Chapter Seven
Callie
Since she hadn’t been on a bike in, well, a long time, Callie decided to walk it up to where the paved road met the shell-covered driveway to the library.
Once there, she stood with a foot on either side of the frame, parked her butt on the wide seat, and only wobbled a little as she began to pedal.
But there was a reason why “just like riding a bike” was a cliché.
It barely took a half minute before muscle memory took over, and soon she was coasting down the bike lane on the flat stretch of road leading past the wooden fence that bordered the Petite C?te Island Bird Sanctuary.
There was a steady stream of traffic leading into the sanctuary from the main road, and she figured at least one of the cars contained whoever had stayed in her room at the Sand Dollar last night.
What a fiasco yesterday had turned out to be.
And it had started out with such promise.
When she’d set out from the pet-friendly hotel on the outskirts of Nashville, where she and Stella had stayed their first night on the road, she’d been looking forward to the upcoming adventure of life on the island.
As a child, she’d always loved her family’s summer trips to the Atlantic coast, but this trip would mark her first visit to the Gulf coast. And as unexpected as the bequest from Khaki was, it had been a welcome opportunity to try something entirely new.
A fresh start she desperately needed after the last few years.
She hadn’t told Trey this, but much as she loved being a librarian, the job had become almost more stress than she could handle after the director who had hired her right out of library school retired eighteen months ago.
Helen had been an extraordinarily generous boss.
And when Callie said she was adored by everyone, it was no exaggeration.
Unfortunately, her replacement—someone Callie had worked with for almost a decade, one of the branch managers from the other side of town—was not as suited to the role of running a large metro public library system.
And though Callie had never, not once in her life, wanted to be the boss, much less the boss of the bosses, Ginger had got it into her head somehow that Callie had wanted to be the one to fill Helen’s shoes when she retired.
And no matter how she tried to dissuade the other woman from the idea, Ginger continued to see Callie as a threat.
So, when Ginger ended up being the one chosen by the board to be the next director, she’d taken every opportunity she could to put Callie in her place.
One afternoon, after a particularly cutting remark from the woman who was now turning Callie’s dream job into a nightmare, Khaki had noticed something was bothering her.
And in a weak moment, Callie had poured out her heart to the grandmotherly woman with the indomitable spirit and the charming New Orleans accent.
She’d even told Khaki about her crazy idea of starting a literary bed-and-breakfast, where each room would be dedicated to one of her favorite authors.
After she’d unburdened herself to Khaki, Callie had felt a million times better, and though they’d chatted about their favorite authors and which ones might be “room-worthy” a few times after that, Callie had gotten caught up in work and hadn’t given her fantasy of becoming an innkeeper any more thought beyond the occasional daydream.
Because it was, when it came down to it, a pipe dream.
She’d had no intention of giving up the job she’d worked so hard to earn her degree for.
And even if Ginger was a tough pill to swallow at the best of times, at least they didn’t interact on a daily basis.
Callie was mostly content with her job. And if some days she let herself daydream a little about the B&B, she wasn’t serious about it.
Then she’d learned from Khaki’s daughter, Julie, that the spirited and kind woman who’d been more of a grandmother to Callie than even her own had been to her, had died peacefully in her sleep.
But the real shock had come when Julie handed her a letter and said that Khaki had left her something in her will.
The letter had only given her instructions to call a local attorney.
Silly Callie had thought Miss Khaki had left her a little bit of money, maybe.
Or a beloved tchotchke she thought Callie might like.
She’d never imagined she’d be on her way to the Louisiana Gulf coast within a few months and planning to spend an entire year there.
But as soon as she thought about heading south, she’d known it was the right thing to do.
She hadn’t realized until that moment how much her job had become a burden.
And it wasn’t as if there was a boyfriend or husband holding her back.
Her last relationship had ended a few months earlier when her boyfriend of three years had announced he was getting back together with his high school girlfriend.
Something, she realized now, she’d also confided to Khaki in one of their heart-to-hearts.
Her benefactor had known Callie was ready for a change and had decided to make it happen.
And before she knew it, she was packing her things, strapping Stella into her little harness, and driving away from the place she’d thought would finally be her forever home.
Now, as she pedaled down the bike lane toward the few blocks’ stretch that served as the island’s main drag, she reveled in the feeling of the sun on her (duly slathered with SPF Gazillion sunscreen) skin and the warm breeze off the water.
Though the heat and humidity were like nothing she’d ever experienced, it was also not as bad as she’d feared it would be.
The town “square” of Petite C?te Island seemed to be more of a rectangle with the shops and businesses facing each other across LeMoyne Drive, which ran the length of the entire island.
Callie appreciated the cheer of the brightly colored shop fronts and was pleased and a little surprised to see that there was not only Petticoat Bakes and Brews, which anchored the shopping center, but also a yoga studio, a pub, and even an ice cream shop.
Braking near a conveniently placed bike rack at the end of the boardwalk running in front of the row of shops, Callie was pleased to note there seemed to be a lot of foot traffic for a Thursday afternoon.
As she snapped her bike lock in place, she hummed along to a Jack Johnson tune playing from a speaker over the door of the café.
Though she was certain there were times when island residents did manage it, for the moment she had a hard time imagining stress could find anyone here.
Inside, there was a line, but Callie was happy enough to wait in the air-conditioning. She looked around the dining room, which sported booths along the walls and had multiple café-style tables strewn about the open area.
When she got to the counter, a stunning Black woman with her curls held back with a bright bandanna, gave her a sunny, if harried, smile. “What can I get for you?”
Deciding she needed more coffee after her lousy night’s sleep, Callie ordered a café au lait and a plate of beignets.
As soon as she finished speaking, however, the woman let out a high-pitched squeak.
“Oh my gawd, you’re the librarian!” Pulling her apron over her head, she shouted toward the back even as she started hurrying toward the small opening between the bar and the wall.
“Dawn, come to the register. I’m taking my break. ”
As a young woman in a ponytail stepped out of a door in the wall, she handed her the ticket where she’d written Callie’s order down, and before she knew it, the woman who’d taken her order was hustling Callie toward a booth in the back corner of the dining room.
“Sorry,” she said as soon as they were seated on opposite sides of the table, “but you would not believe how bad that husband of mine is at getting details. I swear it’s a good thing Bobby’s got the boat business. ’Cause if he had to make a living as a detective, he’d starve.”
At the mention of Bobby, Callie felt a burst of enlightenment. “You must be Bobby’s wife, Tricia,” she said with relief.
“And you’re Trey’s librarian from Cincinnati,” Tricia said with a grin. “Bobby said Trey was knocked for a loop and I can see why.”
At the mention of Trey, Callie felt herself redden. “Oh no, you misunderstand. I mean, yes, I am a librarian from Cincinnati but there’s nothing—I mean—Trey and I just met. And he doesn’t even like me. And I just got here yesterday.”
“Aw, honey that doesn’t mean anything,” Tricia said, waving away Callie’s denials. “It only took me an hour to know Bobby was the one.”
Callie felt like she’d been dropped in the middle of a rom-com, only somebody had forgotten to give her the script.
But something about her expression must have communicated her alarm to the woman sitting across from her because Tricia deflated and gave a little sigh.
“OK, you’re right. Maybe it is a little too soon.
But I’ve been holding out hope that Trey would find somebody after what his ex-wife did to him.
I thought you were the answer to my prayers. ”
Relieved that the other woman had calmed down a bit, Callie leaned back against the pleather of the booth and let out a sigh of relief.
Though she had to admit that she was curious about what had happened with Trey’s ex.
It might explain why he was so distrustful of her—aside from the obvious fact that he’d clearly expected to inherit the library.
Just then, the young woman who had taken over for Tricia at the register brought Callie’s coffee and a plate of pastries covered in enough powdered sugar to turn Marie Antoinette’s hair white.
Callie offered Tricia one of them, but the other woman shook her head. “I don’t really like sweets. Which is lucky, since I spend so much of my time in this place and my willpower is almost nonexistent.”