Chapter 5
Nora
The hysteria is building.
I can feel it burning deep in my gut and clawing up my esophagus. I’m seconds from standing in the middle of the street on Wing Whirr Way, screaming, “I give up!”
Everything since I arrived on Grandma’s doorstep has been catastrophic.
The horrible conditions of her house on the heels of her untimely death.
Grappling with the devastation of losing her and the memories the cottage evoked.
A face-off with the surly neighbor. The utilities being off and unable to be restored until Monday.
And the unhelpful sheriff who treated me like a criminal.
I really do want to give up.
All it would take is one phone call. Denver would be on the next flight out, handle all my problems with ease by throwing his endless money at it, and then we’d be out of here before I could blink.
Is that what you want?
A part of me does. The weak, pathetic part. However, the part that holds dear memories of her grandmother and this town does not. That girl wants closure.
So, I can’t throw in the towel.
Feeling a bit better, I lift my chin, grab the handlebars of the bike, and begin walking it across Wing Whirr Way like a woman on a mission.
Lodging for the weekend is of the utmost importance.
If I can find a place to land, even for a few days, I’ll gather my bearings.
I’m good at handling complicated projects. I can do this.
A family of five, all wearing matching feathery budgie hats, catch my attention. Two of the kids are young enough to be in strollers, but the older one, maybe five or six, is proudly clutching onto a travel cage with her prize trapped inside.
“A budgie makes for a great pet but takes a lot of care and maintenance. Consider wisely before getting one for a child and make sure they’re mature enough for the responsibility.”
I stand frozen, tears welling in my eyes, as one of Grandma’s favorite things to say to people during BudgieFest pops into my head. I can almost hear the tone of her voice. The smell her sweet, strawberry scent. God, I miss her.
The child with the cage falls and the budgie inside flaps its’ wings in panic. I cringe, wanting to step in and steal the poor bird from the kid. I must be staring a little too long, because the mother shoots me a nasty glare.
Sighing heavily, I send a silent prayer to heaven hoping Grandma can convince an angel to intervene on that little bird’s behalf. Grandma was that angel when she was alive…
I sniffle and hurry past the family to The Nest Box Inn.
I’ve always been enchanted by this place.
Grandma said it used to be a boarding house and it’s where she came to live before she met Grandpa.
It’s sweet and romantic. Probably something my best friend Kayla would gush over if I told her about it.
You should return her calls and texts.
Guilt sits on my shoulders, and I slump as I park my bike in a bike rack on the sidewalk. I’ll call Kayla when I’m settled. She’s normally the chaotic one, not me, so I need to wrangle my own issues before I involve her. Kayla has the magic touch of multiplying them.
I approach the worn white clapboard door that’s been softened by years of salty air and unforgiving sun. Paint flakes off in the breeze, but it doesn’t feel run down to me. It’s charming because it hasn’t been renovated to perfection. I like that it still preserves the essence of this place.
The tiny brass bell on the door jingles as I enter. It’s an ancient bell likely upcycled from one of the fishing boats. There’s history here and I think that’s what’s always drawn me to this inn.
My shoes softly thud across the original hardwood floors that are smooth and a golden honey color from age.
The air smells faintly of lemon floor polish and maybe lavender.
It’s lovely and welcoming. A massive braided oval rug covers the area in the middle of the entryway that leads up to a compact check-in desk.
Beside the open guestbook on the desk, there’s a porcelain budgie figurine painted green and yellow, its eyes bright and friendly.
There’s a small bell on the desk with a note that says, “Give us a ring for assistance.” So, I tap the top of it, wincing slightly at the jarring sound in such a peaceful, cozy space.
While I wait for an attendant to help me, I admire the floral wallpaper.
It’s a warm cream background with a lace facade covered in tiny pink roses.
Though a bit busy, it was obviously chosen by someone who loves pretty things.
On the wallpapered walls are framed cross-stitched pictures of the bay and various types of budgies.
The owner of this place must be a major bird lover like my grandma was because there are delicate vintage framed prints of more budgies.
Even the tiny teacups stacked up on bookshelves along the walls have hand-painted birds on them.
There’s a sitting area off to one side that looks like a nice place to camp out. The material of the sofa is soft pink, and a massive, colorful quilt is folded on top of the back of it. Even the throw pillows carefully positioned have budgies embroidered onto them.
And somehow, it doesn’t feel like too much. Not at all kitschy. It’s a collection. An inheritance. A lifetime of building something you love. My heart warms. I knew coming here was a good idea.
Soft footsteps thudding across the wood floors steals my attention. I swivel around to discover an older woman, likely closer to my grandma’s age than my mom’s, walking over to me. Her slightly wrinkled face wears a friendly smile.
“Welcome to The Nest Box Inn,” she says, evident pride of her establishment gleaming in her eyes. “What can I do for you, hon?”
It’s then I notice a yellow budgie sitting quietly on her shoulder. A grin tugs at my lips. “What a cutie? What’s his name?”
The woman chuckles and turns her head to kiss the little bird. “I’m surprised you know the sex. Most tourists haven’t a clue. His name is Ray.”
As much as I want to delve into the fact my grandma taught me everything she knew about budgies, I figure now’s not the time. I need to secure a place to sleep and then I can blab about birds if I’m feeling up to it.
“Like the sun? Cute.” I gesture around me and then blurt out, “I need to book a room.”
Before she can open her mouth, I continue spilling out all my business, because apparently, I’m just grateful to have run across someone nice.
“The place I’m staying at has no utilities. Went to the post office, but they already closed up for the day. The sheriff showed up—”
“The sheriff?” the woman asks, eyes lighting up.
“Don’t get too excited,” I grumble. “He was rude. Anyway, no one has been of any help. I just need to book a room and then I’ll be out of your way.”
The woman’s eyes narrow and she studies me quietly for a few seconds too long for my liking. “Sit tight. I’ll grab you some tea.”
I open my mouth to tell her I’d prefer coffee, but she disappears.
Deflating, I drop down onto the shockingly comfortable sofa and wait for her to return.
Moments later, she carries out a dainty silver tray with a porcelain, painted teapot, two miniature teacups, a small carafe of cream, packets of sweetener, and a couple of spoons.
So, we’re having a tea party.
I’m in a hurry and this lady just dropped us into turtle mode.
Rather than let my inner impatient city girl out, I thank the woman for the tea and fix mine up so it’s decent enough to drink. When I taste the hot liquid, I’m pleased that it’s something cinnamon-flavored with a hint of orange and the tea is strong.
“So, you met my son?”
Is she a mind reader or does the small-town gossip move that fast?
I blink at her, nearly choking on my coffee. “Elias Cove is your son? Did he tell you about me or something? He was awful to me—”
“No, dear girl,” the woman says with a chuckle. “The sheriff. I’m Mae Calder. Sheriff Monroe Calder is my oldest boy. Looks just like his daddy did.”
Now I feel like a total idiot.
I take her frail outstretched hand and shake it. It’s firm and strong and not what I expected from the soft woman with a bird on her shoulder who enjoys tea parties with newcomers.
“Sorry,” I murmur before chugging the hot tea. “It’s just been a day. I’m trying to get my grandma’s house dealt with and haven’t exactly had success.”
“I miss Goldie too.”
I’m stunned at the sorcery of this woman who apparently seems to know everything. Of course she knew Grandma. Everyone did.
“How did you know I was her granddaughter?”
“For one, you look just like she did at that age. Two, you mentioned Elias Cove. Not difficult to put together.” Mae winks at me and gives my knee a small pat. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I, uh, the place isn’t fit for me to stay,” I explain, stumbling over my words. “I thought I’d just stay here a few days until I can get it sorted over there.”
Mae nods, a sympathetic smile on her face. “I’d love that, honey.”
Oh, thank God.
“But,” she continues, “we’re all booked out for the entire summer.”
The tea in my gut sours. “What? Surely you have something. Please.”
“I really am sorry.”
“What about that other hotel?” I ask, voice turning shrill. “The new one? Would they have any rooms?”
“People book out months and sometimes years in advance for BudgieFest,” Mae says with a frown. “You could try, but I’m afraid you’ll be turned down there, too. Now, I know you said Elias was awful to you, but I’m sure that was just a misunderstanding. Perhaps if you talk to him—”
Her words are cut off by my best friend FaceTiming me. I go to decline the call and accidentally answer it instead.
“Oh. My. God,” Kayla says, red lips parted in shock. “Are you inside a dollhouse right now?”
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and then bring the phone up so I can look at Kayla. “The Nest Box Inn looking for a room.”
“I thought you were staying at your grandma’s.”
I grimace. “Thought so too. Turns out it’s not ready.”
“Need me to book a flight?” she asks and then curses when she runs into someone walking down the street. “We can stay in the dollhouse together and watch 90s romcoms in our jammies. I’ll bring the wine.”
A smile tugs at my lips. It’s likely the first genuine one I’ve had since I landed. “Everything’s all booked out for BudgieFest.”
“WHAT IS BUDGIEFEST AND HOW DO I SIGN UP?”
Mae chuckles at my friend’s excitement.
“Never mind that,” I grumble. “I can’t stay here and it has nothing to do with the fact I insulted the owner’s son. Who’s the sheriff.”
Kayla stops, eyes wide and glimmering with delight. She brings the camera close to her face. “Nora Everhart. You’re in a Hallmark movie right now. Tell me the sheriff is grumpy. Aww, you’re going to marry him.”
Mae barks out a laugh. “He’s grumpy all right.”
“I have Denver,” I say tightly. “I’m not marrying the sheriff. Plus, he’s like, old.”
“You’re from Colorado?” Mae asks, ignoring my jab at her son. “I thought Goldie said you were a New Yorker.”
“He’s her boyfriend,” Kayla tattles, curling up her lip. “Total square. And I’ll have you know, older guys can be a lot of fun.”
I’m about to hang up on my best friend before she can start talking about the heroes in the books she writes. She’ll go on and on about fated mates or daddies or golden retrievers. Once you get this woman started, she doesn’t stop.
The door to the inn blows open and a man strides in with confident ease. Kayla’s yammering is silenced and that’s hard to do.
“Ahhh, look who it is,” Mae says as Ray flies off her shoulder to greet the newcomer. “I have a drawer that needs fixin’.”
I catch myself appreciating the rugged man with a yellow bird perched on his finger for all of two seconds before I realize it’s just him. My nemesis. Elias Cove.
“That’s the one you marry,” Kayla hisses, pointing at Elias. “I mean, look at that beard!”
I jab at the volume so the beard in question doesn’t overhear. He lets out a grunt as he passes the sofa, pointing over at the desk. “Same one as last time?”
Mae nods. “Always gets stuck.”
“Stop cramming it full of junk, Mae, and it won’t get stuck.”
“Oooh, he’s grumpy, too,” Kayla adds, grinning at me. “I can’t believe you’re in a Hallmark movie. I’m so jealous. Sure you don’t want me to come?”
The last thing I need is my wild best friend adding more flame to a fire I’m desperately trying to put out.
“Soon,” I promise. “Gotta go. Call you later.”
She’s talking when I end the call, but I know she’ll forgive me. I’m frazzled and don’t need any extra stimulation right now.
I set my teacup down and then rise to my feet, eager to make my escape. I’m nearly to the door when a booming voice stops me in my tracks.
“Where do you think you’re going, Everhart?”
I whirl around to glare at my grandma’s terrible neighbor. “Anywhere but here.”
He moves the drawer in and out, after easily having fixed it. “You’ll need a ride then. Get in the truck. I’ll be out in a sec.”
The nerve of this man.
I’m not riding anywhere with him.