Butterfly Cove

by Christina Skye

  He didn’t wait for her to answer. Olivia kept her gaze lowered. She could feel the damning heat swirl through her cheeks.

  When was she going to get over being close to this man? “Thank you. That...that would be nice.”

  She had planned to clear away some of the dishes, but even that job was taken away as Walker and Rafe stacked up the plates and flatware and carried them back to the kitchen.

  Wind blew up from the harbor, playing at her hair and cooling the heat in Olivia’s cheeks. She pulled out her sketches and pencil, focusing on the patterns that were still singing in her head.

  Around the back she heard a screen door slam, Jilly going inside the back way. She looked up quickly as Rafe set a pitcher with iced tea and a fresh glass in front of her. “Jilly says she’ll be out in a few minutes.” Rafe’s eyes darkened. “And I meant what I said before. I didn’t come back to dig at old wounds or complicate your life, Livie. That’s one thing you don’t need to worry about,” he said roughly.

  * * *

  SHE DIDN’T SEE Rafe for three hours. He and Walker vanished into the basement, pounding water pipes and arguing about flow variables. Olivia had heard them move around the side of the house, discussing how to upgrade the whole plumbing system in the old house without breaking the bank account. Olivia picked up something about sweat equity and smiled. Walker was persuasive, all right. And what he couldn’t manage to do, Jilly could. She was pretty sure that they would talk Rafe into helping out with the long-term repairs.

  Olivia realized that meant she would be seeing Rafe a lot more than she expected or wanted. And she wasn’t ready to be around him with any sort of calm.

  So what? She would simply make a note of his schedule and arrange to be gone whenever he was around. She wasn’t sure how mature that plan was, but it was practical and it would save them both a whole lot of discomfort.

  She felt movement at her feet. Duffy was curled up on the little rug, his body warm in the afternoon sunlight. After his run with Rafe, he was enjoying a long nap. He looked at Olivia, banged his tail once and gave a little sigh of contentment. Then he put his head across her feet and settled back to sleep.

  Olivia stiffened. She was afraid of dogs. She had been afraid for a long time. And Duffy was a big dog.

  But she told herself that he was her friend. He would never do anything to hurt her. And though she wanted to slide her feet out from under his head and put some distance between them, the sight of his warm, drowsy face made her stop. You can’t let anxiety destroy your future. A therapist had told her that several years ago. Olivia was trying hard to remember that.

  Back in the kitchen, a pan fell suddenly, the sound echoing like a gunshot. Olivia jerked upright. “Jilly, are you okay?”

  Another pan hit the floor.

  There was no answer.

  Olivia anchored her papers under the iced tea glass and then pushed awkwardly to her feet. The sounds from the kitchen had already woken Duffy, who was scratching madly at the screen door. Olivia let him in, walking slowly as her shoulder began to ache.

  “Jilly, what happened? Where are you?”

  “Back here. The kitchen.” Jilly’s voice sounded low and muffled. Duffy began to bark hard.

  When Olivia reached the door to the kitchen, she froze in panic. Jilly was bent over the counter next to the sink, her arm wrapped in a dishcloth, Olivia smelled smoke from the nearby gas range. “What happened, Jilly?”

  “You shouldn’t have come in. I’m fine.” Jilly was cradling her left hand, her eyes closed. “It’s just a little burn. I wasn’t paying attention when I was melting chocolate.”

  “Let me see it.” Olivia leaned over her friend and sucked in a breath when she saw the red welt and the blister rising across Jilly’s thumb. “Did you put anything on it? We need ice. Or butter. I can’t remember what you’re supposed to do for a burn,” Olivia said anxiously.

  “Neither one. I have salve. It’s in that little glass jar beside the sink. I can’t reach it.”

  Olivia handed the jar to Jilly. “Are you sure about this? Maybe you need to go to the emergency care center? What if it’s infected?”

  “It’s not. I cleaned it.” Jilly took a long, shaky breath. She unscrewed the jar with clumsy fingers and smoothed clear cream over the welt. “Stop worrying, Livie. This will take care of it. It’s my master cream for cuts and burns. I couldn’t have gotten through cooking school without this stuff.”

  She winced a little, but continued to smooth cream in place until the whole wound was covered. “It was stupid. I wasn’t paying attention. And then the handle slipped.” She closed her eyes and her mouth settled in a tense line. “There’s so much to do, and I’m worried about opening on time. I’m worried about Caro and why she looks so tired. I’m worried about you, too, Livie. And I’m wondering if—” Jilly shook her head and stopped.

  “You’re wondering what?”

  Jilly looked away. “It doesn’t matter. I’m being stupid. Everybody’s got worries. There’s no reason to let them take over.” Jilly forced an awkward smile. “I’m sorry you had to get up.” She reached down to calm Duffy, who was pressing hard against her leg, sniffing the air anxiously. “I think I’ll take a rain check on the chocolate cream truffle recipe I was working on. I need a cup of herbal tea to calm down.”

  Olivia hid a smile. This person was nothing like the high-strung, Energizer Bunny that Olivia had grown up with. But it was good to see Jilly creating balance in her life. She had been dangerously ill, diagnosed with a heart condition, and that had forced her to cut back on her stressful lifestyle.

  Olivia was smart enough to know that a good part of Jilly’s new balance came from Walker’s strong, calming presence. “Shall I go get Walker? Is there something you need?”

  “Good heavens, don’t call Walker. He’ll hover and want to give me Tylenol and wrap my hand up in a bandage and make me take the rest of the afternoon off.”

  Olivia stared at her friend. “How often do you hurt yourself like this, Jilly? That’s a bad burn. You can’t be telling me that that happens often.” She knew that cooking could be dangerous, but she hated the thought of Jilly maiming herself on a regular basis.

  “Oh, stop looking so worried. I get cut or burned once a week. It’s no big deal. I had friends who lost fingers when I was working back in Arizona. This is nothing.”

  “No wonder Walker’s inclined to hover. You have to be more careful, Jilly. Not just about yourself. This old house—well, we almost have it cobbled together, but you know how old the wiring is. It wouldn’t take an awful lot to send this building up in smoke.”

  Jilly’s bravado vanished. “I’ve been thinking about that. It scares the living daylights out of me. I put in an order for half a dozen fire extinguishers, along with special high-sensitivity smoke alarms in all the downstairs rooms. When Grace gets back, we’re going to consult with a company in California who has new smoke-sensing technology. Believe me, I’m not taking the threat of fire lightly.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Olivia slid an arm around her friend’s shoulders. “I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you—or to this house.”

  Olivia could feel the tension in Jilly’s shoulders. She realized that despite her friend’s bravado, she was deeply worried, too. They had sunk so much of their time, resources and savings into this house, yet it remained a dangerous gamble.

  “I thought I heard pans crashing. What’s going on?” Walker peered through the back door, frowning at Jilly, who quickly shoved her bandaged hand behind her back. “Is everything okay?”

  “Fine. Wonderful.” Jilly’s voice took on her usual enthusiasm. “Olivia and I were just catching up on girl talk. We don’t need you around. You should go keep Rafe company.”

  “Are you sure?” Walker glanced around the kitchen, frowning. “I could have sworn I heard something fall in here. And then yelling.”

  “Nope. Must be your imagination.” Jilly glanced over her shoulder at Rafe. �
��So now that you’ve done your guy check and made sure the helpless women are fine, you can go back to working with grease and wrenches.”

  Walker shook his head. “It sounds boring when you put it that way. But I’m actually enjoying going mano a mano with this plumbing. Rafe and I are cooking up a pretty good plan. I’d better get back to work.”

  “Have a great time,” Jilly said with a cheery smile.

  As soon as the door closed, she leaned against the kitchen counter and looked down at her hand. The welt was much bigger, bright red, streaked with deep purple. There was a second blister forming at the base of her wrist.

  “Jilly, I don’t know. That looks really bad. I think you should have someone look at it.”

  Jilly rolled her shoulders, grimacing. “Like I’ve already told you, this is not the first burn I’ve had, Livie. I’ll be fine. Stop arguing with me and go out on the porch. I’m going to make us some tea. Then I want to look at those new sketches you made.”

  * * *

  JILLY ANALYZED EVERY one of Olivia’s designs, picking them apart by ease of knitting, cost and general practicality. Jilly was, after all, a consummate pragmatist in life as well as in her clothing choices.

  On the aesthetic front, there were no problems. Olivia was pleased with what she had created so far. In each pattern, she had sketched an architectural background that reflected the design. One captured the medieval stone bridge over the Arno in Florence. One sketch held the drama of the Piazza San Marco in Venice. Another sketch caught the unforgettable grace of the Trevi Fountain in Rome. In keeping with the architecture, each design was classic and beautifully structured. From Jilly’s excitement, Olivia knew she was onto something. “You like them?”

  “Livie, these are amazing. We are going to sell out of these in a week. Plus, we’ll get Caro’s grandmother to model them. You know how dramatic she can be. I don’t know what made you think of this, but get back to work. Make more sketches. Fast projects would be great. Gloves. Hats. A narrow shawl. Or an infinity cowl. Things that people can make fast.”

  Olivia had been thinking the same thing. A quick investment in time and money would make a more attractive project. She couldn’t wait to get started on knitted samples. She was aching for the feel of smooth wool and soft alpaca between her fingers as she tested lace and cable patterns. She glanced through the window at the bright colors on the shelves of the yarn shop, considering possibilities, choosing her first yarn.

  Unfortunately, Jilly figured out her secret plan.

  “Oh no you don’t. No knitting for you. Not for another week at least. That was what the doctor said.”

  Olivia looked down and muttered beneath her breath.

  “I heard that. No cursing allowed. Cursing is what I do. But I have a compromise. I’ll go choose some yarn if you tell me which ones you want. At least you can hold them and squeeze them. I get the whole thing about squeezing yarn now. It took me a while but my knitting-camp experience was a breakthrough.”

  “Holding is good, even if it’s not as good as knitting.” Olivia studied the colors that she could see through the front window. Then she rattled off a list of six yarns in classic colors.

  At least she had something to focus on other than shoulder pain and her bleak financial outlook. Olivia was also determined to use this time to find out what was stressing Jilly out.

  Before the weekend was over, Olivia swore to have all the answers.

  * * *

  YARN GLOWED IN the light of the setting sun, mirrored by the jeweled colors of the Harbor House’s stained glass windows. Olivia and Jilly had bickered about keeping yarn projects for the new shop simple and low cost. But even Jilly was swept into the beauty of Olivia’s designs, imagining gloves with long cables and tiny buttons up the inside of the cuff. Dreaming of berets with textured stitches and warm, snuggly ribbing around the face, Olivia made more sketches. After her third glass of herbal tea, she yawned. It had been a full day. The sea air had left her tired suddenly. She tried to hide another yawn.

  “That’s the second time you’ve yawned. You need to rest. The guys are nearly done with that back plumbing line, so they shouldn’t be banging on the pipes.” Jilly stood up and stretched. “And just for the record, these are wonderful designs. Grace and Caro can help you work out numbers and the row-by-row directions for your patterns. I really think you’re onto something here, Livie. I’ll get going on that website design tonight.”

  Olivia wasn’t so sure. She had no training in art or fashion, but she didn’t want to spoil Jilly’s excitement. “I should probably go home.”

  “You’re going nowhere, my friend. Walker and I will take care of you right here. You can go home after two more days, once we’re certain that you’re better.”

  Olivia glared. “Are you hovering?”

  “Damn straight I am.” Jilly gave a wicked laugh as she swept up the sketches from the table, grabbed their teacups and headed inside. “Go take a nap. I’m going to clean up a few things in the kitchen and then check on the status of the plumbing.”

  Hearing the sound of footsteps, Duffy charged around the corner, tail banging. Jilly expertly cut him off before he slammed into Olivia.

  “Are you sure you can get up the stairs okay? I can help if you want,” she said.

  Olivia shot Jilly an irritated look. “I dislocated my shoulder. I didn’t break my leg. I’ll be fine. Stop worrying. Go take that big ferocious dog of yours for a run on the beach so I can rest.”

  * * *

  DESPITE HER FIRM assurances to Jilly, it was harder for Olivia to walk up the stairs then she had expected. Every movement put pressure on her shoulder, and pressure meant pain. She found she had to learn a whole new way of walking.

  She was exhausted by the time she sat down on the big bed in the cheerful lavender room that faced the ocean. Jilly had plans of opening a bed-and-breakfast here eventually, but for now, the rooms were open for family or friends.

  Olivia was glad she had not struggled her way back to her own house. Right now driving a car was out of the question.

  She yawned, lulled by the sound of the breakers out on the cove and the tapping of a branch against the big picture window. She drove away all thoughts of Rafe, sweaty and tanned as he worked outside. It was over between them. He had made that absolutely plain.

  Isn’t that what she wanted?

  But the past wasn’t easy to put aside. It drifted, somewhere beneath the surface, out of sight but always ready to emerge when you least expected it. And now memories returned in vivid waves as Olivia slid down into sleep.

  * * *

  THE IMAGES DRIFTED up through her dreams, carried on currents of emotion. Half forgotten, the colors and sounds mingled in a restless dance.

  Olivia had just turned thirteen. Rafe was almost sixteen.

  It had been a bad time for Olivia. She hated the German class her father insisted she take. The sounds were rough and harsh and the grammar defied all logic. Her heart had been set on Italian, a language of beauty and architecture. She had even begun studying it on her own. But her father had scoffed and put his foot down.

  German it would be. German was important for science and math and business.

  In the end Olivia had yielded.

  But that year her father had turned more distant, trusting her less and less. Every day he questioned her about where she went after school and who her friends were and why she didn’t study harder so she could make a success of herself. Olivia already spent four out of five school nights at home studying. Usually she spent Saturday mornings studying, too. But it never seemed to be enough for her father.

  In desperation, she announced that she had been invited to join an advanced-study group. Since the others were children of her father’s closest friends, he gave complete approval. And so Thursday nights were spent at the library with people she hated. Olivia had suffered through the gossip, the competition and the cutting comments for one reason only.

  She knew that Rafe woul
d be waiting at her back fence, silent in the shadows, when she walked home. And for fifteen minutes every Thursday night, there beneath the big apple tree in her backyard, Olivia felt alive, filled with dreams and colors, determined that she could find a future that she chose, not her father.

  Rafe was different there in the quiet of night, with the chirp of crickets the only sound. When he was alone with Olivia he was quiet and thoughtful. He listened to everything she said and gave careful answers that Olivia knew she could trust.

  But there was more than listening there in the darkness.

  There was restless tension and heated skin. When their hands met, she felt her face flame. She remembered that heat, the way her skin flushed and her throat felt dry and her body stirred with need. The heat was part of her memory, but there was joy and adventure and a sense of deep connection, too. She believed in Rafe and drank up his words when he talked about places he meant to see when he was a little older and he left Summer Island.

  There had never been any doubt that he would leave Summer Island.

  Where? Olivia wanted to know. What would he see first?

  The Loire Valley.

  Machu Picchu.

  Umbria in spring.

  Olivia drank in the names, wanting to go with him, wanting adventure and discovery and all the restless, hot, physical desire that he stirred in her blood.

  Sometimes they kissed. As wind whispered through the trees, the brush of their mouths was gentle and tentative. Olivia knew there could be far more to a kiss. She knew Rafe could have explored her aching, sensitive skin and pushed that experience to a different place. Olivia would never have stopped him.

  But he didn’t. He took a hard breath and whispered her name and then moved away to lean against the shadowed fence.

  Their time always ended too soon. In ten minutes or in twelve, the lights would come on in the kitchen and Olivia knew that her father was there waiting for her, frowning as he checked his watch. And Olivia’s dreams died every night when Rafe squeezed her hand and then handed Olivia her nearly forgotten book bag.

  He always made certain that her hair was smooth and her sweater was straight.