Because when all was said and done, Butterfly Harbor was the only home Luke had ever known.
CHAPTER THREE
“HOLY HAMBURGERS.” ABBY MANNING breezed into the kitchen like a dandelion on the wind as Holly dumped a load of sizzling fries from the fryer into a cardboard to-go container. “Is that who I think it is chatting up Mayor Gil ‘the Thrill’ Hamilton?”
As blond as Holly was brunette, as short as Holly was tall, Abby’s slack-jawed disbelief didn’t come close to registering on Holly’s shock-o-meter.
“If you mean Luke Saxon, you aren’t seeing things.” Holly slopped a ladle full of steaming chili on the pile of fries before topping it with a handful of shredded cheese...and imagined dumping the entire batch in Sheriff Saxon’s lap. “Please tell me you didn’t know he was coming and decided not to warn me.”
“Hey.” Abby’s frown sparked a flame of hurt anger on her face. “Best friends don’t keep secrets like that from each other.” Abby’s long blond curls whipped around pixie-like features as she peered through the open door into the diner.
“Apparently my father does.” How could he not have warned her?
“Your dad probably didn’t want to upset you,” Abby said. “These days anyone brings up what’s going on in town and you heat up like someone’s tossed water on a grease fire. And don’t pretend otherwise. You’ve been a walking hair trigger ever since the mayor and town council proposed their development plans.”
“They aren’t looking at the bigger picture. There’s more to saving Butterfly Harbor than expansion and construction.” The crime rate was exploding, vandalism and break-ins were on the rise and there wasn’t anything for the young people in town to do except wander the streets, bored, and get into trouble, especially now the last arcade in town had closed. She should know. One of the culprits lived in her house. “And FYI, expanding business for those of us who are still here isn’t a permanent or an instant solution.”
“It’s a start,” Abby said. “Look, I get it. It’s a lot to have to consider. More hours, hiring new staff, adjusting your meticulous schedule.” Abby jerked her thumb in the direction of Holly’s work calendar and daily to-do list.
“There’s more to it.” Holly shook her head. “All those strangers coming to town? People who have no idea how idyllic this town is—”
“How idyllic it used to be,” Ursula chimed in as she chopped onions without shedding a tear. “Now it’s small. And getting smaller. Three more houses went up for sale this week alone. We need fresh blood in Butterfly Harbor. It’s either expand or die.”
“Which is why Gil’s ideas might be for the better.” Abby waved an approving hand in Ursula’s direction. “Granted, I didn’t think Gil’s plans would bring Luke Saxon back to town.” She waggled her eyebrows to take the edge off her contrary opinion. “He turned out pretty nice, though.” Abby leaned back and aimed a wide-eyed gaze in Luke’s direction. “Looks as if those rough edges got all smooth and shiny.”
Holly didn’t want to think about how “shiny” Luke Saxon had turned out. It had only been an hour since Luke had walked into the diner—an hour she’d spent scrubbing every pot and pan in the kitchen. Anything to distract herself and put her anger to some use. As if anyone could stay angry for long with Abby around.
Her best friend’s ebullient personality made a fairy-tale princess look depressed, which made Abby the ideal manager of the iconic Flutterby Inn, Butterfly Harbor’s oldest hotel-size bed-and-breakfast. With the exception of their notorious blowup over whether Big Bird or Elmo was the lynchpin of Sesame Street—Holly had sided with the bird—she and Abby had been inseparable since kindergarten.
“If you’re ogling Luke Saxon, you need to get out more.” Holly shoved the takeout container into a paper bag and carried it up to the register before she started a mocha shake. “You want lunch?”
“No, thanks.” Abby sidled up next to her. “Matilda made apple pancakes for our one guest this morning so I snacked on the leftovers. And I take it you don’t want to discuss you-know-who—” The rest of Abby’s observation was halted by Simon, aka you-know-who, as he raced around the counter and wrapped his arms around Abby’s waist.
“Aunt Abby.”
“Hey, squirt.” Abby enveloped Simon’s small frame and squeezed, aiming a look at Holly that ensured a long session of girl talk in the near future. And a very large bottle of chardonnay. “You still grounded?”