Chapter 3
BILLIE
Ever since I moved out of my mom’s place, I’ve delighted in waking early and greeting the sun as she wakes up. There’s nothing like walking along the beach as the sun rises. Nothing like watching the sky turn from inky blue to gold, watching the water reflect the beauty of the sky.
It’s the perfect way to start the day.
I head for the bathroom to wash my face and brush my hair, sticking my tongue out at myself in the mirror as I force the brush through my unruly blond curls before slipping into a blue sundress. Then I slap on some sunscreen, slip into my sandals and head out for my morning walk.
The warm, salty air fills my lungs the second I open the door. It makes me smile. Life here in Havenridge really is perfect.
Sometimes, the tourists look at us like we’re simple, and our satisfaction with our way of life is something to be pitied rather than celebrated.
Sure, it’s true we don’t have subways and skyscrapers out here, but we can see the stars.
We can breathe fresh air. We can walk wherever we want and live our lives from day to day rather than worrying about spreadsheets and emails.
Some people on the island do have remote jobs. Some people even own little boats so they can commute. I remember when they first installed fast internet here. Everyone on the island was in such an uproar about us getting a satellite tower.
But no one’s complained since they realized that actually, yeah, fast internet is worth it. We might not live big, exciting lives here, but everyone likes to stream TV shows.
I slip off my sandals when I reach the shore, feeling the sand squish between my toes. Looking down at my feet reminds me I need a pedicure. My pink nail polish is chipped and old and needs a little love. But that’s a later problem.
All that matters right now is the sea.
“Hi, Janet,” I call to a woman who runs past me. She waves before continuing on her run. She never stops to talk while she’s in the middle of her exercise, but she will come into the cafe without fail later. She always does.
It’s what I like about this island; the routine, the community. The knowledge that nothing ever changes.
Some people get scared by that, but for me? Consistency is what I like.
The sun creeps up into the morning sky, and I wrench myself away from the beach and head up into town. I could spend all day on the beach, but I have things to do. I have a cafe to run.
I walk along the narrow beachfront street, glancing at the sea one last time before rummaging in my bag. I find my keys as I get to the cafe, and when I unlock the door, the wind chime hanging on the window rattles a pretty welcome.
I grin as I flip the sign around from closed to open.
I’m not really ready to open yet. I still need to sweep the floor and kick the coffee machine into action, but it’s slightly past six, which is later than I usually like to open up.
I might be an early riser, but there’s no way I would be able to open in time to catch the people on the fishing boats before they left.
So, I like to be open for when they come back from their first run, and for those who set off a bit later. They’ll forgive me if I’m still getting ready when they come in; they’ll understand that I’m only human. I know them all as friends anyway.
The coffee machine is just burbling to life when the first trickle of customers starts coming in. “Morning, Jeff,” I call without even turning to look, the sound of his boots in the doorway giving him away.
“Morning to you, Miss Billie,” he calls. I set a cup under the coffee machine and spin around to face him. “What pastry can I tempt you with this morning? I’ll get your breakfast cooking up in a minute.”
He stares at my display cabinet and hums thoughtfully. “Chocolate croissant for me,” he says. “And Carl will have a muffin. He’s on his way. He sent me ahead to get the coffees in.”
“I’m almost insulted you think I wouldn’t be ready.” I laugh, the coffee machine whistling at me to signify that it’s done. “Imagine if by now I didn’t know your orders by heart!”
“I know you do,” he says with a grin, and I place his perfect cup of coffee down in front of him.
A few minutes later, Carl walks in and I hand him his coffee too, as well as the muffin Jeff bought for him earlier. “Thanks, Billie.” He grins. I turn back to my cleaning, and when the bell rings again, there’s a chorus of hellos as the new customer greets the fisherman.
“Morning, Janet,” I call. “Iced tea?”
“You know me so well.”
“It’s all part of the service.” I beam.
This is how every morning goes.
Someone walks in, and everyone greets them.
They greet everyone. I already know what they want, and we chat about life, about the weather, about the day ahead.
A handful of tourists come in, and I actually have to listen to them when they speak so I don’t mess their orders up.
By the time people are flowing in for breakfast, the chef is set up in the kitchen and takes over from me with eggs and bacon.
At about noon, I shoo the customers out and close the shop for half an hour or so. I like to go for a walk at lunchtime.
Today’s our quiet day, so it’s only me and the chef working. Usually, I have someone else out front, but they need time off as much as anyone else does. I don’t mind doing the extra work.
I do, however, believe in my right to go for a little lunchtime walk, so if anyone wants a coffee, they just have to wait.
When I get back from my walk, I give myself a few minutes before I open up again properly to take some time for myself. A single second to breathe and remember why I love my life. It’s not hard to think of things to be grateful for.
Today, that time is interrupted by a thumping on the door.
I take a deep breath, about to be annoyed by a tourist who thinks they’re entitled to my time, but when I head for the front and see my best friend hammering on the glass, I can’t help but smile. I unlock the door, flip the sign, and then engulf Willow in a hug.
She’s taller than me; her brown skin soft, her hair a shock of black curls, her smile the brightest, warmest smile you could ever hope to see. “Have you heard?” she asks urgently as she clatters in.
“No?” I frown, heading back behind the counter. “What’s happening?”
I love Willow to death, but she is an enormous gossip. If there’s ever anything going on in town, Willow is the first to know.
“Apparently,” she says, taking her seat and resting her chin on her knuckles, “some rich guy showed up with his yacht this morning.”
“Okay? And?”
“Well, Jeanette said her husband got roped into a conversation with one of his lawyers. She said that he said that they were asking about settlements for evictions!”
“Evictions?” I echo, my brows furrowing. “Why?”
“Apparently,” says Willow, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, “this guy is trying to buy the island.”
“Buy the island?” I feel like a parrot at this point, but I’m too shocked to do anything but repeat her words.
She nods solemnly. “You remember a few years ago when all those building contractors came to try and build apartments on the beach?”
“I remember,” I grumble. “I was one of the main people protesting it.”
If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s the idea of our beach being sullied by rich people who want to turf us out of our homes.
“Well, apparently,” Willow continues, but she’s interrupted by some tourists wandering in. I force myself to smile and take their orders.
They take forever to decide if they want to eat, if they only want a sandwich, if they want a pastry too, well, maybe we should get lunch, well, maybe we should do this, or that or coffee or tea or…
I clench my fists to stop myself from telling them to hurry the hell up so Willow can keep telling me her news. Fortunately, they decide that, after all, they only want pastries to go and a sugary coffee each.
The second they leave, I stare at Willow. “Continue,” I say. “Building contractors? Land?”
“Oh, yeah. Apparently those contractors wanted to buy the land, which is technically owned by some rich guy or something. And apparently, that rich guy or something never actually took the land off the market.”
“So now some other rich guy is going to come and steal our homes,” I say, my mouth dropping open. She nods slowly. “We have to do something to stop this.”
Willow shakes her head with a sad smile. “I think this time might be for real, honey.”
“I won’t allow it,” I say, sticking my nose high in the air. “They’ll have to drag me away if they want me to leave.”
“I know they will.”
“We have to call a meeting. We have to get the town in order. We have to—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down,” Willow says, putting her hands on my shoulders as if to calm me down. “It’s bad news, but they might simply leave. We don’t know what’s going on yet. Let’s not jump to any conclusions.”
“Okay,” I say hesitantly. “But the second I get wind of this deal being for real, you bet I’m going to protest about it.”
“I know you will. And you know I’ll be there holding your hand the whole time.”
“Nobody is going to take Havenridge away from us.” I narrow my eyes. “Nobody.”