law-enforcement uniform must be the dad she was talking about. “Hustle it up! We’re already late!”
“I gotta go.” Charlie scrambled around him. “We’re planning my mom’s surprise graduation party. I get to help decide on the cake! It was nice to meet you, Mr. Costas.” Charlie raced up the steps. “Come on, Simon!”
“You can call me Xander. Huh.” Whatever unease he’d been feeling had vanished in the last few minutes. The tide didn’t sound quite so loud now. The air wasn’t quite so sharp. He felt...more comfortable.
He looked back up to the cliffs, a smile curving his lips as he remembered the image of the woman standing above him. There was something...odd about her. There was also a sense of calm and peace he couldn’t quite identify. Whatever he’d been expecting of Butterfly Harbor, this wasn’t it. “Can’t wait to see what else this town has to offer.”
* * *
“HE’S HERE.” CALLIOPE watched the man from her dreams interact with Charlie and Simon on the beach, uncertainty spreading through her body before settling into an uneven beat. The energy she’d pushed into the air, a test of sorts, had spun its way toward him—directly toward him, as if it hadn’t a choice of where to go. It had circled and observed, absorbing what information it could beneath the gray storm clouds the man had brought with him.
Calliope steeled herself against the shiver.
It seemed as if her family’s legacy of heartache wouldn’t bypass her after all.
Unease crept over her, an unusual sensation for a woman who prided herself on self-assuredness and clearheadedness. Reading people came naturally to Calliope. Call it intuition, empathy or whatever qualifier made people comfortable—it was all fine with her. She couldn’t explain it, had never fought it; not even when the ability pegged her as the strange girl growing up, or the eccentric woman who lived on what passed for a farm in Butterfly Harbor. Most of the time it brought her a sense of peace.
Now? A sensation she could only describe as panic crawled inside her and settled. As hard as she focused, try as she might, her take on the man was as blank as a rain-washed morning.
In that moment, the solitary future she’d seen so clearly for herself blurred. Or perhaps it had dwindled away earlier. She’d been distracted lately by the possibility of losing her farm and everything she’d worked for. Thankfully, trouble had been averted when the mayor decided to go with his second location choice for the sanctuary and education center. Instead of encroaching on her property—endangering both her livelihood and the land her family had lived on for decades—the center would be built on the recently designated protected area between her farm and Liberty Lighthouse. The project would still have to be developed in just the right way, with respect, understanding and, hopefully, deference. Not everything would survive as a good portion of the historic trees in the area would have to be cut down, but Calliope understood the importance of this venture, not only to the town, but also to its residents. It would take a special person to bring the sanctuary project to fruition and give her beloved butterflies a safe place to migrate. But this man?
Doubt knocked at the back of her mind as she gnawed on her lower lip. Would a man raised among skyscrapers and freeways understand the delicate balance between nature and its inhabitants?
Calliope sighed. These days she overthought everything, uncertain about any answers. No doubt her worrying was asking for trouble. Diving into the darkness and pessimistic possibilities wouldn’t do anyone any good, least of all her. She could only control what she could control. And so she forced herself to relax as she watched the man climb the stairs to the road.
A wave of energy washed over her, invisible, powerful, but in those few seconds, she identified strength. Determination. Concern.
And passion. It was buried, simmering deep and low. But it was there.
So much passion.
Calliope took a shuddering breath.
“Calliope! Come see!”
She stepped back, broke whatever tenuous connection she’d created with the newcomer and turned toward Stella’s excited call. The ten-year-old’s enthusiasm was contagious. Calliope had never been able to wallow for long around her. For that alone, she was endlessly grateful for the gift of her little sister. With a quiet word of thanks to the day and all it had brought, Calliope turned her back on the ocean and made her way down the uneven path to the Flutterby Inn.
The three-story inn felt like a second home to most who lived in Butterfly Harbor. It was on its second—or was it third?—life. Thanks to a restaurant reinvention and new ownership, the business was thriving as never before, and bringing in a whole new clientele to the reinvigorated town.
It had been a rough few years for Butterfly Harbor, but the town had worked together and instead of floundering in their depressed economic circumstance, they now embraced what was to come with eagerness and enthusiasm.
For the most part.
Calliope refused to dwell on the downside of town politics and possible ulterior motives. Not at this time of year. Christmas. The season of gratitude and new beginnings.
And just like that, she settled.
Christmas lights had been strung across every horizontal line of the inn, and around the windows that had been topped with hand-formed wreathes with oversize red and gold bows. Along the porch, icicle lights glowed. Since there was no snow to be found in this part of California, they added that frosty touch once the sun went down and the cool air kicked in off the Pacific. They brought to mind chilly winters and crackling fires made for roasting chestnuts and marshmallows. Mmm. Marshmallows. She’d have to make up a batch of her famous hot chocolate in the next day or so.
It had taken numerous volunteers, spearheaded by inn manager Abby Manning, to deck the halls and everything else at the Flutterby. But this wasn’t just any Christmas. Come Christmas Eve, Butterfly Harbor would be celebrating the wedding of their beloved Abby to former celebrity chef Jason Corwin, who, near as Calliope could tell, was becoming increasingly nervous with every day that passed. Funny how a man could oversee a multimillion-dollar company and own three restaurants, and still be flummoxed by the very mention of his starring role in a wedding. Literally a starring role, as the camera crews and advance photographers were due to arrive in little more than a week.
Calliope blinked back tears. Butterfly Harbor’s first holiday wedding in decades. And if Abby’s friends and family and the rest of the town had their way, the day would be absolutely perfect.
She found Stella—a mini replica of herself with long red curls and a spark in her eye kneeling in the garden bed that was spilling over with recently planted poinsettias and rosemary shrubs. Shrubs that Stella and Lori, the inn’s part-time assistant manager, had spent the last few hours decorating as fully and elegantly as the seven-foot tree glowing in the corner window of the inn’s lobby.
“It’s a baby butterfly,” Stella whispered as she drew her outstretched finger free of the bush beside her. “I just wished for one and it came even though it’s the wrong time of year.” She turned, and there, delicate as lace and strong as the sea, the butterfly’s wings pulsed against the beckoning sun. “You were right.” Stella raised her porcelain face to Calliope. “They do listen.”
“When they want to.” Calliope bent down beside her sister and trailed a gentle finger across the edge of the butterfly’s wing. She could feel it tremble before it took flight once more. “Lori.” Calliope leaned over. “You’re looking exceedingly giddy. I take it marriage is agreeing with you?”
Words couldn’t express the joy Calliope felt at the healthy pink flush that erupted on her friend’s round face. Lori had been trapped by her own insecurities for as long as Calliope had known her. She had allowed herself to be controlled by what she thought other people believed, that because she was heavy, or too tall, or...whatever, she didn’t deserve the same happiness as others. It only proved how powerful falling in love with the right man could be. Lori was flourishing more heartily than her tour-worthy garden under Matt Knight’s