Recipe For Redemption. Anna Stewart J.
here.”
Abby couldn’t help it. She smiled, then hid the expression behind her wineglass as she sipped. “It won’t be secret much longer. The new butterfly sanctuary they’re hoping to build should put us on the map. So to speak,” she added. Albeit probably too late for the Flutterby to benefit.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
She looked at him, trying to find a diplomatic way to say no, but she couldn’t, especially not when she recognized the same tinge of tension and sadness she’d seen in her own reflection recently. Abby scooted over on the bench. “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring another glass.”
“It’s fine, I’m not a big pinot fan.” Jay glanced at the brass plaque on the back of the bench before he sat—a little closer than she’d expected, a lot farther than she wanted—and shoved his hands into the lightweight navy parka he wore. “Bob Manning. Your father?”
“Grandfather.” Abby took in Jay’s acclimated attire of jeans and flannel shirt. He struck her as a man who fit in wherever he went, especially with that assessing gaze of his. She’d never seen a color like his, with shimmering silver depths beneath the ocean blue. She didn’t need to note his strong jaw to be reminded of his stubbornness or the permanent crease in his brow to make her wonder if he ever smiled. She hadn’t really noticed before—probably hadn’t been paying attention. He seemed incredibly sad. Now she wished she hadn’t been quite so snippy with him.
“Grandpa Bob died five years ago,” she said. “Right here, as a matter of fact. Came out to watch the sunset one night and went peacefully. Broke Gran’s heart, but I can’t think of a better way for him to go. The sunsets here are worth waiting for.”
“It seems a nice place to grow up. What about your parents?” Perhaps if this friendlier, inquisitive Jay had appeared in her kitchen this morning, she might not have spent part of the day dreaming of putting itching powder in his bed.
“They died in a car accident when I was four.” She pulled out a pair of gold rings and a diamond solitaire on a thin gold chain and held them between her fingers. “I’ve seen pictures of them, but I can’t be sure if I remember them. Gran gave me these when I turned thirteen.” She kissed the rings and tucked them away again. “Makes me feel as if I have a couple of guardian angels. Friendly ghosts, you know? It’s why I never take it off.” And wow, wasn’t she chatty with someone she wasn’t sure she liked. “Butterfly Harbor’s been my home ever since.”
He looked as if he wanted to apologize or offer sympathy, but couldn’t quite find the words. When he did respond, he said, “I’ve never really understood the appeal of small towns. I’ve always lived in big cities. Even spent some time in London and Paris. They’re all busy. Loud. I didn’t realize silence could be just as loud.”
“So Gran was right?” Abby said, grateful for the distraction he provided. She didn’t want to dwell on the red marks in the inn’s accounting ledger. “New York?”
“Born and raised, then I traveled some.” He leaned back and stretched his long legs out, crossed his ankles and sank into the late afternoon. “I like the peacefulness. Not sure for how long, though.”
“I know a couple of kids who could shatter that silence in a second. Say the word. My godson and his best friend have been known to violate the town’s noise ordinance.”
Jay’s brow furrowed. “Noise ordinance?”
“I’m joking.” And not doing a very good job of it, for a change. Maybe she needed a nap. “We’d have to have a lot more residents to need an ordinance, and I don’t think Luke would want that on his shoulders, anyway.”
“Would that be Sheriff Saxon? I met him while I was walking around town earlier. Nice guy. Nice dog, too.”
Cash. How many times had she thought about ways to snatch that lovable mutt from the sheriff? “He’d better be, since he’s marrying my best friend.” As far as Abby was concerned, Luke was one of the most decent men she’d ever known, even though he’d be the first to shy from the compliment. “We’re hoping he’ll be done using the cane before the wedding.”
The wedding. Abby closed her eyes, bit her lip. Darn it. Holly’s early August wedding was scheduled to take place at the Flutterby. Add that to the list of things to worry about.
“What’s that look for?” Jay shifted to face her more fully, something Abby appreciated as she went back to focusing on him. She’d never found beards particularly attractive, but on Jay it worked. Gave him a bit of a sophisticated air she’d bet would only be accentuated should he drop into a crisp white shirt and dark suit— “Abby?”
“What? Oh, sorry.” Yeah, her thoughts really were getting away from her. “Just checking things off on my to-do list. That reminds me. I brought back more vouchers for the diner if you need them.”
“Yeah. About that.” He flinched as if she’d struck him. “I drove up to Monterey for lunch. Diners aren’t really my thing.”
There was that tone again, that authoritative I’m better than you are tone that proved she hadn’t imagined his arrogance this morning. “Not your thing?”
“You know.” He shifted his gaze out over the water. “Pedestrian. Boring.”
Pedestrian? There wasn’t anything pedestrian about Holly’s diner. Or her food. “In other words, diners are beneath you and your New York sensibilities.” So what had all the small-towns-are-charming comments been? Polite chitchat? Disarming her before he plunged the dagger in her heart?
“I didn’t say that.” But as he spoke, she heard the doubt in his voice.
“There’s a reason why diners last through the ages. They’re steadfast, sturdy.” Holly’s diner could be considered the spine of a shriveling town. A town she’d do anything to make successful again.
“Diners are also predictable and ordinary.”
She shifted on the bench. “They’re comfortable and homey.”
“They’re cheap and greasy.”
“Wow.” Abby shook her head, unable to fathom his disconnect from reality. “I knew it. You’re a snob. And fair warning, I wouldn’t throw any of those adjectives around when Holly’s nearby. She’s likely to smack you with her grandmother’s rolling pin.” And if Holly didn’t, Abby might. Who did this guy think he was, coming into town and passing judgment on everything she loved? Everything she’d fight until her last breath to protect?
“I’m not a snob.”
Given the offense in his voice, you’d have thought she called him a serial killer. “Tilt your nose down once in a while, Mr. Corwin. Otherwise you can’t see where you’re going. Or where you are.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Well, you did. Maybe you weren’t listening earlier, but this is my home. It’s the only place on earth where I belong. The people, the businesses, the cracks in the pavement I used to ride my tricycle over. You don’t get to come here to hide and judge anything you’re not willing to experience for yourself.”
“I don’t need to experience something to know it isn’t for me. And who says I’m hiding?”
“I run an inn, remember? I know hiding. And boy, Gran was right. You are New York through and through. Oh, wait. I’m sorry, am I judging you on someplace I haven’t been? Shame on me.” She swallowed the rest of her wine and got to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to take Gran to dinner at the diner before her bunco game. And FYI, you might want to get some earplugs, because believe it or not, we take silly things like bunco very seriously around here. Good night, Mr. Corwin.”
* * *
HOW DID “DINERS AREN’T my thing” lead to offending his hostess?
He really shouldn’t talk to