Wishing on Willows: A Novel (6 page)

“Hey.”

She slid the stack under her knees, as if she didn’t want Robin to catch sight of the mail. “Hey to you. How’s Caleb?”

“Sleeping like a rock.” Robin set her hand on the top of her head and blew out a great big puff of breath. The day had completely derailed. What was supposed to be a Saturday spent celebrating Evan’s birthday ended up being a Saturday spent in the ER. She shuddered. It could have been so much worse.

“Okay, so next question. How’s Robin?”

“A little rattled, but okay.”

“You sure?”

“I feel bad that Evan’s birthday was ruined.”

“My brother has had thirty-six birthdays.” Amanda fingered the envelopes. “They start losing their sparkle after twenty-one. And besides, we have the picnic next weekend. We’ll celebrate then.”

Tears welled in Robin’s eyes, just as sudden and unanticipated as Caleb’s accident. She meant what she said. She was okay. So why this ache for Micah’s strong arms to hold her? It was a droning hum. A hopeless longing. An unexpected visitor overstaying its welcome whenever life turned prickly.

Amanda frowned. “Why don’t you drive over to Willow Tree and close up? It’ll give you a chance to unwind.”

“I’m not going to leave Caleb two nights in a row.”

“Robin, he’s sleeping.”

“What if he wakes up asking for me?”

“The doctor pumped him full of pain meds. The kid’s in la-la land.”

The idea of escaping to the cafe and pounding out her worries and praises on the piano twined its fingers around her heart. Maybe it wasn’t too late to catch the Crammers before closing. She would serve them each two cups of piping-hot coffee—decaf, of course—and whatever cinnamon rolls she had left over. Carl and Mimi had come to listen to her play every Saturday evening since she opened Willow Tree four years ago. Apart from the café, she probably wouldn’t know them.

“It’s not like I have anything planned,” Amanda said.

Robin picked at the banister. Caleb was sleeping and the doctor had given him pain meds …

Amanda waved her hand. “Get outta here already, would you?”

Something heavy and light—a familiar contradiction—flooded Robin’s soul. What would she do without Amanda? Or Bethany and Evan? Before the moisture in her eyes could thicken, she slipped on her shoes and joined the cool humidity lingering on her front step.

Ian spun his car keys around his finger and walked toward the café, cicadas singing backup as he whistled a tuneless melody. He checked his watch:
8:15 p.m. A faint glow filtered out the front windows of the café, ran along the tops of the boxed bushes, and cast elongated shadows over the cement.

A smile stretched away his whistling. Lunch with Mayor Ford couldn’t have gone any better. Now if he could talk Robin and the antique store owner into selling, he would have this deal under wraps before he left on Wednesday for the development meeting.

He approached the glass doors and peeked over the Open sign. A leathery-skinned man wearing stained overalls sat across from a lady in a faded flannel shirt. The only patrons in the café, the pair huddled over a table, sipping from off-white mugs. Ian followed their stare and saw the slender backside of a woman perched on a piano bench, dark hair cascading down her back, hands poised over the instrument.

Intrigued, he slipped through the doors and eased onto a chair at the table closest to the exit. The woman’s shoulders rose and fell. Her fingers grazed the keys and she started to play. So soft at first the notes tickled his ears, then slowly gathering power and momentum until the music grabbed his full attention and refused to let go. He sat up straighter, unable to look away from the woman’s hands, captivated by the passionate, almost choreographed way they moved.

“Can I get something for you?”

Ian jumped.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

A woman stood beside him, an apron tied over clean but faded clothes, stringy hair tucked behind ears that stuck out from her head. The lines around her eyes didn’t match her youthful face. It was as if worry, instead of age, had etched them there. She nodded toward the piano. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Beautiful
. The word felt inadequate, but he nodded anyway.

“Can I get you anything?”

He eyed the pianist. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Come on over to the counter when you’ve made up your mind.” The woman smiled and walked away.

Trying his best to ignore the music, Ian surveyed the empty chairs. The
residents of Peaks wanted to sit at the counter of Val’s Diner, sip on refills of Folgers, and chew the fat. They weren’t interested in a classy café or gourmet coffee or soul-stirring piano music. His developer experience told him that Peaks wasn’t ready for Willow Tree. Perhaps business would improve after Fixtel opened, when a more savvy clientele moved to town, but by then it would be too late. The café would be gone.

The woman’s hands fell into her lap and the worn-out duo broke into applause. She stood gracefully from the bench and approached them. Something about the shape of the woman’s body filled him with an odd sense of déjà vu. He shifted forward in his seat and eavesdropped on the conversation.

“Our boy Jake’s always trying to get us out to Chicago so we can hear him play in one of them fancy concerts of his.” The man’s voice had a distinct rasp to it, as if gravel paved his throat. “But Mimi was just saying how it can’t be much better than what we hear at this café every Saturday night.”

“You sure know how to flatter a girl, Carl.”

“It’s not flattery when it’s the God-honest truth.”

The pianist, who must be Robin, brushed her hands over the backs of her thighs. “Well then, how about some more coffee before you head out, on the house? It’s the least I can do for my two most loyal listeners.”

The man’s grin revealed a mouthful of crooked teeth. He held out his mug. “You know we aren’t too proud to accept something for free. Not from you anyway.”

Mimi, his flannel-clad wife, cradled her mug. “I’m not sure, Carl. She sure gives us an awful lot of free stuff.”

Robin batted her hand. “It’s my pleasure.”

Mimi looked doubtful.

“How about this? You let me introduce you to the new director of One Life at tomorrow’s meet and greet, and we’ll call it even.”

Mimi pursed her lips, but Carl bent the bill of his well-worn hat and chuckled. “You’re as determined to get us in the doors of One Life as Jake is to get us to that big city he ran off to.”

“I’ll be right back with one last cup of coffee.” Robin curled her finger under the handles of the two mugs and turned around. And in the turning, he saw her face.

His eyes widened. Because Robin, the pianist and café owner, was … Janet, the frazzled, pretty woman who almost ran him over outside Sybil’s. She stopped, the smile on her face slowly melting away. Ian crossed his ankle over his knee and waved. She turned around, the porcelain mugs clinking together as she hurried to the counter. Now this was an interesting turn of events. Why would this woman tell him her name was Janet?

She dropped the refills off with Carl and Mimi and approached his table, her steps slow and uncertain. “May I help you?” she asked.

He clasped his hands over his knee. “Either you have an identical twin, or your name isn’t Janet.”

Her face turned red.

“Or maybe Janet’s a nickname?”

“I …” Her voice faltered. She glanced over her shoulder at the display counter, filled with an assortment of pastries, then at the wall clock hanging behind it.

“Your music …” Really, what could be said about her music? Unlike Carl and Mimi, he’d been to his fair share of concerts. He grew up with a younger sister who loved Chopin and Brahms. Yet he’d never heard anyone play with such passion. It had been palpable. Contagious, even. He draped his elbow over the chair’s back. “What song did you play just now? I didn’t recognize it from anywhere.”

“I write my own.”

“Impressive.”

She pulled at her earlobe. “We’re closing soon. Would you like something to go?”

He nodded toward the older couple. “Their coffee wasn’t to go.”

The red came back. It made him smile.

“You were here earlier, weren’t you?” she asked.

“You serve very hot coffee.”

She set her hand on top of the chair across from him. A diamond caught the light and sparkled on her finger. He hadn’t noticed it this morning. “Amanda mentioned that you wanted to speak with me,” she said.

He could have told her about his plans but something held him back. Maybe it was the aftereffects of her music, or the rich scent of coffee in the café, or an instinct he’d inherited from his father. He simply knew now was not the time. “Just wanted to compliment the owner.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “An employee spills coffee on you and you want to compliment the owner? You do realize that’s not a typical response?”

“Maybe I’m not a typical guy.” He leaned across the small table and stuck out his hand. “Ian McKay. I’m in Peaks on business.”

She twisted the ring around her finger. “Didn’t we already do this?”

“I don’t recall meeting any Robins today. A nice lady named Janet who tried to warn me about the hazardous cloud of incense in Sybil’s Antique Shoppe, maybe. But no Robin.”

An uncomfortable laugh escaped her lips as she reached out and shook his hand. Her movement was soaked in hesitation.

Robin flipped the sign from Open to Closed and eyed Ian as he strolled down the walk and disappeared into the night. Her nerves fizzled and popped like carbonated foam. She’d come to the café to unwind. She’d been doing well too, until she turned around and saw the gentleman she’d met outside Sybil’s.

Her heart beat in a series of short, detached notes. Why had she fibbed about her name? Of all the uncharacteristic, idiotic things. That wasn’t like her at all. And then to be caught in the lie? Her cheeks warmed at the memory. Their entire interaction had caused the day’s tension to rebound with renewed fervor. She snatched the rag from her back pocket and joined Molly. “You can get out of here if you want. Get home to those adorable children of yours.”

“Are you sure?”

“So long as you’re back tomorrow for the meet and greet.”

“Of course. I need the extra shift.” Molly clocked out on the cash register and shuffled toward the doors. “Who was that guy that was in here? Did you know him?”

Robin stopped midwipe and scratched the back of her neck. No, she didn’t know him. Nor did she know why he made a point to come to her café twice in one day. “I just met him today.”

“He’s pretty good-looking. And nice. I hope he comes back.” Molly grabbed her keys from her purse and stepped outside.

A cool breeze swept across the floor and swirled around Robin’s ankles. She blinked down at her shoes, then scoured the table with matchless ferocity. Molly and Amanda needed to get together and form a fan club. One she would not be joining. The guy looked nothing like Micah. Her husband, like all the Price brothers, had a ruggedly handsome, down-to-earth look about him. This man—Ian Whoever—came straight from a
GQ
magazine. Robin would take down-to-earth over model boy any day.

Once she finished her table-scrubbing, made a quick sweep of the floor, and balanced the cash register, Robin flipped off the lights and stepped into the darkness.

Voices filtered up the cement stairs. One a breathy soprano. The other a familiar baritone. She locked the doors and peered toward the lit street below. It was Ian McKay, talking to someone she couldn’t make out in the dark. She hiked her purse strap over her shoulder and crept down the stairs, keeping her elbows tucked in and her head down, as if a diminished posture might hide her. Maybe, if she walked quietly enough, she could slip past undetected. After her time at Willow Tree, she was ready to get back to Caleb and make sure he hadn’t woken up.

“Hey, Robin!” The breathy soprano thwarted her escape.

The yellow glow from the streetlamp played across Ian’s face, casting shadows beneath his cheekbones. He stood with his hands in his pockets, a waitress from Val’s Diner beside him.

“Hi, Megan,” Robin said. “This is a late night for you, isn’t it?”

“I was just walking home. I worked a double shift. Trying to earn enough money to go to a writers’ conference next month.” Megan had
graduated from college last year with a degree in literature. As far as Robin knew, she lived in her parents’ basement and spent her free time writing poetry. She didn’t seem like the boy-crazy, fan-girl type, but she ogled Ian like he was a superhero. The third member of the Ian McKay fan club. “Ian said he stopped in Willow Tree for a late-night coffee.”