Enchanting Lily (2 page)

The barista, a handsome teenager with blue-black hair, lean muscle pulling at his T-shirt, and a tattoo of an
anchor on his neck, gave her a friendly smile and put a chocolate espresso bean on the lid of her cup.

“The magic bean,” he said, handing her the paper cup.

The chocolate was beginning to melt on the lid. “What does it do?” she asked. “Does it grow a beanstalk?”

“You eat the bean, and anything can happen. Your wildest dreams fulfilled.” He gave her a few quarters in change, which she dropped into the tip jar.

“I’m not sure I have a wildest dream.” Maybe she could eat the bean and Josh would materialize, alive and well.

“Come on, everyone does. Eat it and make a wish.”

“Tall order for a tiny bean, don’t you think? Fulfilling a grand, impossible wish?”

He draped a dish towel over his shoulder. “Hey, there’s no such thing as impossible. You’re not from around here, are you?”

“I guess it’s obvious.” She felt her face flushing, and she instinctively patted her hair, although she could easily have been the boy’s mother. What did she look like to him? Disheveled and crazy, probably. An almost forty-year-old woman with crow’s-feet and a wild, wavy mane streaked with gray. Full lips, smudged mascara. She wasn’t fashionable in her travel clothes—wrinkled sweater, faded jeans, and running shoes. Who could know that she harbored vintage Sue Wong and Valentino in the trailer?

He tilted his head to the side. “You just have the visitor kind of look. Enjoy your stay!” He turned to the next customer, a husky man in a rain jacket. The tide of noise rushed in—laughter, the buzz of conversation, the click of laptop keys.

She hurried out to the truck and sat in the driver’s seat, not starting the engine. In the rearview mirror, she tried to see what had given her away. She detected no obvious signs on her face. Maybe it was just that everyone knew everyone here, but nobody knew
her
.

She ate the crunchy, bitter coffee bean and licked the sweet, melted chocolate off her fingers. Feeling a bit silly, she waited a moment for the magic to take effect, but nothing happened. So she started the truck and pulled out into the empty street. How relaxing, she thought, not to worry about traffic.

She’d nearly reached the end of Harborside Road when she saw it—a Victorian cottage the color of churned butter, with white shutters, blue porch, brick chimney, and cracked sidewalk leading up through an overgrown yard. A Fairport Realty sign read
For Sale, Residential/Commercial
.

As she parked at the curb, her heartbeat kicked up. This was it—the cottage of her imagination. She pictured vintage black dresses on a carousel, jewelry in a glass case, silk scarves displayed on an antique table. But perhaps
someone had already tried opening a shop and had failed—hence the empty rooms and neglected garden. She thought she saw a white cat crouched in the grass, but when she parked and got out of the truck, the cat had disappeared.

She traipsed through the yard and peered into the windows. On the downstairs level were two front rooms, sparsely furnished with an antique red armchair, a rugged oak table. The walls were cream-colored with pale blue trim and painted ivy vines. Blue! Josh’s favorite color. A wide hallway led back to a narrow kitchen. The floors were a dark burnished hardwood.

She walked around the house to peer into the kitchen window. The previous tenants had left behind a pine breakfast nook and stainless-steel appliances. Josh had loved stainless steel. She could move in immediately, and she would have a place to sit while waiting for the furniture to arrive from storage.

Too soon to think this way,
the practical side of her warned.
One step at a time.
In the back, a gravel path wound through weedy flowerbeds to a ramshackle shed. A lone, majestic maple tree grew in the center of the garden, dropping yellow leaves in a fairy ring around its base. On either side of the property, tall privet hedges formed a privacy barrier between the house and the shops next door. On the right,
in an old brick building, Island Creamery sold handmade ice cream in sugar cones. On the left, in a gray Victorian, Apothecary Shop carried a hodgepodge of touristy items displayed in stained glass windows. Across the street, the sign for a small, modern clothing store swung in the wind:
The Newest Thing.

Maybe it wouldn’t be wise to open another boutique right across the street, but how could she resist the charm of this little yellow cottage? She imagined that on the attic level, she would find two bedrooms with slanted ceilings and perhaps a bathroom in between. She would sleep up there and sell clothes downstairs. But a moment later, sudden fright overtook her. Here she was, a single woman in a strange town on a remote island, with limited funds and a trailer filled with dusty remnants of a past life. What did she think she was doing?
Okay, breathe. In and out through the nose.

What price was the owner asking? What would it cost to set up shop? She needed fixtures, a computer system, a loan. What if she failed?
One step at a time.

A robin took off from the garden, a worm in its beak, and overhead a bald eagle soared, spreading its magnificent wings, and Lily felt Josh beside her. He didn’t speak, didn’t give her a sign, but she turned on her cell phone anyway and punched in the number for Fairport Realty. What
would she say?
Hello, I’m a wandering young widow looking for a home. And by the way, can I move in tonight?

A perky female voice came on the line. “Fairport Realty, Paige speaking. How may I help you?”

“Paige Williams? Your name is on the sign in front of this house on Harborside Road. The one for sale?”

“Oh, you mean the candy cottage!”

“I don’t know—it is yellow. I’m Lily Byrne. I was passing through town, and I’d like to—”

“Are you there right now? If you’re there, I’ll swing on by. I’m only a block away. Everything is within walking distance in our little town.”

A Paul Simon song popped into her head.
In my little town…and after it rains there’s a rainbow and all of the colors are black.

“Um, yes, I’m here right now. I’ll wait.”

“I’ll be there in a few.”

Lily hung up and paced, suddenly noticing tiny flaws in the house—a bit of peeling plaster here, a bare spot there, a hairline crack in the foundation. And no garage. She would have to buy a tarp or carport, as Josh had treasured his truck. He would not want his precious baby exposed to the elements. In the city, they’d shared a parking garage with other condominium owners.

But even without the garage, the cottage felt right—and almost palatial compared to the condo. In San Francisco,
who but the ultra-rich could afford a big house? She and Josh hadn’t minded the lack of space. They’d loved being practically on top of each other. Their honeymoon period had lasted through their entire marriage. They were perpetually like two giddy newlyweds gazing into each other’s eyes. Joshua’s eyes—green flecked with hazel, alive and intelligent.

I wish I could show you this cottage, the view, the sun trapped in pools of light on the waves.
He would’ve loved this small town, woven into the fabric of the forest and sitting right next to the ocean. Already she was thinking as if she lived here, and she hadn’t even been inside the house.

Sometimes you just know,
Josh had once said when he’d bought an expensive coat on impulse.
You do it and don’t think too much.

But buying a cottage was not the same as buying a coat. Or was it? She traipsed around to the back again, this time noticing new features in the yard—an empty wooden squirrel house nailed to the old shed, a broken ceramic birdbath lying in what had once been a raised flower bed. Faded nursery tags lay here and there, a few still attached to plants. One tag on a bush with bright red flowers read “Salvia Hot Lips, sustainably grown.” On the back of the tag were the words “Salvia microphylla. Stunning red and white flowers bloom all summer.” The plant had defied the odds and still bloomed in autumn.

“Are you Lily?” a perky voice said behind her.

Lily turned to find a fresh-faced woman striding toward her in a brown sweater and boots, floral frock and leggings, bouncy blonde curls and a blinding sunshine smile. “Yes, I’m Lily. You startled me. You must be Paige.”

“Sorry. I tend to sneak up on people.”

“Thanks for coming out on short notice.”

“It was such a long trek from around the corner. The owner has been trying to lease this place for a while now. Maybe I shouldn’t say that. But what the heck. It’s the economy. Who can resist such a cute little cottage?” Her dangling gold earrings glinted in the light. But her eyes—dazzling blue—suggested some hidden layer of pain.

“It’s beautiful,” Lily said, nodding. “I can see the possibilities. Something drew me to it.”

“Must be our mystical island.” Paige reached out to shake Lily’s hand, her fingers firm and bejeweled. But no wedding ring. Was she divorced, engaged, or unmarried?

“So I hear. The barista at the Java Hut gave me a magic coffee bean,” Lily said, and laughed.

“Oh yeah, those coffee beans will make you bold.”

“I guess this one did!” Was Paige serious? Did everyone in this town believe in the mystical island of magic coffee beans?

“Come on in,” Paige said, heading up the front steps.
She pulled a ring of keys from her purse and opened the front door. Her fingers trembled a little. Inside, the cottage was unusually warm and smelled of furniture polish and paint. The wood floor creaked beneath her feet. A house that made noises. A house that lived.

As they walked through the rooms, Paige kept talking in a nervous chatter. “So a retired couple decided to open a candy store in here for a while, which is why I called it the candy cottage. Before that it was a soap depot. You know, all kinds of expensive toiletries and fragrances, spritzers and lotions and stuff—but I’m sorry to say neither business survived.”

“Maybe the cottage was waiting for the perfect buyer.”

“You’re probably right.” Paige played with the strap of her oversized shoulder bag. “Someone who appreciates the town’s historic qualities, right? Speaking of which, I’m on the board of the Renewal Society. We’re dedicated to putting our unique heritage to work for economic growth. Oops, I sound like a commercial. But each of us wears more than one hat around here. It’s tough. Sometimes I think I’ll pack it all in and move, but I love the island so I stay.”

“I don’t blame you.” Lily peeked into the downstairs half bathroom, which had also been remodeled. “This place is charming.”

“I think it was built around 1904. We’ve got many houses on the list of historic landmarks. The Fairport Art Gallery used to be the first mill site during the Klondike Gold Rush, and Le Pichet belonged to an undertaker. When he moved here, he found everyone was so healthy, they didn’t need his services. Like nobody ever died, right? He ended up opening a furniture store instead, and then the building went through a bunch of changes and eventually became a restaurant.”

Lily nodded politely, picturing herself ensconced here in peace and quiet. No chatter, no city sounds, no intrusions, no reminders. Just a little house. She touched the freshly painted trim on the arched doorway from the front room to the dining area. Both rooms could hold a few racks of clothing. The room to the right of the entryway could be for shoes, ties, and hats.

“Do you want to see the upper level?” Paige said, but Lily was already heading to the staircase. Paige hurried to follow her.

The two bedrooms were prettier than Lily had imagined—luminescent, with slanted ceilings, big windows, and fresh white paint with blue trim. A bright bathroom sat between them, a new claw-foot tub in the center. A tub! She could take endless bubble baths in peace.

“This is perfect,” she said. “Exactly what I’ve been
looking for.” What was she saying? What if the pipes leaked? What if the attic was full of mold?

As if reading her mind, Paige said, “I’m sure the owner could answer any questions you might have or address any concerns—”

“That would be great.” Lily sat on the single bed. Firm mattress, unyielding, but fine for now. Otherwise she could unroll her sleeping bag on the floor. She would avoid the double bed in the other room. Too much empty space. “Is the owner nearby? I’d like to talk to him.”

“Her.” Paige smiled. “We could go over there. You would live here with your whole family then?”

“I don’t have a family. I’m it.”

A pause. “I see. Okay, that’s fine. Probably good—”

“Can we go right now? Is the owner around?” What was she getting herself into? She was already imagining a bedspread to match the walls; a plant in the window. Lavender soap on the bathroom sink. Maybe the magic coffee bean was working after all.

Lily

“I should warn you about the owner,” Paige said on the walk through town. Lily was happy to stretch her legs, to breathe in the clean, salty island air.

“Oh?” she replied. “Is she eccentric?”

“Not her, exactly, but her bookstore. You think the magic coffee bean thing is weird? Jasmine’s Bookstore is a bit unusual. Not like your typical bookstore.”

“So the owner runs a bookstore. How funny.” Lily couldn’t imagine what a “typical” bookstore looked like. In her experience, each one had a different personality—quaint
and packed with rare tomes, or spacious and corporate, or musty and dark.

“Jasmine’s got this weird sixth sense about books,” Paige said, keeping to the redbrick sidewalk, nodding here and there to an occasional passerby, people she obviously knew. “She handed me a paperback about the history of the island once. Got me interested in restoration, so I joined the Renewal Society, and that’s how I found out my husband was cheating on me.”

“Oh no! Because of the book?”

“Without it, I never would’ve joined the Society, and I wouldn’t have found out.”

A bit of a stretch, Lily thought, but possible. “Did you catch him in the act?”

“Not exactly, but close enough. John told me he was singing on Tuesday nights. The Sailor Singers meet in the building right next to the museum, where the Renewal Society meets. He’d started going on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I thought, that’s a lot of singing. But when I stopped in, he wasn’t there. He hadn’t been there in a while. I pestered one of the guys and he finally spilled the beans. Oops, there I go, mentioning beans again.”