Wind Chime Café (A Wind Chime Novel) (7 page)

“Oh.” She looked away, running her tongue lightly over her bottom lip. When she heard his breath catch, she glanced back at him. “What are the chances of fitting me in sooner?”

“I’m not sure I can do that.”

“No?”

He shook his head.

“That’s too bad,” she said, standing. Tipping her glass over, she poured the ice cold drink into his lap. “I was really looking forward to getting to know you better.”

“Jesus Christ!” Jimmy scrambled off the stool, knocking over the one she’d been sitting on and stumbling over it.

The men at the bar howled with laughter as he cupped his hands over the front of his jeans and stared at the wet stain seeping into the denim.

“Fit me in sooner,” Annie snapped, turning on her heels and stalking to the door. “And don’t call me
honey
ever again.”

A
nnie pushed out the door, inhaling a deep breath of fresh air. Her stomach roiled from the stench of cheap beer on Jimmy’s breath. It reminded her too much of New Orleans and the run-down apartment where she and her mother had lived above a seedy bar on Bourbon Street when she was a teenager.

Those two years had been the worst years of her life. Her mother’s drinking, which had always been a problem, had gotten completely out of control. All the money Annie had earned waiting tables had gone into supplementing their rent. Because, once again, her mother’s muse had deserted her.

God forbid she ever got a real job to pay the bills.

It was much easier to rely on her resourceful daughter to find a way to make ends meet.

“Wait,” Grace trailed after her, laughing. “Annie, come back.”

“I need to start searching for a new contractor,” Annie said, striding across the parking lot. “Immediately.”

Grace caught up with her. “Jimmy will come around as soon as his pants dry. Come on, let me buy you another drink. Everyone inside is dying to meet you now.”

Annie shook her head. Jimmy Faulkner had deserved getting a drink poured in his lap, but she knew now that her chances of getting him to start on her renovations before the end of the year were close to zero.

She couldn’t make it to next spring without opening the restaurant. She’d expected to be limping along for the first several months. She’d known things wouldn’t really pick up until the resort opened on the island. But at least she would have been moving forward, making progress, building a name for herself in the area.

What if the resort never came? What if Will wouldn’t change his mind about selling to the developer? What was she going to do?

“Annie.” Grace put her hand on her arm, stopping her. “Is everything okay?”

Annie’s phone buzzed and she reached into her pocket. “I need to get this. It might be my daughter’s school.”

She checked the number. It wasn’t the school, but it was a local number that looked familiar. She lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Annie,” a deep male voice came through the line. “It’s Chase Townsend from Choptank Bank and Trust.

The banker who’d issued her mortgage and business loan was calling her on her cell? This was not good. Annie walked a few yards away, signaling to Grace that she’d be back in a minute. “Is everything all right?”

“There’s been a complication with the sale of the inn.”

Annie’s gaze fell to a trail of crushed oyster shells. “What kind of complication?”

“As you know, I took a gamble on your loan because my son was closing a deal with Morningstar to build a resort on this island. Your restaurant seemed like a good investment at the time. But we’re not sure that sale is going to happen anymore. This is a small bank, Annie. We don’t take many risks, especially in this market. I made an exception in your case, but after re-reviewing your finances today, I’m concerned.”

Annie twisted the toe of her boot into the oyster shells. “I’m still going to make the payments.”

“How?”

“I have a plan.”

“Would you mind sharing it with me?”

“I’m still working out the details.”

“Come by the bank on Monday. I’ll review your new proposal and decide if we can still issue the loan.”

The line went dead and Annie lowered the phone.

She heard Grace’s footsteps coming closer.

“Is everything okay?” Grace asked again.

Annie looked up at her. “I think I could use that drink now.”

“A resort?” Grace
gaped at her. “On Heron Island?”

Annie nodded. They’d gotten a table outside on the deck, overlooking the water. Workboats bobbed in the slips in Magnolia Harbor. The gravelly voices of a dozen watermen sorting through the day’s catch rose over the Bay. “I’m surprised Spencer didn’t say anything. I figured everyone knew.”

“Spencer!” Grace seethed. “That little weasel. I should have known he was behind this.” She dug in her pocket for her cell phone. “We definitely did
not
know.” She searched through her contacts, pressing a button before lifting the phone to her ear. “If we’d known, we would have been fighting to stop it.”

“You don’t want a resort here?”

“No,” Grace said emphatically.

“But what about the jobs it would create?” Annie asked. “The tourists it would bring to the island?”

“That would only be the
beginning
,” Grace said. “Within a few years, they’d be planning an eighteen hole golf course and a gated community that would cut the land off from the people who grew up here.”

Annie twisted the stem of her wine glass. “That seems extreme.”

“I’ve seen it happen before.” Pulling the phone away from her ear, Grace cursed as she hung up. “He’s not answering.”

“Who?”

“Spencer!” Grace tossed the phone onto the table, narrowing her eyes. “I’m going to kill him.”

“But you live in the city,” Annie protested. “You know what it’s like to want to get away, to escape to a place like this on the weekends.”

“A place like
this
!” Grace swept her arm out, emphasizing the casual picnic table seating and salt-weathered siding of Rusty’s, the marina filled with workboats and undeveloped marshlands beyond. “Heron Island is one of the last places on the Eastern Shore that still
feels
like the Shore. A resort would completely change that.”

“What would change besides having a few more people here?” Annie asked. “A few more restaurants and shops on Main Street to cater to them?”

“Nothing, at first,” Grace admitted. “But over the years, the businesses that moved in would cater
solely
to the tourists. The rents on Main Street would skyrocket and the current businesses would be forced out by chic restaurants, upscale decorating shops, and designer clothing stores—places no local could afford.”

Annie looked out at the water, watching a blue heron stalk out of the marshes. She’d moved here to open a fine dining restaurant, but she had no intention of putting anyone else out of business. Yes, she had planned to cater more to the tourists, but she’d hoped to provide a place for the islanders to come on special occasions—anniversaries, birthdays, graduations.

When she’d first contacted Spencer about the building on Main Street and he’d told her about the resort, she’d researched the local area and found that the closest fine dining restaurant was twenty miles away from Heron Island.

She’d seen a need in the market, and she’d decided to fill it.

Across the table, Grace shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I didn’t know about this.”

Annie picked up her glass, taking a sip of her white wine. “If it makes you feel any better, it might not even happen now.”

“It better not.” Grace looked out at the water. “I can’t believe Will even
considered
selling his grandparents’ land to a developer.”

“He didn’t.” Annie set down her wine. “He didn’t even know about it until last night.”

“Wait…what?” Grace’s head swiveled back to face her. “You’ve
talked
to him?”

Annie nodded.

“Will’s
here
?” Grace’s mouth fell open. “On the island?”

“Yes.”

Grace grabbed her phone, punching in a new number. She lifted it back to her ear, and the person on the other end answered immediately. “Hey…yeah, I just heard. Did he tell you he was coming home? No, me neither. He’s having drinks with us tonight? What? You want me to be
nice
? It’s been
ten
years, Ryan!” She shook her head at the voice on the other end of the line. “Yeah, sure…whatever. I’ll see you at five.”

Annie watched as Grace hung up the call and dropped the phone back on the table. “Were you and Will…friends?”

“Yeah,” Grace said bitterly. “You could say that.” She shook her head as the blue heron squawked and spread its long wings, lifting into a low glide over the surface. “We used to be
best
friends.”

“Did something happen before he left?”

Grace picked up her beer, taking a long sip. “What
happened
is that he left, and never looked back.”

Annie and Taylor
sat on Taylor’s bed after school, surrounded by construction paper, colored yarn, and a box of trinkets they’d collected on their walks in D.C. over the years: feathers, beads, glossy rocks, jingle bells that had fallen off the floats during the Christmas parade, green glass bottles that had washed ashore along the Potomac, and—Taylor’s favorite—shiny pink ribbons that had been left on the fences after the Cherry Blossom Festival.

“Look.” Taylor held up a strand of yarn decorated with blue jay feathers and sparkling red beads.

Annie forced a smile, taking the strand of yarn and standing on the bed in her socks. If what Grace had told her that afternoon was true, that Chase Townsend wouldn’t think twice about backing out on her loan if it wasn’t a sound investment, then she needed to come up with a new plan fast.

She looped it around a hook and sat back down, watching Taylor pull out another spool of yarn from the box. “You still haven’t told me how the rest of your day at school went.”