Chapter 9
Artemis
“Be a loom, weave friendships.”
—Eloisa Hobby
After she had sandwiches with Gran in the dining alcove at the Nestled Inn, Artie asked her grandmother if she could go to Crafters’ Corner for the welcome bonfire on the beach. Artie was desperate to find someone her age to hang out with, and she kept thinking about Orion, the gardener’s son.
Yeah, she was building a fantasy. The guy might be nowhere near her age, or he might have a girlfriend, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was someone under twenty to spend time with, and if Orion had a girlfriend, well, bring her along too. The more, the merrier.
“I don’t know,” Gran said. “Your mother might not approve.”
News flash! Her mother hardly approved of anything. “Auntie Dot will be there. It’s perfectly safe. And who knows, maybe Mom will show up too.”
“I don’t think so. She needs time for herself.”
Artie eyed her grandmother. “Did you guys have a fight?”
“Not a fight, no.” Gran slowly shredded a paper napkin over the plate she used for her sandwich. “We just have some things to sort through.”
“Do you want to come with me to the bonfire?” Artie asked out of politeness.
She hated for Gran to spend her first night on the island all by herself, but Artie really wanted to go alone. It would be harder to meet new people with Gran tagging along.
“No.” Gran shook her head. “You go on without me. I’m going to take a lavender bath and try to relax.”
Yay.
“But . . .” Gran looked at her watch. “Please be back by nine.”
“Aww, man, but it’s almost seven thirty now. They don’t even light the bonfire until it’s full dark.”
“Either stay in and play board games with me or go to the bonfire for an hour and a half. Take it or leave it.”
“Fine. I’ll take it.” Artie took off, darting out of the B&B and heading toward Crafters’ Corner.
* * *
Ten minutes of tromping around the village looking for kids her age and Artie explored the entire place. So far, she came up empty. Seriously, where were all the teenagers?
The shops were less crowded now compared to the bistros and restaurants. Music filled the air along with the smell of woodsmoke. They must have lit the bonfire. That’s when Artie spied a small passageway between the bookstore and the bakery. Why hadn’t she seen it before? The alley was lit with twinkling lights, inviting her to explore.
Curious, Artie pushed forward, her Doc Martens scuffing against the cobblestones. The narrow alley seemed to stretch on forever.
Lining either side of the path were the back entrances of the buildings, with stained-glass windows and bright doorways, which housed the craft shops and restaurants. The smell of cooking food and aromatic spices filled the confines. Artie noted the back entrance of the bookstore, an apothecary, and a small café.
Someone had done some serious cleaning in the alleyway. The cobblestones were immaculate. Many odds and ends lay bundled in neat piles against the buildings. On a long folding table, Artie spied an array of jewelry, glass trinkets, combs and brushes, books, even musical instruments. Had someone set up their own pop-up shop in this forgotten corner of Hobby Island?
In the shadows, near the far end of the long table, movement caught her eye. Squinting in the dim light, she realized it was a young woman about her own age—halle-freaking-lujah—sorting items on the table while humming to herself. The tune was familiar, almost like a lullaby, but Artie couldn’t place it.
The girl had short shaggy hair dyed a cool shade of purple. She wore torn jeans tucked into rubber boots and a black Brandi Carlile T-shirt. She moved with a simple grace that stirred Artie’s envy.
She must have heard Artie’s approach, because she looked up with striking gray eyes flecked with shimmering gold.
Eyes that left Artie feeling breathless and vulnerable.
Those eyes held secrets and mysteries untold. Secrets Artie had a desperate urge to unravel. A shiver ran through her, and goose bumps popped up on her arm.
The girl smiled. “Hello.”
“Hi.”
Artie closed the distance until they were a few steps apart. The girl gestured for Artie to come nearer to see the items she was arranging. The trinkets the girl crafted with loving care stoked Artie’s awe. Some were made from metal and glass while others were crafted from driftwood, plastic, or cloth.
“You made all these?”
“My collections from the sea,” the girl said. “I’ve been living on the island since I was a kid. I scour the beach for lost treasures, clean them up, recycle, repurpose, and sell to the guests who visit the island.”
“You’re an amazing artist. These are beautiful!”
“Thanks.”
Wow, this kindhearted, quirky soul lived her life according to whimsy—just like Hobby Island itself.
The girl glanced up, an amused twinkle in her fantastic gray eyes, as if reading Artie’s mind, laughed, and pointed to a sign propped on the table that read whimsy encouraged here.
“I’m Artemis,” Artie said.
“I know.”
“How?”
“I charge up the golf carts for the guests’ arrival and bring in the luggage. Your name was on the list. You’re staying at the Nestled Inn with your mother, Luna, and grandmother Jeanie, right?”
Wow, the girl did know a lot about her. Artie was at a disadvantage. “Yeah, that’s right. By the way, everyone calls me Artie.”
The girl’s grin widened as she stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Artie. Welcome to Hobby Island. I’m Orion.”