Chapter 2
two
THE TINY PLANE with only one seat on each side of the aisle dipped forward, and no matter how quickly Daniel Franklin grabbed at his armrest, he still slammed into the seat in front of him. It probably had something to do with the mere breath of space between his kneecaps and the back of the blue chair. “Sorry,” he managed to mumble after the older woman in said seat groaned.
“Looks like we have a little bit of turbulence out there, folks.” The captain came over the intercom, sounding far too relaxed for someone in charge of a plane that was bouncing around like it wanted to drop out of the sky. “I’m turning on the Fasten Seat Belt sign a few minutes early, but we’ll be landing soon.”
The lone flight attendant did an unsteady dance down the aisle, collecting trash. After handing her his empty plastic cup, Daniel turned to the window and stared hard at the thick gray clouds that enveloped the plane. The wing sliced easily through them, and a few moments later, they broke free.
Everything beneath them was blue, peppered with the occasional whitecapped wave. And in the distance, the island. It was more white than famous red shoreline this time of year, and he scowled.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
He glanced over his shoulder at the flight attendant, who had stopped by his seat, her eyes fixed on the island below. Her question had most likely been rhetorical, but he couldn’t help spitting out the truth. “I like her better when she’s warm.” At least, he had enjoyed summers on the island with his aunt Aretha when he was a kid.
“Oh? Not a fan of the cold?”
He wasn’t really a fan of anything these days. But given the little green wreaths dangling from her ears, he had a feeling she might not appreciate that response. So he offered her a shrug before turning back to watch the island draw nearer. From his angle, he could see some of the Confederation Bridge—the thirteen-kilometer wonder that connected Prince Edward Island to the mainland. He’d been enamored with it as a kid, begging his dad to drive them over it.
It was still impressive, the way it broke up the ice flowing through the strait below. But it wasn’t enough to keep his attention anymore.
As he bounced and jostled—even with his seat belt on—he turned back to the spreadsheets neatly stacked on the tray table before him. Rows and columns, formulas and equations. Spreadsheets made sense. Every time. And if they didn’t, it was because there was a mistake.
Rooting out those errors made sense. Numbers made sense. Even the documents that Aunt Aretha had sent over in advance.
Sure, it was clear that the books had been done by some one who loved the antiques more than the business part of her store. But she’d used the online accounting system he’d set her up with a few years before, and he could get her squared away long before the holidays arrived.
Then he could go back to his apartment in Toronto and spend Christmas much like he’d spent Thanksgiving. Just him and Chinese takeout.
As he liked it.
The flight attendant returned to his side, her hand on the back of his chair and her smile brighter than it needed to be. “Can you put your tray table up, please? We’re about to land.”
He grunted but quickly did as she asked, tucking the loose papers into an accordion folder, flipping up the tray, and locking it into place.
The wattage on her smile doubled before she sashayed back toward the cockpit.
Daniel closed his eyes, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited for the wheels to touch down.
They landed with a few bumps and then taxied toward the airport. The runway was clear, if wet, and the fenced pastures along the far side of the runway were empty except for a foot of snow. He shivered despite the jacket covering his long-sleeve button-up.
The chill only got worse as he marched out of the plane and down the steps. Risking a steadying grasp of the metal handrail, he recoiled and shoved his hand into his pocket, then readjusted his shoulder bag as he hunched against the wind.
By the time he made it across the tarmac and through the sliding doors into the building, his nose had gone numb and his eyebrows seemed to have frozen in place.
Toronto was chilly, but the island had a cold all its own. And if the Weather Channel was to be believed, he could expect plenty more snow in the next month.
That was what PEI did in the winter. It got cold, and it snowed.
Only his aunt Aretha could have convinced him to visit at this time of year.
As he scanned the sparse crowd near the lone baggage carousel, he didn’t see her bright face or gray curls. Even as the milling group began to disperse, he couldn’t find her among the stragglers.
He was so busy looking for his aunt that he nearly forgot to pick up his suitcase, which was making a lonely trek around the black conveyor. Scooping it up before someone on the other side of the plastic flaps decided it had been abandoned, Daniel grunted at the weight and then promptly dropped it to the floor.
“Oh, Danny boy!” a lyrical baritone belted across the lobby, the voice bouncing off the ceiling tiles.
Daniel cringed, refusing to turn around, the all-too-familiar melody striking his nerves like a mallet on a gong.
His classmates had started singing that at him when their elementary school music teacher taught them the song. They’d quit singing it every time he walked into class right about the time he graduated from high school.
Screwing up his face into what he hoped was more greeting than grimace, he glanced over his shoulder.
“Danny!” A weathered hand clamped on his shoulder, effectively spinning him around before he was swallowed in a bear hug.
“Jack.”
The strength of the older man’s fist thumping against his back surprised him, and it immediately became clear that Aretha’s husband wasn’t a casual hugger. Jack squeezed like he was in a contest he was determined to win. Daniel had no choice but to stand there—arms drooping at his sides—and be hugged.
“Haven’t seen you since the wedding,” Jack said as he finally stepped back. With a quick glance up and down, he added with a chuckle, “Have you grown since then?”
Daniel forced a mechanical grin. That’s what nephews were supposed to do when their uncles made jokes like they were kids. Patting his trim waist, he shrugged. “No.”
Jack’s smile widened, deepening the many cracks and crevices of his face. “Well, you look good.” Stooping to grab the handle of the suitcase, he said, “Let’s get on the road before Aretha accuses me of keeping you all to myself.”
Daniel silently followed Jack through the front door to the rust bucket parked just beyond the curb. Jack swung the suitcase into the truck bed like he regularly threw around heavy car parts, which he hadn’t done since before he married Aretha, and then hopped behind the wheel.
Sliding onto the bench seat, Daniel closed the door on the cold and hoped the truck’s heater worked. With a flip of his hand, Jack set the blowers going. Unfortunately, the air they threw out was colder than what was outside, and Daniel shivered despite his best efforts to remain still.
“It’ll warm up in a minute,” Jack said as he turned onto a two-lane highway. “Sure has been a cold winter. In Toronto too?”
Daniel wasn’t sure if he was supposed to respond, but Jack gave him barely a second to before continuing his chattering.
“I keep telling your aunt we need to winter somewhere warmer. But she refuses to miss Christmas with the grands.”
Daniel’s eyebrows dipped as he tried to make sense of that term. Neither Jack nor Aretha had any biological children. And as far as he knew, they hadn’t adopted any either. Lauren had had a dog that she called her mom’s granddog, but Daniel didn’t think Aretha would go that far.
“Grands?” he finally grunted.
Jack winked in his direction. “Seth and Marie’s three.”
Right. Jack’s nephew and his wife, who had taken over Rose’s Red Door Inn. Daniel had met them at the wedding, and Aretha’s monthly emails had mentioned some kids. Though he usually couldn’t remember how many or their ages. He could only retain a finite amount of information. The formulas and financial principles in his textbooks had been more important to hang on to.
Before Daniel could even confirm that he’d heard Jack, the older man rattled on. “Guess we’re not technically grandparents, but we get all the benefits.” His pale eyes flashed as he looked across the cab for a brief moment. “We get to babysit and read to them and get all the toddler hugs and giggles. And then give them back when it’s time for a diaper change.”
Jack chuckled like he was the first person to ever make that joke. Daniel offered an obligatory half smile.
“No, your aunt won’t hear of leaving the island for the holidays.” Leaning in like he had a secret, Jack added, “She complains about all the work it takes to decorate the inn, but honestly, I think she loves it. It’s an excuse for her to spend time with Marie too.”
Sure. But he hadn’t been called all the way from Toronto to help decorate.
Jack sighed as the heater finally began pushing out lukewarm air. “Maybe we can go somewhere warmer after Christmas next year. Once the store is sold.”
There it was. His whole reason for being on the tiny island. “She’s really going to do it?”
Jack’s never-ending smile dimmed, his gaze hard out the windshield. “I didn’t believe her when she suggested it either. That store—I’ve never known her without it. It’s got her fingerprints all over it. And it’s become her trademark.”
Aretha had started the store after his dad’s brother had walked out on her—walked out of all their lives, actually. Their blood relative had disappeared, but Aretha had remained family. Always.
Her home had become his family’s summer vacation destination—though Daniel had often questioned the child labor laws that allowed her to put him to work in the antiques store. Dusting and organizing. Sweeping and hefting whatever she needed him to move. When he’d been a little older, she’d taught him the books, showed him how to take inventory.
Of course, payment had always been a double scoop of Cows’ Gooey Mooey ice cream. Still a better deal than some of the jobs he’d worked to put himself through school.
Shaking off the nostalgia, he sighed. He couldn’t imagine Aretha Franklin without her store. It was as much a part of her as her famous introduction. “No relation to the singer.”
Jack tapped the brakes as he turned north off the main highway, pine trees along the roadside giving way to whitewashed fields peppered with colorful homesteads. “She’d never admit it, but her foot’s still bothering her.”
Daniel sat up a little straighter, his gut pinching. “I should have come back last summer.”
“Ah, nothing you could’ve done.” Jack waved him off, then with a shake of his head added, “Nothing any of us could’ve done. Doctor said it’s healed the best it can after a break like that.”
Still. He kicked himself for staying at school when Aretha had called last May. She’d laughed it off. “I dropped a bookcase on my foot. It was my own stupid fault, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do for me here that you can’t do in the city. Finish up your classes.”
So he had. But now he worried that he might have missed a cue. Had he failed to read between the lines, misunderstood what she really needed? Lauren had said he usually did.
“Your aunt is just glad to have you here for the holidays. We’ve got a room all squared away for you at the inn.”
He blinked slowly. “Not at your place?”
Jack’s grin returned to its full force. “You’re in for a treat. Marie almost never opens the inn outside of tourist season, but since we don’t have room for both you and Ruby at our place, Marie said she’d make an exception.” His bushy white eyebrows did a little jig. “Whitney is going to be cooking—and she’s a far sight better than me.”
His shoulders started knotting. “Who’s Whitney?”
Whitney leaned into the warmth of the inn’s oven, inhaling the sweet cinnamon-and-sugar crumble topping. It smelled like heaven, if she did say so herself. The crust was still pale yellow, and she rotated the pie 180 degrees.
“Almost there.” She gave the top a little pat with her oven mitt, then nearly smashed her head on the top of the oven when the inn’s front door slammed.
The kids!
She flung the oven closed and raced for the dining room, where she’d left Little Jack and Julia Mae contentedly coloring twenty minutes ago. She glanced at the clock on the microwave above the stovetop—make that thirty! Flying against the swinging door, she expected to sail into the beautiful blue and silver dining room.
Instead the door abruptly stopped, and Whitney heard a loud grunt, then a louder crash.
No. No. No.
She froze, waiting for any sign that she hadn’t maimed whoever had been on the other side. Like one of the kids.
Her heart jumped to her throat, and she gasped for air as she gingerly pressed her hand to the edge of the door. It gave a soft groan just as distinctly childish giggles filled the other room.
“That was funny! Do it again.”
Definitely Little Jack.
A deeper chuckle joined in. Big Jack. “You okay there, son?”
Which meant the one she’d attacked was . . .
Pushing the door farther open, she peeked around the edge to find an unfamiliar man sprawled on the floor, leaning on one elbow and covering his forehead with his other hand. He squinted up at her through distinctly crooked glasses, one eye nearly all the way closed, a scowl firmly in place. The wooden chair next to him had been knocked to its side, and a wool peacoat—which had probably been hanging over the back of the chair—lay across the floorboards.
She stared at him for a moment. Then her gaze darted to the four-top beside the window where Little Jack knelt on a chair, crayon still in hand. Big Jack leaned over him, his hand resting on the seat back.
Whitney did a swift inventory of the room. “Where’s Julia Mae? Did she go out the front door?”
Seth and Marie were going to kill her if she lost their middle child.
Ignoring the groaning man on the floor, she pushed the door against his foot until he moved it enough for her to slip through and dart toward the entryway. She already had the door handle in her grip when a sweet voice called from the hallway that ran past the parlor.
“Can I have a ’nack, Miss Whitney?” The little girl’s dark curls bounced as she skipped from the powder room beneath the stairs.
Whitney was so thankful to see Julia Mae that she almost promised her a fresh pie of her choice. Instead, she knelt in front of her and wrapped her up in a hug. “Yes. Let’s get you something to eat.”
Her joy disappeared as she carried the little girl into the dining room, where both Jacks had helped the stranger to his feet. The stranger who could only be Aretha’s nephew. The inn’s guest.
And upright, he was a very handsome guest at that.
Her stomach did a full flip. This was not the introduction she had expected.
Then again, he didn’t look like she’d expected either.
She paused, her lips pinching together as she tried to figure out what she’d thought he would look like. She hadn’t exactly expected him to have Aretha’s gray curls or pale skin. But she certainly hadn’t thought he’d be so ... well ... much.
He was half a head taller than Jack, and his features were slim but filled out, like he was hiding an athletic build. His button-up oxford was open at the neck, the bowtie she’d expect on an accountant conspicuously absent. His wavy light brown hair was cut short on the sides but hung over his forehead. Behind the black rectangular glasses perched on his nose, his eyes were blue as ice. And just about as inviting.
Jack didn’t seem to notice, a low rumble of humor in his chest preceding the slap he landed on the other man’s back. “Well, that was exciting. Danny, this is Whitney. Whitney, Danny.” Then, as though Whitney wouldn’t put it together, he added, “Aretha’s nephew.”
“Daniel,” he corrected, his voice deep, rough. It perfectly matched the glower on his face.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t usually...” Her voice trailed off as she looked at the spot where he’d landed on the floor before dragging her gaze back up to meet his.
He stared at her for a long, silent second.
“I’m the temporary cook and nanny.” She bounced Julia Mae in her arms in case he hadn’t picked that up.
“Are you staying at my house?” the girl asked Daniel.
The corners of Daniel’s mouth dropped even more—a feat Whitney hadn’t been sure was possible—but he nodded.
“Papa Jack, are you gonna set up taco bed?”
Jack let out a snort of surprise, and Daniel’s eyebrows nearly met, showing off two little concern lines.
Whitney quickly shook her head. “I think Mr. Daniel will get a real bed. In a real room.”
Julia Mae frowned at that and looked about ready to argue.
Tugging on the little girl’s chin, Whitney drew her gaze. “He’s not just a friend.” Daniel gave a soft grunt, and Whitney had to force herself not to make eye contact, certain he wouldn’t stretch their acquaintance nearly that far. “He’s a guest at the inn, so we’ll treat him as such.” She dipped her chin to give the girl a firm look.
With a wiggle and a frown, Julia Mae finally nodded.
Little Jack had been silent, his eyes wide with wonder as he looked up—and up—at Daniel. “I have bunk beds. You could stay in my room.”
Daniel’s eyes opened wide, his jaw slack, but before he could get anything out of his mouth, Whitney cut in.
“No, I don’t think that’s . . .”
Little Jack’s hopeful smile began to droop, taking her spirits right with it. But she couldn’t even entertain the idea. Marie had made it more than clear that Daniel was a guest. Even if Whitney had greeted him with a bruised nose.
At least it wasn’t bleeding.
Suddenly the nose in question tilted to the side, and Daniel gave an audible sniff. “Is something burning?”
Whitney began to shake her head, but the distinct odor of burned sugar slapped her in the face. Her stomach dropped through the floorboards as she set Julia Mae down and raced for the kitchen. “My pie!”
She sighed as she pulled it free of the smoking oven. The beautiful crumb crust couldn’t hide the berry-pink filling that had overflowed. Or the fact that she’d forgotten to put a pan beneath it. A perfect ring covered the bottom of the oven where the cinnamon and sugar had turned black.
A quick glance over her shoulder revealed that Jack, Daniel, and the kids were watching her every move. And surely questioning if she could manage to feed guests for the next four weeks without further disaster.
She offered a shrug of response to the curiosity painted across their faces. Just as the smoke detector began its incessant chirp.