As Suzanne turned to say her goodbyes to Pam, a soft touch lighted on my arm.
“Don’t run off yet!” Liv beamed at me, her brown curls bouncing. She held an empty platter, a single, eloquent crumb the only evidence of her tarts. “I’ve been dying for a real peek at the progress.”
I laughed, a rush of affection for this whirlwind of positive energy rolling through me. “You have to come see it! The floors are sanded in places, and I even painted some of the porch railing. I’ll give you the grand tour.”
“Fabulous! I’d love to!”
“How about coffee tomorrow?” I offered. “My treat this time, to thank you for the lavender-scone intervention.”
Liv’s eyes twinkled. “It’s a date! But I’m bringing the pastries. It’s the least I can do for the woman who will probably single-handedly boost my lavender supplier’s quarterly profits. I can swing by about one, if that works?”
Her easy, supportive friendship felt like another piece of my new life clicking into place. I wasn’t just building a house. I was building a home, a business, while surrounded by a community of strong, smart women who had my back. And the thought made me feel more capable than I had in years.
The next afternoon,the rich scent of coffee and fresh pastries battled with the aroma of sawdust and primer in my kitchen. Liv sat at my cluttered table, a pink bakery box open between us, her expression one of professional admiration.
“Iris, you are killing it,” she said before taking a sip from theWorld’s Best Proprietressmug I’d bought myself as a joke. “This place has incredible bones. I can totally see your vision now.”
My lips rose. We’d just finished the tour, and showing off the progress to someone who understood the grit and grind of building a business from scratch was incredibly validating. “It’s getting there. I love how the house is showing itself piece by piece since Gus started working.”
“It’s going to be gorgeous.” Liv took a bite of a flaky croissant she’d brought. “Listen, just a heads-up, the health inspector is a real stickler for hand-washing sink placement. He made me move mine twice. Make sure Gus has it exactly to code, or he’ll make you tear it out.”
“Oh, wow. Thank you for the warning.” I made a mental note to double-check with Gus. This was the kind of practical advice I needed. “See? This is why I need you in my life. You’re my construction fairy godmother.”
Liv laughed, a rich, throaty sound. “Us small-business gals have to stick together. Besides, I know a local woman who does custom linens for half the price of the big suppliers. She’s a genius. Here’s her number.” She slid a business card across the table.
I picked it up, and a wave of gratitude filled me to bursting. “Liv, thank you. I don’t even know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Just make sure you save me a room for a girls’ weekend when you open.” Her gaze drifted to the window, which looked out over my jungle of a yard and, beyond the hibiscus hedge, to Austin’s neat,orderly conch house. “So how’s the grumpy neighbor situation? Has he called the noise police on you yet?” I’d explained the situation in rather broad strokes when I sought her out for the lavender-lemon scone intervention.
A blush crept up my neck, and I busied myself by pouring more coffee. “Actually, things are better. After a lot of apology cookies and one very precarious ladder incident… we kind of figured things out. And now we’re a couple. I still can hardly believe it.”
“A couple? With the hibiscus guy?” Liv’s face broke into a wide, delighted grin. “Get out! Who is he?”
“Austin Coleridge.” It felt good to say it out loud to a friend who wasn’t a Coleridge. A sense of relief, of normalcy, washed over me.
“Austin? Really?” Liv’s face broke into a wide, delighted grin. “Well, good for you! I’ve met him a few times when he’s come into the bakery. He doesn’t say much, but you can just tell he’s a solid guy. He has that quiet, dependable vibe, and he’s Brenna’s brother to boot. A great reputation on the island, too.” She paused, her expression turning thoughtful. “Thank God the Coleridge-Markham feud is officially over.”
“A feud?” My eyes widened. “Brenna mentioned something about that once. Oh my gosh, was it like the Hatfields and McCoys, but in flip-flops?”
Liv roared with laughter. “Not quite that dramatic, but close enough for Dove Key. Just old family stuff. But that chapter is closed. Brenna and Hunter’s romance basically forced a truce. You don’t need to worry about being involved with a Coleridge.”
Her easy acceptance, her positive view of Austin, was the final piece of the puzzle. It solidified the feeling that I was on the right path, both with the house and with him.
I stared out the window at the vibrant red of thehibiscus hedge, the one I had nearly drowned, the one he and I had worked on together. Not that long ago, I’d been an outsider, an amateur wrestling with a haunted house. Now, sitting here with a new friend and Austin’s strength just a stone’s throw away, I experienced something else entirely. A deep and wonderfully solid hope.
Chapter Twenty
IRIS
Island Marketon a weekday afternoon was a different beast than on the weekend. The aisles were less crowded, the energy more focused. Locals on their way home from work were picking up something for dinner. A few sunburnt tourists wandered aimlessly, looking for aloe vera and souvenir keychains.
My gaze landed on a display of dubious-quality toolkits at the end of the aisle. Screwdrivers, pliers, all neatly arranged in molded plastic cases. It sparked an idea, a welcome distraction from my Austin-centric thoughts. With Gus and his crew making such progress, I was spending less time putting out fires and more time thinking about the finer details of the B&B. I needed a better system for keeping track of it all. A proper notebook was what I needed. A dedicated place to record my observations and chart the course for Heron House’s grand resurrection.
I marched toward the school and office supply aisle tucked away at the back of the store. A proprietressensconced in a major renovation should, at the very least, have a pretty notebook to document her journey. The aisle was a surprisingly cheerful oasis of color and order in the sprawling market. I was pleased upon spotting my target, a surprisingly wide array of notebooks. I studied them, debating the merits of college-ruled versus wide-ruled, modern gray marble versus a more optimistic floral pattern.
A man stood further down the aisle. He wore the dark-blue uniform of the Dove Key Fire Department, the crisp white lettering stark against the fabric. He was tall, with a muscular, capable build, and was intently studying a display of brightly colored index cards. As he turned slightly to reach for a package, I caught a glimpse of his profile, the strong line of his jaw. He must have sensed me watching because he glanced over, his gaze meeting mine for a brief, fleeting moment. He gave a short nod of acknowledgment, which I returned before turning my attention to the notebooks. His bright green eyes immediately reminded me of Brenna. They were the same shade, though his were more guarded.
An employee with her cart bustled down the aisle, her sensible shoes squeaking on the tile. She had a sour expression with frown lines embedded around her mouth. She stopped cold when her gaze landed on the man in the uniform, and her lips thinned further.
