by Susan Fox
A few seconds later, a slight woman with short, spiky salt-and-pepper hair bustled out from a back room. She wore a pretty red top and denim capris and was smiling warmly. “Hello there. How can I help you?”
“I’m Eden Blaine and I have a reservation.”
“Welcome, Eden. I’m Bernie Barnes.” The woman held out her hand. “My husband Jonathan and I own the Once in a Blue Moon.”
Eden exchanged a firm handshake with her.
Bernie seated herself behind the desk and tapped energetically at the computer. Dangly earrings made up of wire and colored stones tinkled like miniature wind chimes. “A single room and you’re with us for six nights, correct?”
“Exactly.” Eden unzipped her purse. “You’ll want my credit card.”
“No need. I’ll show you to your room and you can get comfy.”
Bernie came around from behind the desk, took the handle of Eden’s wheelie, and pulled it across to an elevator. “You’re on the top floor, with a lovely view of the harbor. Your timing was perfect, you know. Normally, we’re full up from the May twenty-fourth weekend through Labor Day weekend, but we’d just had a cancellation when you checked online.”
Eden sent a mental thank-you in her dad’s direction. Not only had he found her a charming place to stay but he’d done it at the height of tourist season. She hoped the B and B would also prove to be a good place to start her hunt for her aunt. Bernie looked to be in her fifties. Was it possible she might have known Lucy? As they rode up to the third floor, Eden asked, “Have you lived on Destiny Island long?”
“Roughly ten years. Jonathan and I were in Vancouver, him working as an accountant and me doing human resources at a hotel. We holidayed here two or three times and fell in love with the island and the lifestyle. We sold our house, pillaged our savings, and opened the B and B.”
“That was brave of you.” Eden couldn’t imagine uprooting her life and taking such a risk.
Bernie gave a mischievous grin. “Ah well, when destiny calls, what can you do?” She led Eden down a narrow hall lightened by pale yellow paint and decorated with paintings and photographs, discreet labels indicating they were for sale. After unlocking a door with an old-fashioned key, she ushered Eden inside.
“It’s lovely.” The room was furnished with a four-poster bed with a canopy, a distressed-wood desk and a tall cabinet, and a comfy chair by the window. A vase full of mixed-color dahlias sat on the desk. Beside the window, a paned-glass door led to a small balcony with a couple of chairs and a tiny round table. Unable to resist, Eden went out and leaned on the wooden railing, gazing over the village and harbor. The tiny Blue Moon Air Cessna was leaving the dock as a larger white-and-red seaplane approached.
Bernie joined her. “From here, I feel like a bird perched in a tree, surveying my domain. It’s a lovely place to while away time with a pair of binoculars, a good book, or a glass of wine. By the way, there’s a wonderful winery, Destiny Cellars. They do tours and wine tastings.”
“Thank you so much. I’ll be very comfortable.” Eden hadn’t come here to while away time, so she went back inside, and the proprietor followed. “Bernie, you’ve been here long enough to know a number of islanders and a bit of the island’s history. I wonder if you have twenty or so minutes to spare? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
“If it’s tourist recommendations, there’s a set of brochures in the desk drawer. They’re quite thorough.”
“No, it’s something a bit more complicated than that.”
“I’m so sorry, Eden, but I only have a few minutes right now. How about tomorrow morning, after breakfast?”
“Sure. I’d appreciate it.” By then, Aaron would have given her some ideas as well, so her conversation with Bernie might be even more productive.
Her hostess quickly showed her the other amenities: bathroom, closet, TV inside the cabinet. “The Wi-Fi password is once, all lower case. If there’s anything else you need, call us or ring at the front desk. Oh, will you want a rental car?”
“I’ve booked one to pick up tomorrow. I think I’m all set. Thanks again.”
After Bernie left, Eden snapped photos of her room and a selfie out on the balcony. She emailed her family to let them know she’d arrived safely, show them the place, and tell them she had met a couple of contacts who might help with her search for Lucy. She also sent an email to herself at the Butterworth Foundation, attaching files she’d worked on during the day.
Using the security app on her laptop, she signed into her work account and saved the files using the Foundation’s document management system. She popped off an email to update her assistant, Navdeep Grewal. She also reminded him of what documents he needed to take to the Monday afternoon meeting with a prospective applicant for funding. Though she hated to miss that meeting, Navdeep had accompanied her to similar ones and ought to be able to provide the applicant with the information they needed and ask the right questions of them. When he sent her a report, she could advise him on how to proceed.
A few years ago, she’d have had a bunch of personal texts and emails to answer, and she’d have used social media to update her friends and check on them. But since she’d graduated from law school, she’d been so busy establishing herself at work and getting involved with Ray that she’d cut back on girlfriend time. Then, when her mom got sick, Eden had abandoned any attempt to have a social life. She stifled a pang of regret, reminding herself that her priorities were valid.
Unloading her tightly packed carry-on, she fought back a yawn. Though she had more than an hour and a half before Aaron would pick her up, she wasn’t going to waste the time by napping. She’d see if the tourist brochures provided any information to help in her quest.
A bottle of water sat on the desk and she poured herself a tall glassful. She’d been up before dawn and it had been a long day of travel. Her body was on Ottawa time, which meant it was past eight o’clock rather than past five. She took the water, the tourist information, and a snack bar from her purse, and settled on the decadent bed, propped up with two pillows.
She munched, drank, perused brochures, and yawned. The island newspaper, the Destiny Gazette, was enlightening. The news and announcements told her, as if she didn’t already know, that she was a long way from Ottawa. Here, people were interested in kids winning 4-H prizes, in artisan craft fairs, and in whether the chamber of commerce would approve the addition of a second traffic light. The pace of life was certainly slower. Maybe that was why she was yawning so much.
Her brain felt so groggy she had trouble concentrating. Perhaps she did need a catnap to recharge her batteries. She set the alarm on her cell for an hour and pulled one of the pillows from behind her head. This was a wonderfully comfortable bed. Too comfortable. It almost tempted her to call Aaron to cancel tonight and settle in for a long, deep sleep. In the past year, she’d rarely slept more than five or six hours a night, staying up late to catch up on work after taking time off during the day to help her mom and dad.
A familiar guilt niggled at her. She’d come to this island for one reason, and it wasn’t to while away time, as Bernie put it, with a seaplane pilot.
But Aaron had offered to help her. Surely she could carry out a thorough investigation and also enjoy spending time with a man who was, objectively speaking, one of the most attractive she’d ever met. A man who had offered her fun without commitment or pressure. On the verge of sleep, she remembered Bernie joking about not being able to refuse the call of destiny.
If fun is my destiny, who am I to deny it?
* * *
Aaron wasn’t exactly hot and sweaty after a day of flying, but all the same he used the bathroom at the Blue Moon Air office to shower after his last flight. He kept a change of clothes there, so he slipped on fresh jeans and a black Henley, rolling the sleeves up his forearms and knowing he’d roll them down later. Though the early June days were mostly warm, the temperature dropped in the evenings.
He walked the few blo
cks to the Once, as locals called it. Bernie Barnes, seated at the reception desk clicking a computer keyboard, looked up with a welcoming smile. “Hi, Aaron. What brings you here?”
“Hey, Bernie. I’m picking up one of your guests, taking her to dinner. Eden Blaine.”
“Ah. I should have known.”
“Because . . . ?”
“She arrived without a car, which suggests you flew her in. She’s young and pretty, which means you hit on her.”
It hadn’t happened exactly like that, but close enough that he said, “Busted.”
She shook her head, the spikes of her gray-flecked hair flicking. Sounding amused and a touch exasperated, she said, “Will you ever grow up?”
The jibe hurt a little; after all, he was a twenty-eight-year-old man who owned his own business. But he knew that wasn’t what she was referring to, so he brushed it off. “If someone ever convinces me there’s a good reason to. So far, no one has. Besides”—he winked—“name me a woman who doesn’t find Peter Pan irresistible.”
Bernie gave a snort of laughter, and at that moment Eden stepped out of the elevator looking classy and beautiful in tan-colored pants and a sleeveless black top with an abstract design in shades of tan. Her big purse hung over her shoulder and she carried a black sweater. She’d freed her hair from the confining ponytail and loose waves framed her face and caressed her shoulders. Aaron felt a compulsion to smooth those glossy strands back from her face and kiss the pulse point on her neck.
Bernie wished them a good time and Aaron ushered Eden out of the B and B. As they walked down the steps, he said, “Nice room?”
“Very. And yes, I did have a nap and a shower and I feel much more rested.”
Had she showered for him or only to wash away a day of travel? “Good. Now, what do you feel like for dinner? Blue Moon Harbor is a small town, but we have some good restaurants.”
“Seafood? Being by the ocean, it seems appropriate.”
“Italian seafood, Cajun blackened fish, fish and chips, sushi, or the best grilled fish and prawns you’ve ever tasted?”
“Wow. Who could resist the best?”
“C-Shell, then. It’s near Blue Moon Air. Nice view of the harbor.”
They meandered along Driftwood Road with Eden gazing into the windows of the now-closed shops and making comments. The handful of restaurants and bars were doing a lively business. So was Dreamspinner, the bookstore and coffee shop. Many of the people strolling the sidewalk were tourists, but now and then Aaron exchanged greetings with another islander. Colm, a young local man, stood in the doorway of Blowing Bubbles, the children’s store, playing Celtic music on his fiddle. Aaron added a two dollar coin to the substantial collection of coins and bills in the fiddle case and Eden did the same.
Inside the entrance of C-Shell, several people sat on benches waiting for tables. Rachelle, co-owner of the restaurant and a high school classmate of Aaron’s, looked up from telling a pair of tourists that there’d be a fifteen-minute wait, and grinned at him. “Hey, Aaron.” Her brown-eyed gaze skimmed Eden and she said, “Reservation for two, right? Your table’s being cleared. You can come in with me now.”
“Appreciate it,” Aaron said with a wink.
Rachelle led the way, tall and trim in flowing black pants and a black halter top that showed off her beautiful dark brown skin. Her long black hair was, as usual, braided intricately, with colorful beads interwoven.
He liked the restaurant’s décor. Lots of wood, candles in pottery holders made by one of the locals, small flowering plants on each table rather than cut flowers. A few nautical touches like coiled ropes, fishing nets, old glass floats, and a rusted anchor. Local art on the walls.
Eden glanced back at him and murmured, “You made a reservation? You knew which restaurant I’d choose?”
He stepped closer, taking the excuse to rest his hand on her lower back. She gave a slight start but didn’t protest, and he enjoyed the warmth and motion of her body as they kept walking.
“Nope. Rachelle’s being nice to me. Locals get priority over tourists, right, Rachelle?” he said as the hostess seated them across from each other at a window table for four.
“Locals are repeat business,” Rachelle said. Turning to Eden, she added, “Besides, Aaron and I were both rebels back in high school. We black sheep gotta stick together.” She handed them menus. “Jonah will be by to take your drink order.”
Eden thanked her and then, when she’d gone, said, “You two went to school together? Is Rachelle a native Destiny Islander?”
“Rachelle’s family goes way back. Her great-great-great-whatever-grandparents on her dad’s side were American freed slaves who came up to Victoria via San Francisco, and then they came over to Destiny. There are descendants of those original black settlers scattered all through the islands. Her mom was born here, too, but that side of the family doesn’t go back as far.”
“So her parents might—” she started.
“Be useful people for you to talk to. After dinner, when the place has quieted down, we can ask her.”
Jonah, nineteen or twenty, skinny in his black shirt and pants, came over. After he and Aaron exchanged the usual, “Hey, how’s it going?” greetings, Jonah asked if they’d like a drink.
“I’m fine for the moment,” Eden said, and Aaron agreed.
“You know him, too,” Eden noted after the waiter had gone.
“He’s Rachelle’s cousin. He works for the restaurant during the summer to help pay for attending university in Victoria. By the way, Rachelle and her wife Celia own this place.”
“C-Shell. Now I understand the unusual spelling.”
“Celia’s the chef. Not an islander. They met when Rachelle was at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver and Celia was doing culinary training.”
“Are family-run businesses the norm here?”
“Pretty much. It’s a small island, small population. It’s also, from the beginning, been a place that attracted free-spirited people and entrepreneurs. Ones who do better going their own way rather than toeing some corporate line.”
“Unlike Ottawa, where most people work for the government or for some organization, corporate or nonprofit. It’s such a huge responsibility and risk, running your own business.”
Yeah, especially when you employed other people, owned seaplanes, had to deal with insurance issues, and on and on. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. “Yeah, but you’re working for yourself, so that makes it worthwhile.”
“Hmm.” Her tone said she wasn’t convinced. She opened her menu. “Let’s decide what to order, then we can strategize about how to find my aunt.”
Getting this woman to have fun was going to be a challenge, but intuition told him the result would be worth it. She sure was pretty, with candlelight warming her cheeks and the pale skin of her arms and casting highlights in her walnut hair. “Not even going to spare a moment to appreciate this great table Rachelle gave us and admire the view?”
“Oh.” Eden glanced around. “Sorry. I can be pretty single-minded.”
“Gee, I hadn’t noticed.”
She gave an amused huff. “Point taken. Yes, it’s a wonderful table and the harbor looks spectacular with all the lights on the boats twinkling. As for the restaurant, I like the simple décor and how there are oceany accents, but they aren’t overdone and kitschy.”
“The nautical things are real, not the gimmicky stuff manufactured for the tourist trade. Rachelle’s dad is a commercial fisher and he supplied them. He also provides the fresh seafood.”
They studied the menu and Eden said she was torn between cedar-planked sockeye salmon and skewers of prawns and veggies.
“Let’s order both and split them.”
“Sounds great.” She closed her menu.
“White wine?” he asked. “Or do you prefer red?”
That scrunchy knot appeared in her forehead, the one he’d learned meant she was worrying or overanalyzing. “I probably shouldn’t dr
ink, not if I want to concentrate.”
“A glass of wine’s going to throw off your concentration that much?”
“Well . . .”
“It’ll help with part two of tonight’s agenda.”
Warily, she asked, “What exactly is part two?”
“Forgotten already? Having fun. Good food, great view, terrific company”—he winked—“so why not a little wine as well?”
Her lips curved slowly. “Why not?” But then the frown returned. “Wait a minute. Pilots aren’t supposed to drink, are they?”
“We can’t fly when we’re under the influence, or have a drink within eight hours of flying. If I’m flying in the morning, I’m safe with a glass of wine or a bottle of beer with dinner.”
“If you’re sure . . .” she said doubtfully.
“Believe me, I am.” No way would he endanger his passengers, much less risk losing his license and his business.
“Well, okay.” She opened the bar menu and glanced at the wine list. “Bernie mentioned Destiny Cellars. Are their wines good?”
“They are.”
“I’ll try the pinot gris.”
Aaron caught Jonah’s eye, and he came over to take the order.
A few minutes later, he returned with their wine. He also brought warm, fresh-baked bread: a small loaf on a wooden board, together with a bread knife, a bowl of oil and balsamic vinegar, and another bowl of herbed butter.
After Aaron and Eden had each spread butter on a slice of bread, she opened her large purse and pulled out a laptop computer.
“Wait,” he said. “Before we start planning, I need to hear the story. The whole story, not the bare bones you gave me before.”
“That makes sense. Okay.” She put the laptop aside, took a sip of wine, and gave an approving smile. “Until a week ago, I never knew my mother had a sister. Lucy was older than Mom by five years. My grandparents were conservative, straitlaced, and strict. They set rules for their kids. Mom obeyed and Lucy didn’t. Lucy challenged, rebelled, fought back.”