by Jean Oram
Daphne looked down at her T-shirt dress, then over at her daughter, who was in her usual flounces.
“I’m special,” Tigger said.
“You sure are,” Florence said, giving her a pat.
Daphne frowned at Tigger. She’d been saying the odd, uncharacteristic thing lately. About not causing a fuss, about being special, and something about cycles or circles.
“I suppose we should go up?” Daphne asked, waving the picnic basket toward the path.
They all made their way up to the cottage, Florence taking the ancient lift so she wouldn’t have to deal with the steep hill. On the veranda, Daphne began unloading the picnic on the outdoor dining table as Tristen and Melanie brought more chairs. Evander helped his mother out of the lift and joined Daphne.
“Where’s Tigger?” he asked.
“Probably making a fairy house.”
“Where?”
“Out there somewhere,” she said, waving vaguely toward the underbrush behind the cottage.
Evander tensed, the large muscles in his shoulders bunching up. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and said, “You know you’re killing me here.”
She gently touched his shoulder, wishing she could massage the tension out of him. “Expect the best.”
“How am I supposed to do that when I’ve seen nothing but the worst?”
“Evander, what a thing to say,” his mother scolded.
Daphne kept her attention on setting the table, carefully lining up the utensils beside the plates so she wouldn’t cry. How could a man see the horrors she was certain Evander had and still keep on living? How had he not been crushed by the knowledge that the world was a dark and nasty place?
“It’s okay,” she said softly to Florence. “I’m sure he has. I’ll call Tigger back in a minute.”
“Did you hear I got heritage status for Nymph Island and Trixie Hollow?” said Melanie, her voice a bit too chipper. “They processed it so fast!”
“That’s amazing,” Daphne said.
“Going forward we should get more tax breaks due to it being a heritage site. As well, any fix ups we do here may be eligible for grants.”
“That would be great.”
“Tristen said he knows a guy who can redo our roof in the spring.” Melanie whispered, checking to make sure the rest of the group was still around the veranda corner, inspecting the rotting steps. “He said he’d pay for it.”
Daphne continued setting the table, feeling even more out of place on the island. All her sister’s rich boyfriends were going to spruce up the place, squeezing her, the single mother, out even further. Finian had already fixed the chimney, and now Tristen had plans, as well.
That was assuming the cottage would still be theirs next year.
She sighed and listened to Melanie continue talking about the cottage. “I still haven’t figured out how Ada, our great-grandmother, came to own the cottage, though. Christophe—the curator at the Port Carling museum—you met him last year at the antiques show? Anyway, he’s trying to find a connection with the cottage’s name. You know, combine the names Ada and Stewart Baker to get Adaker?”
Daphne nodded, having heard something about this from Hailey the other day.
“So, I think if I could find out more about that and their relationship, then I could really get the public interested in some sort of heritage claim for Heritage Row. I still feel I’m still missing something major. Like it’s right there and I just can’t see it.”
Daphne made a noncommittal sound as her sister paused to look out over the trees and water to the island across the way, where a few old cottages from the past era still remained.
Silence stretched between them. There was only one more thing for the two of them to discuss. Daphne met her sister’s eye and they both looked away.
“How did it go with Mistral?” Melanie asked quietly.
She shrugged. “Time will tell.”
“We don’t have a lot of that.”
Daphne rearranged a few last things on the table. “I think we’re about ready to eat. I’ll go call Tigger.”
Everyone sat, with the exception of Evander, who waited for Daphne to come back with Tigger. When he saw them step onto the veranda, his shoulders relaxed. He helped them into their chairs, then took a seat beside Daphne.
“Have you ever considered yoga?” she asked, as he kept his gaze moving. Always checking for security breaches.
His mother unsuccessfully held back a chortle.
“JTF 2 men do not do downward dog.” Evander gave Daphne a look that could have melted steel. She began laughing. It started low in her belly and worked its way up until it was exploding out of her in a way that shook the table. Tigger started in beside her, and soon everyone except Evander was laughing.
The look on his face was priceless, and before long she was wheezing from the effort of laughing so hard. She wiped the tears from her eyes, and said, “Oh, honey. You know we love you.”
Evander’s expression twisted.
She leaned over and pulled his large shoulders toward her in a half hug. “Has nobody ever told you they love you?” She knew she was probably playing with fire—well, more like a flamethrower filled with jet fuel—but she couldn’t resist poking at his serious side.
“No,” he said, his voice not wavering one iota.
“Aw.” She gave him an extra squeeze before releasing him.
“Now that’s simply not true,” said his mother. She folded her napkin carefully beside her plate and gave her son The Eye.
Daphne felt someone move behind her, and turned to see her daughter bouncing up beside Evander. Stretching, the girl reached up and wrapped her arms around his thick neck. She gave him a light kiss on the cheek and said, “I love you, Evander.”
Melanie gave a happy sigh and Daphne watched the man’s reaction. He was struggling with something, but she couldn’t identify what it was. All she knew was that he needed more hugs and kisses as well as love in his life.
As soon as the last fork rested on an empty plate to signal the meal was finished, Evander stood to clear the table. Daphne worried she’d pushed things too far with her joking. He wasn’t a regular guy, and he’d been through things she couldn’t possibly imagine, and had the scars as proof.
She caught up with him in the kitchen, where he was shoving paper napkins into the small garbage can under the sink. His shoulders were bunched, his movements quick and jerky.
Carefully, Daphne came up behind him and slid her hands around his waist, joining them at his belly button. He jumped, his body rigid. She rested her head against his back, listening to his heart race under the skin, through his rib cage and a pile of muscle.
“I’m sorry if I teased you too much. I hope you didn’t think I was making light of what you’ve done.”
Evander didn’t move, resembling an animal caught in the sights of a hunter. Not moving, not willing to be seen.
Finally, he said, “It’s okay. Most people are afraid to tease me.”
“Aw. But you’re not scary.”
“Yes, I am.”
She laughed against his broad back, feeling as though she was hugging a bear, and his body gradually softened under her. He braced himself against the counter with his hands, not slipping from her embrace.
“Daphne, if you knew the things I’ve done.”
“I have a child out of wedlock. I get not being perfect.”
“It’s not that.” He turned, breaking her tight grasp as though it was nothing more than a thin thread binding him. “This is different.”
“I don’t care. I know who you are now. Here. In this moment.”
She wasn’t sure what she was saying, but it felt as though she was fighting for him. For them. For a chance that he would let himself live again.
That was the problem. He wasn’t allowing himself to live and that’s all she wanted—him. Alive. With her. Living and laughing their way through life. Together.
It was a good thing she’d got E
vander off Nymph Island when she did. Four generations in the Summer family line had fallen in love there, and she was not falling for Evander. But things had gotten sketchy a few hours ago.
Tossing herself onto her side, Daphne pulled the thin blanket up under her chin and stared at the sliver of moonlight peeking through the gap between the wall and the curtain of Florence’s guest room. How long until this was all resolved and she could go home?
Today hadn’t been as productive as she’d hoped, with Mistral becoming defensive rather than open as he’d been over the phone. She’d gone in strong, thinking he was in line with her suggestions, but he’d pulled back.
Maybe she needed to be more like Maya and show up with a whole plan. A business plan.
Kicking her legs off the bed, Daphne sat up and grabbed her phone off the tall, antique nightstand.
“Hey, hope I’m not calling too late,” she said to Maya.
“It’s okay, Connor and I were just… Never mind.”
Didn’t destiny get it? Daphne was the one who needed someone, not her strong sisters. If anyone needed a man to lean on sometimes, it was her.
No, positive thinking only. She would find someone. Eventually.
Evander.
She laughed at herself. There was no way. She was tired and stressed and he was a steady, comforting presence, that was all. They were too dissimilar. She wanted someone in her life right now only because she was feeling vulnerable and lonely. It was just getting to her. The hopes. The stress.
The amazing way Evander was with Tigger. Another reason she shouldn’t feel lonely: she had her daughter. But Daphne wanted a relationship with a man. She wanted family. Love. More kids. Stability. A father for Tigger.
Someone to take over when she was too exhausted to see straight.
“Hey, you okay?” Maya asked, breaking into her thoughts.
“I’m just…” She trailed off with a sigh, unsure what to say.
“Yeah.”
Her sister got it. Maybe not all of it, but she got it enough that Daphne felt a bit less lonely.
“Can I come over?” Maya asked. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”
It was late, but she didn’t think that Florence or Evander would mind her having company.
“Sure.” Daphne made certain her sister had the address, then clicked off the phone.
Pausing outside Evander’s door, she considered knocking, but his light was off. The man needed his rest. He’d be okay with her sister coming over if Daphne was careful about the alarm. Besides, if she saw him sleeping in nothing but his boxers, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold back. There was a side to him she wanted to learn more about. An intimate side. She had a feeling being Evander’s woman would be a very sacred, safe place, and the temptation to try and see if she could fit into that role was all too strong.
A half hour later, her sister and their old friend Polly Pollard were at the front door, and Daphne hoped she remembered the right sequence for turning off the security system so it wouldn’t go off and wake the sleeping household.
“I bumped into Polly at the gas station,” Maya said as she stepped into the house. “Will Evander have a fit if she comes in, too?”
“Nah, but fair warning…he might try to microchip you, Polly.” She winked at the woman to show she was kidding.
Their old friend looked sad and tired, but gave a small smile. She’d married for money rather than love, and it looked as though it was starting to take a toll. Daphne remembered her as a vibrant woman, but lately whenever she saw her she seemed worn down by the world.
“Things are pretty rough?” Polly asked Daphne.
“Kind of, but I’m in good hands here. How are your fund-raisers going? Oh, and thanks for getting our mom to go for a mammogram during your breast cancer awareness campaign.” If Daphne could rouse people for environmental reasons, Polly could rouse people for a cause. And they were both looking exhausted. Go figure.
“They’re going well, thank you for asking.” Polly held her hands loosely intertwined in front of her. She was polite and slightly distant. Not at all the girl they’d grown up with.
“Are you okay?” Daphne asked.
“Hey, can we make some margaritas or something?” Maya asked.
Daphne ignored her sister and watched Polly. The woman’s eyes brimmed with tears and Daphne pulled her into her arms, squeezing her tight.
“I filed for divorce.” Polly sniffed.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“I’m not,” she said, straightening up. She adjusted the hem of her trim white shorts, pulling herself together. “It was time. No love lost and all that.”
“What happened?” Maya asked bluntly.
Daphne flashed her a look. Sometimes her sister got so wrapped up in what she wanted and where she was going in life that she forgot other people might be feeling tender about things.
“I married for money, and not for love,” Polly said. “I got tired of it. That about sums it up.”
“Oh,” Maya said, apparently satisfied with the answer. “Speaking of money, I think I may have managed to convince Connor that I should get some sort of finder’s fee for the dental device, as well as an advance on the project we’re working on—better than asking him for a loan for the cottage taxes, right? So, it looks like I may be able to foot my portion of the bill. How are you doing?”
“Less than a week left to pay it off,” Daphne said gloomily. She led the women into the sitting room where Florence knitted during the day. Daphne was going to be the one who lost the cottage for them all. And not just for them, but for future generations. For Tigger.
The women took seats and Daphne wondered if it would be okay to raid the de la Fosses’ liquor cabinet. She’d contributed with groceries, but just barely, due to Evander persistence that they were guests—something his mother agreed with. Getting up, Daphne went into the adjoining kitchen and began digging around. She found a bottle of spiced rum and a few cans of cola in the back of the fridge. Carrying them back into the sitting room, she set the girls up with drinks, figuring that tomorrow she could replace what they consumed.
“Do you think we should take the offer?” Maya asked. She turned to Polly and explained, “The cottage is going to be sold in a tax sale in less than a week if we don’t come up with several years’ worth of back taxes. We’ve all decided we’ll pay our own equal share, which is a lot. But we’ve had an offer to purchase.”
“Trixie Hollow?” Polly said, a note of loss lowering her voice. “What a shame. Is there anything I can do?”
Polly, when she and Hailey had been close, had spent tons of time at the cottage and likely had good memories of the place, as well. It seemed as though everyone who went there did.
“I don’t think so, but thanks,” Daphne said, topping up the woman’s glass.
“You’re that far away from making the payment?” Maya asked.
“Depends if I sell more paintings. It’s been doing okay, but I’m still short.”
“This sucks.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What about Simone?” Polly asked. She adjusted her string of pearls and watched the sisters as though unsure whether she was overstepping her bounds.
“You think she’d like to buy a painting?” The honorary Summer sister and boutique owner was expanding into making her own dresses to sell, and it was unlikely that she had money laying around to buy a painting. Not that Daphne charged a lot, but still. She knew money was tight for their friend, too.
“I meant have a show in her boutique, like she did for Hailey last month. That was a success, right?” Polly said.
“Hot diggety,” Daphne said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“That’s what I do. Solve problems.” Polly tipped back her glass, emptying it.
“How’s Melanie doing? Does she have her portion?” Daphne asked, hoping she wouldn’t be the only sister who couldn’t come up with the money on her own.
“She’s been selling her antiques—again,” Maya said. “Did you hear what Tristen did?”
Both women nodded. The fact that Tristen had gone out and accidentally bought all the antiques Melanie had put up for sale, and then given them to her as a gift, had become a bit of a legend.
“Add in that tax break she got through the reassessment and I think she’s pretty much covered.”
“I’m going to be the one who loses it, aren’t I?” Daphne moaned.
“Well, as Mom says, it’s up to destiny,” Maya said with a cackle as she finished her drink.
“I need a sugar daddy,” Daphne decided with a laugh.
“Somehow, I can’t see you with one of those,” Maya said.
“You’re currently living with the billionaire,” Polly stated.
“Obviously the grapevine has things incredibly inaccurate, as usual,” Daphne said, taking a sip of the spiced rum.
“This is Evander de la Fosse’s house, right?” Polly said, her glass languidly hanging in her hand as she gazed around the old home, taking in the high ceilings and crown molding.
“It’s his mother’s. I doubt he’s a billionaire in disguise.”
“Quite the contrary.” Polly leaned forward, elbows on knees, voice dropping to secret-revealing tones. “He used to protect princes. He’d take high-risk jobs protecting royalty over in the Middle East when everything went haywire. He even got himself blown up.”
If anyone knew about billionaires, it was Polly, but she was reaching a bit with this one.
“Getting yourself blown up for being a macho man doesn’t make you a billionaire,” Daphne said.
“If you do it enough times, it does.”
“What do you mean?” Daphne’s heart thundered at the thought of Evander allowing himself to get blown up over and over again as a way to accumulate wealth.
“You get paid fairly well to protect a prince whose life is in danger. If you get blown up, you not only get a bonus added to that danger pay, but some sort of insurance gives you extra money, as well. It’s ridiculous, really. But only the elite can get a job like that. Shake out his couch and see if you can find an extra grand or two. Or, you know. Use your feminine wiles.”