by Tara Sheets
Emma murmured her thanks. A Venus flytrap? Not her first choice for a cheerful window plant, but Mrs. Mooney seemed so pleased with herself. Her white hair was fashioned in its usual shellacked pouf, and her blue eyeliner was just a little too thick and a bit crooked. Emma suspected Mrs. Mooney’s eyesight was going, but it certainly didn’t stop her from seeing everything that happened on Pine Cove Island. If there was one person who knew the latest gossip and kept a sharp eye on everything, it was Moira Mooney.
The older woman bustled in, setting the small plant on a table near the window. “What have you got whipped up today? I could really use something for Bonbon. He’s been chasing squirrels again, and I think he bruised his paw.”
Emma arranged her features into what she hoped was a look of polite sympathy. Bonbon was Mrs. Mooney’s ridiculously spoiled toy poodle.
Mrs. Mooney sidled up to the counter and stared down. “Well, there’s the chocolate one, but that’s poison for dogs.”
“Mmm,” Emma agreed. She had learned long ago that “mmm” was an all-purpose answer that seemed to appease Mrs. Mooney. There were only three other options for Bonbon in the case. “How about ‘Summer Sunshine’? Would Bonbon like to feel warm and cozy?”
“He’s plenty cozy in his new doggy sweater. What else have you got?”
“Well, here’s ‘Raspberry Kiss,’” Emma said. “But I don’t imagine Bonbon needs a boost of confidence in the looks department.”
Mrs. Mooney snorted. “My Bonbon is the most beautiful dog on the island, and he knows it.”
Emma didn’t doubt it. But she did have to wonder if Bonbon minded having his toenails painted fuchsia. “I think this would be just the thing.” She reached in and pulled out a pale lilac–frosted cupcake. “This is ‘Lavender Bliss.’ It is intended to bring about peaceful moments and good feelings.”
Mrs. Mooney nodded firmly. “That’s perfect for my baby. Thank you, dear.”
Emma couldn’t help but feel a wave of gratitude for the older woman. Mrs. Mooney had been a friend of Emma’s grandmother, and she never doubted Emma’s gift. Her grandmother had been kind to Mrs. Mooney over the years, never missing a chance to remind Emma that true friends came in all different packages—sometimes even the nosy, quirky ones. Mrs. Mooney had always been a believer, which wasn’t very common. There were only a few people on the island who truly believed in the Holloway magic. Almost everyone else, including tourists, treated Emma’s cupcake charms as a whimsical marketing gimmick. Oh, they still bought her baked goods with a wink and a good-natured smile. But they felt the same way toward her cupcakes as they would about finding a four-leaf clover, or making a wish on dandelion fluff. Fairy Cakes baked goods were just like their namesake: make-believe. And if a person happened to feel good after eating a “Be Well” cupcake, they usually shook their heads and told themselves it would have happened anyway.
That was the odd thing about people. They were surrounded by magic all the time, but they just couldn’t see it.
Mrs. Mooney leaned in, her voice vibrating with the gossip she was about to spill. “Have you heard the news? You know the old property on the waterfront?”
Emma knew it well. She could see its front door from her own shop window. It had once been a seafood restaurant, before it went out of business when the economy fell. Since then it had remained empty, and nobody had taken it because the rent was so high. “What about it?”
Mrs. Mooney lowered her voice to a fierce whisper. “It’s been purchased! I saw the new owner just yesterday.”
“Mmm.” Emma wiped the counter and eyed the clock on the wall. If prattling on forever was an Olympic sport, Mrs. Mooney would win the gold. “Well, it’s good to know we’ll have another restaurant again.”
“But no, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Mrs. Mooney fluttered her hands dramatically. “It’s not nice at all, my dear. At least not for you. The new shop is going to be a fancy restaurant with French pastries and a bakery with cakes and everything.”
Emma stopped wiping the counter and stared at the older woman, a sinking feeling taking root in the pit of her stomach. “What do you mean, cakes?” It was the last thing she expected to hear. In all the years she had lived on the island, restaurants and coffeehouses had come and gone, but Fairy Cakes had always been there. Her grandmother had owned it, then left it to Emma when she had shown her affinity for sweet charms.
Surely, the new place wouldn’t overshadow her establishment. Surely. But a small knot of fear curled its way through her rib cage. Summer was coming, and she needed all the tourist trade she could get. Would the new place ruin her? She clenched her fingers on the edge of the counter as Mrs. Mooney chattered on about the handsome new shop owner, French pastries, and Bonbon.
If Emma didn’t make enough money to pay the property taxes on her house, she could lose it, and she had lost so much already. The tight grief she kept locked away spiked through her, making her knees weak. First her grandmother dying, and then losing all her savings to her scheming ex-fiancé. She rubbed a hand over her eyes to chase away those awful memories. The house and shop was all Emma had left.
“Oh, and there he is now!” Mrs. Mooney burbled excitedly. “His name is Hunter Kane.” She pointed out the window to the far end of the street. A tall, striking figure of a man stood in a navy sweater and dark denim jeans. He was staring at the vacant waterfront shop, eating a chocolate cupcake from a pink-and-white polka dot box.
No.
It couldn’t be. And yet, as Emma watched the wind ruffle his glossy dark hair, she knew she had made a huge mistake.
Hot anger flooded through her and she took a deep breath. He knew. He had to have known her business would be affected by his fancy new restaurant and bakery, and yet he never once mentioned who he was. She balled her hands into fists, barely hearing Mrs. Mooney’s prattle. It was all too familiar, really. A handsome face, a casual attitude. And underneath it all, he was harboring secrets that would ruin her.
The nerve. The sheer nerve of a man like that was enough to make her want to kick something. Just because he looked like some movie-star god didn’t mean he could just waltz into town, upsetting the lives of lowly mortals because it suited him. Emma hated men who lied, and the only thing she hated more than a lying man was a beautiful lying man.
Without another thought, she marched to the front of the shop and jerked open the door, leaving a bewildered Mrs. Mooney mid-sentence.
“Where are you going, dear?” Mrs. Mooney called.
“Watch the shop for me for just a second, will you?” She slammed the door behind her and narrowed her eyes at her target. “I have to go talk to a rat.”
Chapter Three
Hunter Kane savored the last morsel of chocolate, wondering how he could have eaten all three cupcakes and still want more. Chocolate wasn’t even really his favorite, but the way that woman in the shop had looked up at him with her smoky gray eyes, he probably would have eaten stale bread and moldy cheese with an idiot grin on his face.
He stared out at the ocean, wondering how he was going to survive in a place like this. After months of weighing choices, he had finally made the decision he couldn’t put off any longer. Buying property on Pine Cove Island was the first step in his newest business plans. It was remote, and nothing like Seattle, which was exactly what he wanted to clear his head. But it was close enough to the city to visit while he was getting the business going, which was exactly what he needed.
Hunter let out a harsh breath as the all-too-familiar feeling washed over him. Regret. There were too many memories in Seattle, and most of them too exhausting to think about. He hunched his shoulders as a bracing wind blew in off the shore. He just had to stay focused. This new plan would be a fresh start. He’d throw himself into his work and do what he did best: build something new and watch it thrive. Things were going to get better. They had to.
“You.” A woman’s voice called behind him, and he turned to see the cupcake girl marching toward hi
m. She was still wearing that black-and-white frilly apron. With her blond ringlets flying around her delicate face and flinty sparks in her gray eyes, Hunter felt like he was about to be attacked by a sexy Goldilocks.
He searched behind him as she approached, to make sure she wasn’t talking to someone else. “Me?”
She stopped in front of him, a little out of breath from her march down the street. Her chest lifted and fell intriguingly over the white apron lace, but her rosebud mouth was pursed tightly and Hunter took a step back. He had seen that look on women before. Goldilocks was not happy.
“Yes, you,” she said through gritted teeth. “You lied to me. You’re not a tourist.”
“Uh.” Hunter glanced around for a moment. “I’m not?”
“No, you’re not.” She stepped in close, grabbing the pastry box out of his hand. She peered inside and glared up at him in accusation. “And of course. You had to go and eat all three of them, didn’t you?”
He blinked. “But, I paid for them, remember?”
“That’s not the point. You. Ate. Them.”
“Yes,” he said carefully. Maybe Goldilocks liked to spike her morning porridge. “They were delicious?”
“Ugh.” She stomped her foot and he tried not to smile. She was irritated, yes, but so damn adorable. Even if she was a little bit odd.
“You shouldn’t have eaten them because you weren’t being honest with me. You’re not just a tourist passing through. You’re the new owner of that.” She pointed to the empty waterfront building that would soon be his café.
“Yes.” He held out his hand and gave her his best smile. “I’m Hunter Kane.”
She frowned back at him, ignoring his hand. “I know who you are. And you should have told me that before I gave you those cupcakes.”
“Why?”
“Because I own Fairy Cakes, and now your business is going to take away all my customers.” She looked so upset that Hunter felt a twinge of pity for her, even though she was being ridiculous. Competition was the name of the game in any industry, and restaurant ownership was no exception. “Look, I’m sorry you feel that way, but it’s just business. And why would my eating your chocolate cupcakes be a problem anyway? It’s not like I’m going to steal the recipe or something.”
“Ha,” she scoffed. “As if you ever could. My cupcakes are special, and everyone on this island knows it.”
“Oh . . . kay.” He still wasn’t quite sure what she was getting at.
“And now you’ve gone and eaten them.” She threw her hands up in the air.
Hunter frowned down at her. “Well, excuse me, ma’am. I thought that was the whole point of buying them.”
She jammed her hands onto her hips. “First of all, I’m twenty-five years old. Don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ Save it for old ladies with lapdogs.”
“Fine, Cupcake.” He shouldn’t have said it. He knew it. But something about her righteous indignation made him want to tease her. She gasped, her eyes narrowing on him like an angry feline. He was so dead.
“You . . .” She shook her head, sending blond ringlets into her eyes. Hunter had the sudden urge to reach out and brush them away, but thought better of it. He had tried petting a feral cat once when he was a boy. Not a good idea.
“Don’t call me ‘Cupcake.’ Ever. In fact, don’t speak to me again. I would never have sold you my ‘Sweet Success’ cupcakes if I had known who you really were.”
Hunter opened his mouth to reply, then shut it. The little beauty was nuts, plain and simple. He tried again. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? How about if I just wish you success, too? Then we’re even.”
“No.” She was already backing away, folding the pink box in her hands. Were those tears in her eyes? “You don’t get it. Guys like you never understand the important stuff.”
Hunter watched her turn and charge back up the street, her frilly apron bouncing with each step. Guys like him?
What the hell had just happened? The last time he saw her in the shop, she had been all warmth and kindness. Her smile, with that intriguing dimple on one cheek, had almost made him feel . . . something. Different, maybe. Different than he’d felt in months, and that should have been a good thing, but it wasn’t.
Hunter shook his head. It definitely wasn’t. The last thing he needed was to get sidetracked by a pair of silver siren eyes.
Up the street, she yanked open the door to her shop with one withering glance back in his direction, then disappeared inside.
He turned back to his waterfront building, frowning. These island locals were crazy. If Pine Cove Island wasn’t such a hot spot for tourists in the summer, he’d have looked somewhere else to expand his business. The people here seemed to have a few screws loose.
Just yesterday, some old man had stood outside his restaurant as the contractors hauled in the new dining furniture. He saluted them all, then proceeded to scatter an entire bag of breadcrumbs all over the dock near the front entrance. Seagulls had instantly swarmed the walkway and the contractors had had to wade through a bunch of squawking birds. “It’s for good luck!” the old man had cackled.
Hunter scoffed at the memory as he walked into his building. The people were whacked, yes, but it didn’t matter. His expansion project was going to be the best thing that ever happened to this town, and if he played his cards right, it would benefit him in a very lucrative way. The locals might balk at his plans, but again, it didn’t matter. He’d drag them into this century whether they liked it or not.
Inside, the contractors were already laying the new carpet in the dining area, and the industrial kitchen appliances had just arrived the day before. Even with the dust created by the renovations, the place was immaculate. Hunter had made sure to hire the same crew that had worked on his other restaurants in Seattle. As a real estate investor in upscale properties, he insisted on having only the best contractors. They were meticulous in their work and didn’t cut corners. It was costing him an arm and a leg to bring them over here, but the end result would be worth it.
The place was big, with floor-to-ceiling windows along the perimeter overlooking the ocean. Once the new light fixtures came, everything would begin falling into place. Hunter had spared no expense, working with his designer to choose the best colored glass sconces and hanging lamps from a renowned art gallery in Seattle. With the dark mahogany wood and warm-hued leather booths along the back, the place would be edgy, but comforting and inviting. The name they had chosen, Haven, suited the space perfectly.
The lead floor contractor looked up from where the men were installing the carpet and nodded in greeting. “Mr. Kane.”
“It’s looking good,” Hunter called. “My designer said the light fixtures are on their way. They should be here today.”
“We’ll get moving on that as soon as they come in.”
Hunter settled into a booth near the front reception area where he kept his laptop. It served as a makeshift desk/ office, but he’d have to find a better arrangement soon. After scanning e-mails, he sat back and rubbed his face. Of course, there had been no messages from his ex, Melinda. There hadn’t been for a few months now, but he still expected it and always felt a flood of relief when there wasn’t. After what she did, there really wasn’t anything left to say.
Oh, she had sent a few e-mails when he broke things off. And every one of those messages had been textbook Melinda; straight to the point, no-nonsense, cynical. You’re being unreasonable, Hunter. You can’t hold what I did against me. I thought we were on the same page. You’ve changed.
Maybe he had changed, but she had played a big part in that. A sharp stab of anger twisted in his gut, then faded quickly. He wasn’t mad at her anymore. Not really. He was mad at himself. They should have been more careful. He shouldn’t have been so careless. He should have been better at articulating his feelings.
His phone rang and he shoved all thoughts of his ex-girlfriend aside. He had business to attend to, and nothing was going to sidetrack him this time. Least of
all a woman.
Chapter Four
“I’m telling you, Jules, he’s a liar and a shmuck.” Emma grabbed another nail and continued hammering a crooked plank into the attic ceiling, pounding the hammer as she emphasized, “Total. Jerk.”
She swiped sweat from her brow and scowled at the ridiculous patch job. They had been in the attic for the last half hour and she knew her handiwork was a total joke. But until she could afford to hire someone to do it right, it was better than nothing.
“He was casing my shop yesterday, acting like a passing tourist. God, I can’t believe I sold him those cupcakes. I mean, I basically offered him glorious success. On a plate.” She threw the hammer onto the attic floor, sending dust motes flying. “Jerk!”
“But a handsome one, you have to admit,” Juliette said dreamily. She was perched on an old antique trunk, her impossibly long legs drawn up at the knees under a flowing white gypsy skirt. “I saw him talking to Mrs. Mooney yesterday down by the wharf. The way that old lady was leaning into him, you could tell he was charming her. He kept saying ‘yes, ma’am’ and ‘no, ma’am.’ All super polite. And Mrs. Mooney giggled!”
I’ll just bet. Emma slapped dust off her faded blue jeans. “He’s not that good-looking,” she lied. “Besides, I don’t care what he looks like, as long as he leaves. I have to get him out of here before the summer festival, or I won’t ever make the money I need.” After two days of pondering the problem, it was all Emma could come up with. “He needs to go, or I’m ruined.”
Juliette raised her brows. “And how do you propose to do that?”
“I have to think of something.” But what? If only her affinity for baking sweet charms could somehow force Hunter to leave. But Emma knew that wasn’t her gift—negativity had no place in it. She could hope for temporary good weather for the house and it usually happened. She could wish to inspire sweet dreams, or confidence, or comfort in others. But her magic didn’t work directly on herself, and wishing bad things didn’t work. Her gift was one born from light, her grandmother had explained. Ill intentions did not factor in.