a year-round go-to destination. He liked the throwback feel of the diner, from the black-and-white tile floor to the orange-and-black vinyl stools and booths, no doubt a decorating homage to the town’s namesake monarch butterfly.
Speaking of butterflies. They were everywhere, in every form, dangling from the ceiling of the diner, attached to the walls. Even perched perfectly on the edge of the windowsills. Children’s renderings, artist offerings and even a few scribbles on napkins.
“Saturdays have become nonstop. I’m Paige, by the way. Paige Bradley.”
“Hunter MacBride.” Hunter offered his hand and cast a quick glance at Phoebe. “This is my niece, Phoebe.”
“Nice to meet you both.” Paige looked over her shoulder to the group of surprisingly quiet kids. “My daughter Charlie’s somewhere in that pack. And that’s Simon with the glasses.” Paige shifted toward Phoebe and crouched down, pointing to each child as she referenced them. “There with the brown curls? That’s Marley O’Neill. And Stella Jones. She wears bells in her hair sometimes. She jingles when she walks. Would you like to meet them, Phoebe?”
Phoebe looked at Paige for a long moment before she shook her head and scooted back in the booth.
“Maybe another time.” If Paige was put off by Phoebe’s reluctance, she didn’t let on. She pushed to her feet. “You staying long or just passing through?”
“We’ll be here for a while,” Hunter said. “I’m writing a book on the lighthouse.”
“Oh, you’re the photojournalist we’ve heard about.” Paige seemed to bite the inside of her cheek. “Have you, um, been up there already?”
Sensing where this was headed, Hunter nodded. “We have. Just finished unloading the motor home.”
“Ah.” Paige nodded. “So that must mean you’ve met Kendall.”
“We have had the pleasure.” Questions flooded his mind about the odd, quiet, apparently easy to offend woman. Hazards of the job. He always had questions. But experience had taught him barreling in demanding answers was rarely the way to glean accurate and helpful information. “She seems nice.”
“She is,” Paige said with an apologetic shrug. “She’s just...”
“No need to explain,” Hunter assured her. “We all have our stories. Speaking of which, I’d love to start talking to residents, get a feel for the place. Really get to know what makes Butterfly Harbor tick.”
“Oh, well, I’d be happy to participate, but Charlie and I haven’t been here that long.”
“Long enough?” He pointed to her ring and smiled at the pink rising to her cheeks.
“How do you know this is recent?”
“Intuition. Plus you keep turning it with your thumb, as if you’re still getting used to it. I tend to notice things like that. I bet there’s a great story behind it.”
It occurred to him the book could take a more personal spin rather than having a focus on purely historical information. The lighthouse would be the perfect starting point, but it was obvious there were a lot more stories to be found in this town. More than the buildings and the restructuring—it was about the people, as well.
“Hmm, you could say that. If you’re looking for a newcomer’s perspective, I’m your girl. But Holly, Simon’s mom—she’s the owner—she’s lived here her entire life. As has her father. Holly’s home today, but she should be in for a few hours tomorrow morning. She and her husband are expecting twins in a couple of months.”
“Oh, wow. Well, I wouldn’t want to bother her right away.”
“Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t like to talk to her, though, right? Don’t worry. I’ll hook you up. You have a cell number?”
“Absolutely.” He pulled out his wallet and handed over a business card. “My schedule’s open.”
“Well, I might just be using you in the coming weeks then. Talking to you would be a good excuse to get Holly off her feet if I can’t at least get her out the door. I’ll put your order in with Ursula. She’s our mainstay at the grill. And your shake is coming right up.” She winked at Phoebe.
“Everyone seems so nice here.” Hunter folded his hands on the table and looked across at his niece. “You like it so far?”
Phoebe nodded and rearranged herself on the seat. The top of her chin almost brushed the table, but as was her routine, she placed her napkin to her right and arranged her fork and knife and spoon, making sure they were aligned properly. Above the din of conversation and childish laughter, the milkshake machine rumbled to life. A grumbling voice added to the noise as it echoed from beyond the pass-through window.
“Maybe after lunch we can walk down to the beach,” Hunter suggested. “Get our feet wet in the ocean?”
Phoebe knocked her head to the side. Maybe.
“Or we can take a walk around town. See what stores they have here? Maybe there’s a bookstore.” Hunter grinned when Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I thought that might get your attention. I have to admit, I did a bit of checking, and I know for a fact there is a bookstore. But you know what else it has?” He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a secretive whisper. “Cats.”
The skepticism on Phoebe’s face shouldn’t have been possible, not in a child so young. But there it was. She thought he was joking.
“I swear.” Hunter made a crisscross gesture over his heart. “Cats and books. Might be a nice way to spend the afternoon, right?”
“Are you talking about Cat’s Eye Books?” Paige asked. She set a small pink-filled glass topped with a cavity-inducing swirl of whipped cream and a solitary cherry on top on the table and followed it with Hunter’s coffee. “One of Charlie’s favorite places to go. You’ll love it. Both of you. Just be sure you always look up.” Paige laughed at Phoebe’s expression. “You really don’t have to say a word, do you? Your face says it all. Trust me. Look up.”
Phoebe watched Paige walk away before she picked up her straw, unwrapped it and slid it carefully into her glass. Hunter’s heart had become immune to the little daggers of despair that struck whenever he noticed how precise and careful Phoebe was. It was as if she considered everything around her to be temporary. To end at any moment. But pushing her out of her comfort zone, one that seemed to give her some solace and security, didn’t seem right.
“How is it?” he asked after she took a dainty sip.
Phoebe nodded, her lips twitching before she drank again. Then pointed to Hunter’s messenger bag. “Do you want your book?”
Phoebe nodded.
Hunter retrieved the tattered copy of Charlotte’s Web. The same book she’d read over and over for the past six months. The same book her mother had been reading to her just days before Juliana and Brent had been killed. Phoebe settled in, book on the table, fingers pressing the worn pages open, and pursed her lips as she dropped into the story.
Hunter took the time to catch up on his emails before pulling out his own notebook. He’d already taken a few pictures of the town with his phone during their ride into town, initial images that, when assembled, would give him a bit of a roadmap of what to concentrate on when he brought out the big guns. While camera phones were fabulous, they didn’t capture everything for him. Not the way a big, need-two-hands device with a long lens tended to. There was something about hefting that camera in his hands, feeling the weight of it, knowing the power it possessed to capture a moment, a fragment of time that never got old.
He loved the smell of this place. The hot, steamy grill. The promise of fried onions with a hint of bacon. The aroma of coffee wafting its way around the sugary sweetness of a cavalcade of pies lining the case by the register. Made him grateful they had their bikes. Too much time in Butterfly Harbor and he was going to gain