other, certainly for Phoebe. She’s been through enough this year. I don’t want her being scared of the person we live next door to.”
Kendall resisted the pull to look over her shoulder. She would not look. She would not... She glanced back to where Phoebe stood astride her bike, tiny hands clutching the handlebars with white-knuckled uncertainty.
Stiffening her spine, bracing herself, Kendall faced Hunter again, opening her mouth to argue. But when she found herself looking into determined eyes, she saw the one thing she knew she could lose to: a father’s resolve.
Her heart nearly seized. “I like my solitude.” Like? More like she needed it as much as she needed air to breathe and water to drink. Small doses of interaction were fine. Doses of her choosing, but knowing this man and his little girl were steps away from the one place she’d been able to feel free again? Why was the universe playing with her again? “She doesn’t have to be scared. I might not be here much longer, anyway.” It was the first time she’d considered it, dropping everything and leaving town. But avoiding Hunter and Phoebe might be the simpler solution.
“Oh.” He looked surprised at that tidbit of information. “Well, for as long as you are here, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t glower at her.”
Kendall frowned. “Glower? I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.” Something akin to guilt wrapped itself around her.
“Prove it. Accept this from us, please.” He lifted the bag again. “We guessed. Phoebe did, anyway, at the flavor. At least pretend to appreciate it.”
Kendall accepted the package, peeking inside. If she’d had a heart left to break, it might have shattered into a million pieces. “Strawberry.” The tears came, even after all this time. “Thank you,” she finally managed. At his arched brow, she took a deep breath, glared back. Then turned to Phoebe. “Thank you, Phoebe.”
Phoebe’s mouth curved up at the corners before she climbed off her bike and steered it toward the guest house.
“Thank you,” Hunter said. “Have a good evening.”
Kendall nodded, because she couldn’t speak. She waited until she heard the door close behind him before she hauled the sawhorse into the house, set the bag on the table and finished cleaning up outside. When she literally had nothing left to distract herself with, she went inside and dropped the bag of ice cream into the sink.
After taking a shower and changing her clothes, she returned to the one-room dwelling, knotting her shoulder-length hair high on her head. The newly restored electricity and lighting flickered and bathed the space in a dim glow. Even though her stomach growled, she didn’t feel like eating. That said, she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and even that had been a scrambled egg and the last of the scones Abby Corwin had sent home with her last week.
Kendall opened the small fridge and stared at the assortment of fresh vegetables and eggs that local farmer Calliope Jones insisted on personally delivering every few days.
Kendall sighed. Salad didn’t appeal. Veggies were never her first choice. She’d eaten enough eggs lately she should be clucking. Surrendering, she plucked up one of the three spoons out of the crooked, handmade mug and pulled the pint of ice cream from the insulated bag.
She popped open the lid and looked down at the creamy, soupy, almost completely melted concoction. One dip of the spoon had her mouth watering. She could smell the fresh strawberries mingling with the cream and sugar. She took a bite and nearly swooned.
She walked over and sat cross-legged on her sleeping bag–covered mattress, making her way through the ice cream one soft, blissful, sorrowful bite at a time.
Closing her eyes, she accepted the truth. Her stay in Butterfly Harbor had come to an end.
“COME ON, PHOEBS. Finish up your breakfast.” Hunter sorted through his satchel to make sure he had everything he needed for the day. After getting into a solid routine over the past week, he was anxious to get to work and put his extensive internet notes to use.
Laptop, map of the town, cell phone. Notepad. His excessive purchases of legal pads probably qualified him for some sort of support group, but there was nothing he liked better than scratching pen or pencil against paper the good old-fashioned way. “Phoebe?”
He glanced over to the table and found Phoebe, Charlotte’s Web open, pushing half a bowl of cereal around in the milk with her spoon. “Not hungry?”
Phoebe shrugged.
“If you’re done, please take your bowl to the sink and rinse it out.” Mornings like this he remembered how his sister had been with Phoebe. His niece wasn’t a voracious eater. There were times she just didn’t want to eat or wasn’t hungry. Juliana hadn’t fretted over it too much. Neither did Hunter.
Phoebe did as he asked then returned to his side, tugged on his sleeve.
“Yeah? What’s up, kiddo?”
She just blinked up at him.
“Well, I need to get a good look at this town, but first I have a meeting with the mayor.” One that had already been rescheduled twice.
Phoebe’s eyes went wide.
It was all Hunter could do not to suggest she not be that impressed. But while Gil Hamilton might not inspire his admiration, their first nights in Butterfly Harbor certainly did. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. He loved the ocean. Always had. And being this close to it, hearing every sound it made, settled his soul in a way he’d been hoping to find.
“Unless you’ve changed your mind about school, looks like you’ll be tagging along with me. Have you?”
Phoebe shook her head.
“Okay, then. Load up that new bag of yours. Choose one of your schoolbooks and one new book we bought at Cat’s Eye. And grab us each a bottle of water from the fridge.” He’d unloaded the last of their gear from the motor home last night. And caught himself once again stopping to look over to the keeper’s house that lay almost dormant against the darkness, its flickering light a reminder of the woman who lived inside.
Hunter had to have been blind not to see the sense of grief that surged into her eyes as she’d looked down at the ice cream. The same grief that flashed the first time she’d set eyes on Phoebe. The possibilities running through his mind about the source made his heart ache for her. Nonetheless, he wasn’t about to enquire further.
She didn’t have to tell him she enjoyed her solitude—that was as clear as a spring morning every time he caught sight of her.
This morning was no different than the past few. He’d purposely tried to keep his distance and certainly didn’t want Phoebe getting under her feet, but honestly, going out of his way to avoid Kendall Davidson was becoming a full-time job. One he didn’t have time for. Not if he was going to get that new book proposal off to his agent and come up with a decent draft of the Butterfly Harbor manuscript for Gil sometime soon.
When Max Miller, literary agent to the semi-famous, had suggested he spread his wings and try his hand at fiction, Hunter had thought the man might have finally slipped his tether to reality. Hunter dealt in facts, facts caught by a camera and detailed by the words that flowed out of him as a result. But the challenge of doing something new had intrigued him. Even better, it excited him. Of course he’d locked in that promise seven months ago; three weeks later his entire life had been flipped upside down. His rather carefree, go-anywhere, film-anything lifestyle had ground to a screeching halt when Juliana and her husband had been killed. Now he was a single father living on the road, taking every freelance job he could in order to build up the coffers he suspected he was going to need in the very near future.
Coffers that could do with the serious dose of coinage a solid new publishing contract could bring.
Hunter’s