the garden, her paisley dress whipping around her knees.
Jason looked from Calliope to the girl, who, as far as he could tell, was a carbon copy of Abby’s friend. Bright red hair, open, freckle-faced smile and the same radiant, unaffected glow.
“Hi, Abby!”
Recipe for Redemption Page 11
