Wishing on Willows: A Novel (10 page)

“I put these soufflés in twenty minutes ago and somehow they’re getting colder.”

“I thought Lenny fixed the oven.”

“I thought so too.” She blew her bangs from her eyes. “I’ll have to call him again. Do you know where the phone book is?”

“Under the front counter, but maybe you should put him on speed dial.”

“Very funny, Joe.” She pushed through the door and found Jed Johnson, her only customer, sitting in the far corner of her café, an unopened Bible on the table in front of him. Despite his forlorn posture, she couldn’t help but smile. He was out in public, which meant he was making real progress. She had hoped a nice, hot egg soufflé and some music would cheer him up, but thanks to her oven, she’d have to make do with what she had. She ducked under the counter and dug out the phone book.

The door swung on its hinges. Joe and his hair appeared, a bag of coffee roast tucked under his arm like a football. Robin thumbed through the yellow pages until she found the circled number. “Hey, Joe, would you get Mr. Johnson a steamed milk with a shot of caramel?”

“You got it.” He grabbed a cup near the espresso machine and went to work.

Robin punched in the number to Renegade Appliance on Old Town Avenue and tapped the counter. The line rang as a breeze of warm air ruffled wisps of hair around her face. She looked up and spotted Ian, strutting through her front doors in a pressed royal-blue dress shirt, a briefcase strap slung across his broad chest. He gave her an innocent wave and stepped up her staircase, metal clanging as he climbed to her second-story loft.

The phone hung limp against her shoulder.

“Better watch it, or you’ll swallow a fly.”

Robin closed her mouth.

Joe chuckled. “My mom likes to say that.”

A voice recording picked up on the other line. She left a short message for Lenny and squinted at the underside of her loft. If not for the sound of Ian rustling around, she might not believe what she’d seen. Well. If this was his attempt to get under her skin, she wouldn’t let him. “Joe, could you go see what the gentleman wants? I’ll take care of Mr. Johnson.”

“Sure thing.” He handed her the steamed milk and made his way up the stairs.

Robin had the distinct feeling Ian was watching her from the loft, but she ignored the urge to look and brought Jed his drink. “I know I promised you a soufflé, Jed, but unfortunately my oven isn’t cooperating. The good news is we have an assortment of goodies left over from yesterday’s meet and greet.”

Voices murmured from above, followed by a round of laughter.

Robin’s jaw tightened. “Blueberry tarts. Chocolate gingerbread cookies. I think we even have some lemon bars left.”

Joe came down the spiral staircase with a big goofy grin on his face. He poured coffee into a mug, added cream, and returned to the loft. Robin watched him go, then forced her attention back to Jed, who stared through his coke-bottle glasses with large eyes. The poor guy looked so lost without his wife, Robin wanted to wrap him in a hug and assure him that breathing would get easier. “I’m not sure,” he finally said.

“Well, take your time.” She squeezed his frail shoulder. When he was ready, she would join him for breakfast and see how he was holding up,
maybe share some verses that held her together through the worst of her grief. “I’ll be right over there. You let me know when you’ve decided, okay?”

Jed nodded at his milk.

Robin made her way to the counter and picked up a broom leaning against the back wall, the heat of Ian’s stare boring into the top of her head as she swept. She refused to peek. He could come every day for all she cared, stare for as long as he wanted, just as long as he paid.

“Hey, Robin?” Joe plopped his hands on the counter and leaned over it. “That guy up there wants to speak with you.”

“Could you please tell him I’m busy?”

Joe furrowed his brow at the crumbless floor. “He says it’s important. Something about running a check on your title?”

Her title? Robin’s attention snapped to the loft, where Ian rested his elbow over the railing. His smile was mischievous as he gave her a goading wave. She handed Joe the broom. “I’ll be right back.”

When she reached the top of the stairs, she found him sitting at a table with his laptop open in front of him. He double-clicked on his touchpad and the county’s website displayed across the screen. “Aha!” He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. The top two buttons of his dress shirt were undone, revealing a clean, white collar beneath. “If you can believe it, Bernie doesn’t have Internet access.”

“Shocking.”

His eyes danced. “I was going to camp out at the library, but this was closer and your coffee is highly addictive.” He took a long, slow drink. “Do you have any more of those muffins you were serving yesterday?”

She picked up his black bag and shoved it onto his lap. “I don’t think so.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to let you do business in my café.”

“You’re going to kick out a paying customer? In front of …” He looked over the railing. “That one person down there? Do you really think it’s wise to turn away fifty percent of your clientele?”

She peeked over the banister, where Jed sipped from his mug of frothy
milk. Bethany would kick Ian out without so much as a second thought. Why couldn’t Robin do the same?

“How about a refill and that muffin? Or should I ask your employee?” Ian brought both hands to his head and waved them around his scalp. “The one with the big hair. He seems like a good guy.”

“Fine. How do you like your coffee?”

“Hot with lots of cream. Hold the sugar,
por favor
.”

She picked up his mug, all too aware of his stare following her as she clunked down the steps. She slipped behind the counter, topped off his mug, added no cream, dumped in two packets of sugar, put a muffin on a plate, and clanked back up the staircase. In her absence, he had pulled up the title of Willow Tree Café on his computer screen.

“Now look who’s spying.”

She pressed her lips together and set the coffee and muffin on his table. She would return to the kitchen and ignore him. Hopefully, the less attention he received, the less inclined he’d be to come back. Especially after he tasted his coffee.

“You own Willow Tree outright.”

“Yes, I do.”

Ian scrolled down, then leaned back in his chair. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“It says here that you’re the sole proprietor.”

“And that’s weird because?”

“I assumed your husband would be on the title.”

The words punched her in the gut. Her husband? On the title?

Ian examined her face. “Why do I have the feeling I just said something wrong?”

She inhaled. The oxygen collected in her lungs, then escaped like a slow leak out her nose. “I run a well-respected business in this community, Mr. McKay. I have no outstanding debt. And I own the café. Just me. Is there anything else you’d like to know? Because if not, I’d really like to have breakfast with that gentleman down there.”

“You usually eat breakfast with your customers?” he asked.

“No.”

He scratched the back of his head, his hair styled in that messy “I don’t care but really I do” way. “So he’s your grandpa or something?”

“He’s not my grandfather.”

“Great-uncle?”

“He’s a friend.”

He looked at Jed, who kept glancing toward the loft. Ian waved. Jed returned the greeting with an uncertain hand. “I don’t get it,” Ian said.

“There’s nothing for you to get.”

“You two don’t seem like you have much in common.”

Her irritation dulled. She and Jed had more in common than Ian might think. “He lost his wife recently and needs somebody to talk to.”

Ian cocked his head, studying her like a stained page from a recipe book, like he couldn’t quite make out that last ingredient. His steady gaze made her cheeks warm. “I thought you should know that I’m meeting with Mrs. Arton later this morning,” he finally said.

Robin’s nails bit crescents into her palms.

“Won’t you at least listen to my offer?”

“No.”

A slow grin turned up the corners of his mouth. “You’re very stubborn.”

“This isn’t about me being stubborn.”

“Hey, uh, Robin!” Joe stuck his head out from the back room, one side of his face squished into an odd contortion as he looked up into the loft. “The oven is making sounds.”

She leaned over the railing. “Sounds?”

“Yeah, like this really weird grumbling noise.”

Oh, goodness gracious. “Could you unplug it, Joe? I’ll be down in a minute.”

He gave her the thumbs-up and darted back into the kitchen. Robin brought her hand to the crown of her head. “You’re welcome to do whatever you want. Talk to whomever you want. It doesn’t matter to me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a café to run.”

“Do you want me to take a look at your oven?”

“What?” This man was spinning her in circles.

“You need a working oven, right? Would you like me to take a look at it?”

She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. “You repair ovens in your spare time?”

“I grew up in my grandpa’s restaurant. His oven was old.”

“Even if I believed you could fix it, why would you?”

“Because I enjoy fixing things. I’m good at it.” Something sad flickered across his brow. “At least I used to be.”

“No, thank you.”

“Look, Robin, since we both decided against any game playing, can I be straightforward?”

Her arms fell to her sides. She did not want to hear whatever straightforward thing Ian had to say. She’d rather he keep his opinions to himself and leave. Her café and her town.

“Mrs. Arton is going to sell. The antique store owner will sell too. People are going to want these condominiums. Are you really going to be the one sticking point that keeps this town from prospering?”

“Please don’t waltz in here and pretend you care about Peaks. Or know what’s best for it. I’ve lived here most of my life and we haven’t missed having condos.” One Life would not be shoved aside for a bunch of Fixtel employees who wouldn’t care about people like Carl and Mimi Crammer or Molly and her three children.

“You’re right. Peaks doesn’t need the condos. It’s fine without them. But maybe McKay Development and Construction isn’t satisfied with fine. Maybe we’d like to help your town become something great.”

“Oh, please. All you care about is making a buck.” Heat surged up her neck. She clapped her hand over her mouth, shocked that she had actually spoken the words out loud.

Ian leaned back in his chair. “You have no idea what I care about.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just …” She nodded toward the front counter, her shoulders deflating. “You see that kid down there?”

“The one with the big hair?”

“His name’s Joe. He started working here in high school. Every penny has gone toward his college tuition. He’s the first in his family to attend.” Her personal feelings for Willow Tree aside, there were people who depended on keeping the doors open. People like Joe and Molly.

“Trust me, I don’t want anyone to lose their jobs.”

“But people will if you do this.”

“People will if I don’t.” He shook his head, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Listen, I’ll do everything in my power to set Joe up with a job elsewhere.”

“Mary Poppins calls that a piecrust promise.” Easily made, easily broken. Robin couldn’t let the sincerity of his tone fool her. Ian didn’t care about Joe. He was a developer and, according to Evan, developers only cared about money. “I think it’s time to chalk your business venture up as one small failure and go home.”

His posture stiffened, like her suggestion was as unappetizing as the coffee.

The front door opened and the delivery guy from Blay’s Supplies wheeled in a dolly stacked with boxes. She needed to meet him in the supply room and make sure they remembered napkins. “Can you please let this go, Mr. McKay? Before we both go nutty from having the same conversation.”

“Your mayor is set on this development. There are ways he can put pressure on you.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

Ian’s eyes bore into her with an intensity that made her incredibly aware of her hands. “It’s the truth. One I’d like to avoid.”

The sign hung on the door like a storm cloud, offensive black letters behind a pane of smudged glass. Robin stood on the cement walkway, blinking at the two-word reminder that all was not well.

Liquidation Sale.

Her abdomen flexed against the image of cascading dominoes toppling through her mind. Willow Tree and One Life would not fall. She’d hold up those two dominos with bare hands if she had to. Taking a deep breath, she
pushed through the front door of Arton’s Jewelers, cool air and tinkling bells singing a chorus of welcome. Cecile looked up from the magazine splayed in front of her on the counter, her grin stretching from one beaded earring to the next. “If it isn’t one of my favorite people.” She held out her hand, palm up. “What’s the special occasion?”

Robin thumbed her wedding ring. “I’m not getting anything polished this afternoon.”

“Just popping in for some shopping? Everything’s fifty percent off. I think I’ve had more customers this weekend than the whole year combined.” Cecile flipped a page of her magazine. A closeup of Angelina Jolie’s face filled the page.