Chapter 1

Aria

It started as a gentle breeze, a ruffle through the weather-weary beach grass, a disturbance of air just strong enough to make the squirrel in the winter-bare maple tree sit up straighter, a burst of energy that was enough to tug the corner on the “Help wanted” sign I’d just taped to the café window; then it softened and floated around the cove like a whisper. The sound—a swooshing, rolling, damp sigh that made it seem as if the surrounding shale cliffs were yawning—didn’t happen often, but it was how our town earned the name Whisper Cove. Our Irish grandmother, or Nonna, as we lovingly called her, used to tell us it was fairies whispering to each other. Between her hugs and kisses and freshly baked cookies, she steeped us in a magical world filled with princesses, heroes, changelings and all the creatures she grew up reading about.

Nonna always insisted that when a whisper circled the cove, it meant a change was coming. It could be something as small as a robin deciding to build its nest on top of the porch light or as big as meeting your soulmate. It could be a change for the better or a change for the worse. That was the thing about fairies, Nonna would say—it all depended on what kind of mood they were in. They could be as sweet as amber honey or as sour as unripe grapes.

My phone rang. I moved the paper-wrapped sandwich to my left hand and pulled the phone free from my coat pocket. It was my youngest sister, Layla, and I already knew what the call was about.

“Did you hear it? Did you hear the whisper?” Layla asked excitedly. “I sure hope those fairies are in a good mood. I’m meeting Evan tonight for dinner. He sounds so nice on the phone, and I really think this could be the guy.” Unfortunately, Layla said that same phrase about every man she met. She was an unabashed romantic and also too easily swept off her feet. “I sure hope that whisper was for me.” She also tended to be a little self-centered, but then, she was the youngest of five sisters, and we all doted on her.

“Since the last whisper ended with me needing a new stove in the café, I gladly hand this one off to you. I don’t need a change. I need a cook. Heck, if someone knows how to crack an egg without getting it all over the floor, then I’d hire them. Running both the front and back of the café is too much.”

“Okay, then I guess this phone call is all about you,” Layla said.

I huffed loudly. “Sometimes being the oldest—well, it gets old . I do occasionally need to gripe and rant and whine, too.” I turned toward the boat marina. It was cloaked in gray skies. An icy, salty wind made my eyes water. I lowered my face to avoid it.

“You’re right, Aria. I’m sorry. Have you had any promising applicants? What about the woman with the funny name? Minnie?”

“Minerva seemed very promising until we hopped on a video interview. She kept answering her phone in the middle of my questions. Her kettle whistled at one point, and she got up and made herself a cup of tea. She returned five minutes later with her cup, and I told her the interview was over.”

“Oh my gosh, how rude. You’ll find someone. What are you doing this morning on your day off?”

“Big things, exciting things, as usual. I’m taking Oscar Mittel a tuna sandwich. His arthritis has been acting up with this cold, damp weather.” Oscar was in his nineties, possibly even his hundreds. He’d been living in the cove on his houseboat since we were kids. When he was young, he worked on a fishing fleet. Nonna used to walk over and have coffee with him every Saturday morning. She’d bring him a tin of her shortbread or a plate of oatmeal cookies. When the weather was particularly bad, like this morning, I brought him lunch. He loved my tuna sandwiches and patty melts.

Layla laughed. “I remember Nonna used to call it ‘bone-chewing weather’ because she said it felt like mice were gnawing on her knees and knuckles.”

“I don’t think any of us ever appreciated just how much pain she was in. She always seemed to smile past it.” Our grandmother became our primary guardian after our mom died from a sudden illness. Our dad traveled for business, and, frankly, he had no idea how to raise five little girls. We ended up in Nonna’s care, and she was nothing short of wonderful.

“Hey, maybe that whisper means Kellan is going to propose,” Layla said with a new burst of enthusiasm.

I laughed. After a few years of dating various men, I’d almost given up on the idea of finding my match when I met Kellan at, of all places, a farmer’s market. He was tall and handsome and very put together. (I was horrified by my own attire that day—a pair of jean cutoffs and a T-shirt with a coffee stain.) We’d both reached for the same basket of blueberries. He waved his hand, letting me know that the berries were mine, and what started as a brief conversation about the health benefits of antioxidants morphed into plans for a dinner date. He was a financial consultant who worked remotely, giving him the freedom to live anywhere, and anywhere happened to be in Fairview, the next town inland from Whisper Cove.

“We’ve only been dating six months, so that’s not happening. I’m certainly not ready for it.”

“No, but I think Kellan is. Isla said when the four of you went to dinner the other night, Kellan couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

Another laugh. “You mean he couldn’t take his eyes off Luke. Kellan even told me after we left dinner that Luke was his new idol and that he couldn’t wait to strike up a close friendship with him.”

“Well, we all feel that way about glorious Luke.” It was true. Isla had found her soulmate. I wasn’t as sure about my recent match, but I couldn’t deny that it was nice to have someone solid and trustworthy in my life. Layla’s phone beeped. “Oops, got another call. Might be Evan. We haven’t firmed up tonight’s plans yet. Say hello to Oscar for me.”

I tucked my phone back into my pocket only to have to drag it right back out. Seeing Kellan’s name on the screen caused a slight flutter in my chest. It wasn’t the same intense flutter I used to feel when Dylan, the boy I loved in high school, called me or rode his bike past the house, but there was a definite stirring. I was no longer a starry-eyed teen, so I was sure this was my adult version of a flutter—a far more sensible reaction, I reminded myself.

“Morning,” I said cheerily.

“Hey, beautiful, how about some lunch later? I’ll book us a table at Mama Maria’s for a nice, romantic meal.”

“That sounds perfect. I’ve got some things to do at the café first.”

“I thought this was your day off.”

“Says the man who works night and day seven days a week,” I teased.

“That’s how you get ahead in this business. I’m sure the café can survive if you take the morning off.” It wasn’t the first time he’d made my career seem less important than his, but I’d learned to ignore it because I knew my career and my café were important.

“Sure, I’ll just tell tomorrow morning’s customers that there will be no chopped veggies in their omelets or frittatas, and I’m sure they won’t need any biscuits with that gravy. They could just eat it with a spoon.”

He chuckled. “All right, all right. You’ve made your point. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you at lunch.” His phone beeped. “Darn it. I need to get this. Meet you at the restaurant at one. Does that work?”

“See you then.”

Wispy tufts of ghostlike fog still clung to the forest of masts in the marina. The shiny blue hull of Oscar’s houseboat tapped against the side of the dock. A boat I’d never seen before was moored in the slip next to it. It was an old tugboat that had been converted into a houseboat. Occasionally, a high-dollar conversion would moor at the marina for a few days, though usually in summer, when the weather was more inviting. This wasn’t one of those shiny, expensive models. The vessel was dotted with chipped gray paint, and the windows on the wheelhouse were hazy and cracked. The only signs of life on the boat were a makeshift laundry line hung with shirts and socks and a fat, sleepy gull perched on top of the wheelhouse.

That same bird casually turned his long beak my direction. My phone beeped. I glanced at the incoming text. “I guess the fairies were in a bad mood. Evan cancelled!!” A flapping of wings pulled my attention toward the boat. The gull swooped down from the wheelhouse. I’d grown up on the cove and never thought twice about a gull taking flight, except this one headed straight toward me. His beady black eyes were laser-focused on the sandwich in my hand. I screamed. From the corner of my eye, I saw a man shoot out of the tugboat wheelhouse.

“Gus, no!” he yelled.

The next few seconds were filled with flapping wings, a determined sharp beak and a good dose of terror. My instincts kicked in too late. I should have thrown the sandwich at the bird. Instead, thinking it was heavier and more of a deterrent, I threw my phone … and missed. My phone clattered across the dock. I waved my arms to fend off the gull and keep that sharp beak from my face. I backed up three quick steps, and in the flurry of feathers and greedy determination (on the bird’s part), reason clicked in. As I threw the sandwich in the air, I took another step back. My boot didn’t land on the dock. My arms flailed as I fell backward into the icy, brackish water. The sharp, cold ocean swept the breath from me as salt water filled my nose and throat. The water around me reverberated and became turbulent as I swam frantically to the surface. I gasped when two hands took hold of my waist.

The shock and moments of terror caused me to lash out at the man holding me. I swung my fist back and managed to get in one good punch to his jaw. He grunted as his teeth snapped together.

“I’m trying to help you,” he muttered. “Stop struggling.”

The extreme cold took over, and my limbs suddenly felt useless, heavy, and immovable, but my chin was vibrating uncontrollably. His hands stayed firmly on my waist. Oscar was up on the dock peering down with great concern. He tried to help, but I worried he’d fall in, too.

“It’s all right, Oscar. I can pull myself up.” I reached for the edge of the dock, but my hands were so numb, it was hard to get a good grasp. The man behind me moved his hands down to my bottom and gave me a strong push. I managed to pull my upper half up onto the splintery planks. I turned back but couldn’t see him over my shoulder. “You can take your hands off my rear end now … please.”

He lowered his hands, and with some effort, I managed to pull my legs up on the dock. Oscar was already taking off his coat for me. A few feet away, the gull was casually, and without a care in the world, enjoying the tuna sandwich.

Oscar handed me my phone and dropped his coat around my shoulders. The shivering had slowed, but my limbs still felt heavy. I could hear water splash on the dock as the man pulled himself out.

Seawater poured off him as he crouched down next to me. Even in a crouch, he was giant. “I’m so sorry. You’re hurt.” He reached for my hand. My reactions had been slowed by shock. I stared down at his big hand holding my wrist. Blood dripped from a gash on the back of my hand.

“It looks worse than it is.” I pulled my hand free. I was feeling a few good blush shades past major embarrassment.

“Again, I’m so sorry,” the man said. He had green eyes that were surrounded by long spikes of black lashes, and while it was the last thing I should have been thinking about, given the circumstances, I couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was.

“It wasn’t your fault. Thank you for jumping in—” As I said it, the whole nightmarish moment played out again as the gull swept through the air close to my head. I gasped and ducked down under Oscar’s coat. When I finally emerged like a turtle from its shell, I was stunned by the image in front of me. The gull had landed on the man’s shoulder, like a parrot on a pirate. The last few minutes were becoming clearer and the reason for his apology even more so.

“Is that your bird?” I asked.

“I’m afraid so, although, in my defense, I never asked him to stick around after I freed him from some fishing line. He just decided to stay. This is Gus.” The man’s smile was not too shabby either, only I wasn’t in the mood for glorious, white splashes of teeth, no matter how disarming.

“You need to teach him some manners,” I said angrily. I brushed away his offer of a hand up and pushed to my feet. The chill was starting to settle in my bones, and the unpleasant odor of oily seawater invaded my pores.

“I have a first aid kit in my boat. Let me at least take care of that cut on your hand.”

“No, thanks. You’ve done enough.”

The man lifted his arm and reached toward my head. I leaned back away from his hand. “Just trying to help,” he said, and he persisted. I felt something peel off my head. He held up a piece of seaweed. “Again, I’m sorry.” He shifted his chin side to side. “By the way, you’ve got one heck of a right hook, Rocky.”

Mustering my last ounce of dignity, I lifted my chin. “You grabbed me and I thought—” I took a deep breath. I was wet and cold and stinky, and while I didn’t cry easily, I definitely felt a few tears well up. All I wanted was to get home. I handed Oscar back his coat. His wrinkly forehead was still bunched in concern. “I’ll bring you another sandwich later.”

“No, no, you go home and get in a hot bath, and don’t worry about my lunch. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.” My feet sloshed side to side in wet boots as I hurried along the dock in a cloud of embarrassment and anger and general frustration. “Thanks, fairies. Guess you really were feeling salty this morning.”