Chapter 4

Willow

"Where are the muffins?" I ask, spinning around to face Dolly when I spot the empty basket.

"The early bird gets the worm, Willow."

A huff of disappointment leaves my lips. "You just ruined my morning, Dolly." Although, with the last twenty-four hours I've been through, another obstacle like this doesn't surprise me.

She holds her hands up jokingly. "Don't shoot the messenger. We only order a fixed amount each day, and once they're gone, they're gone."

"Well, can I get them somewhere else?"

She grins in my direction. "Seems someone really liked the muffins."

"Well, I mean…they were okay," I reply, even though inside I feel like I'm having a mini panic attack and all the joy I was anticipating with that first bite has been robbed from me.

Is it sad to admit that the only thing that got me out of bed this morning was knowing I would get to eat one of those muffins again?

"Just okay?" she teases.

I roll my eyes. "Fine. It was the best blueberry muffin I've ever tasted and I need another, Dolly. Like right now."

She chuckles and reaches under the counter for something, handing me a bright yellow business card for the Sunshine Bakery. "This is where you can get one if that is what your heart truly desires."

"It does. Thank you." I reach for my coffee cup and move to leave, but her voice stops me in my tracks.

"What are you up to today?"

Ah, the million-dollar question that I don't even really know the answer to.

Yesterday, after I picked myself up off the beach, I walked back to the house—my house—and started assessing the place for what all needed to be done. I know that selling the property is probably in my best interest, but it needs to be cleaned and brought up to code before I can do that. I need it inspected by someone who knows what they're looking for, since that is something I don't have any expertise in.

The real question I'm lacking an answer to is, why do I care?

I could pay someone to take care of this for me. I could have been on my way back to D.C. an hour after I picked myself up off the sand, but one thing stopped me—Mr. Sheppard.

So, after a quick Google search, I found the one hardware store in town and plan to stop by to talk to someone today to see if they can recommend a contractor. I know I can get cleaning supplies from there as well, so I figured it was the best place to get the ball rolling so I can get back to my life—my life that is growing increasingly more stressful the longer I'm away from my business.

Katrina and I spoke on the phone this morning, but I feel helpless being so far away. I know she's got things handled back at the office, and we've pushed my appointments to next week, but now I have to decide what to do about this house and how that's going to affect my schedule.

I snap back to the present, remembering Dolly had asked me a question. "Just out to run a few errands," I reply.

"Are you staying past tomorrow?" she asks, knowing my reservation only extends through tonight. At least Katrina knew that I could be gone through Monday due to the uncertainty of this trip, and now I'm glad that I took that extra time. However, I need to decide how much longer I'm going to stay, and if I'll stay in the house instead of the inn. Perhaps after someone looks at it and confirms it's safe, that's where I'll sleep. After I get a bed, that is. I ordered one online last night—just in case—and Timothy graciously agreed to let me have it delivered to his office.

"I'm not sure yet. Can I let you know this afternoon?"

"Of course." Dolly smiles and then takes a sip of her coffee casually. "I'll be here, as always."

"Thank you, Dolly."

With a parting smile, I head out to my car and then plug in the address for the Sunshine Bakery.

Priorities, Willow. Muffins, then house.

In five short minutes, I'm driving down a small street lined with shops that look like something out of a movie set, the glistening water of the cove as the backdrop. Signs for small businesses hang from the eaves of the joined shops, and sidewalks are littered with people. Park benches are evenly spaced out among tall lampposts and potted planters. It's exactly what you would imagine finding in a small tourist town, or on the set of a Hallmark movie.

Honestly, I always wondered if places like this existed in real life.

I find a parking spot along the street very close to the bakery, and then speed-walk to the door.

As soon as I step inside, sugary, buttery goodness hits my nostrils, instantly making me salivate. And then I see them—those little blueberry mounds of heaven sitting on a shelf in the display case, just waiting for me to devour them.

I swear, I'm not normally this passionate about baked goods, but these muffins are making me act out of character.

Hell, I feel like this entire town is.

"Good morning." A cheery voice pulls my eyes from the display case to the owner of the voice, a woman that looks vaguely familiar.

"Hello. Can I get a half-dozen of the blueberry muffins, please?"

"Absolutely." The woman moves with an elegance as she pops open a box and starts loading my breakfast inside. I'm not going to eat all six today, obviously, but I know I'll at least have some for tomorrow and the day after, just in case. "Anything else I can get for you?"

"No. That will be it."

The woman moves to the register, so I meet her there. "That will be ten dollars."

I hand her my card. "Thank you. I'm not proud to say I nearly had a panic attack this morning when I missed out on these at the inn."

"Oh, you're staying at the inn?"

"Yeah, just for a few days."

"Vacation?"

"More like attending to some business," I reply as she hands me a receipt to sign, feeling like a broken record each time I answer that question.

"What kind of business would bring you to Carrington Cove?"

"The kind I wish I could avoid," I answer honestly.

"Well, at least you're getting a little vacation out of the deal. And some fantastic blueberry muffins." She hands me a copy of my receipt and then the box.

I tap my finger on the top of the box. "No, this is a problem. I live six hours away and now that I've tasted these little bites of heaven, I'm not ashamed to say I might have to come back a few times a month just for more of these. Or pay for a very expensive delivery."

The woman laughs. "You wouldn't be the first to say that. And a lot of folks say the same thing about the fish and chips at Catch Release."

And then it clicks as I snap my fingers in recognition. "You work there too, don't you?"

"Yeah, a couple days a week."

"I was thinking you looked familiar. I was in there Friday night."

She wipes her hand on her apron before extending it toward me. "Well, nice to meet you. I'm Astrid."

"Willow," I reply as I shake her hand.

"That's a lovely name. Fits someone who'd travel six hours for our muffins." She laughs through her reply.

I smile. "Thanks. They're worth it."

I know I shouldn't be conversing with this woman right now, but something about her is so genuine and honest, you can't help but want to talk to her. And friends of the female variety are few and far between in my line of work and my life.

But you're not looking for friends, Willow. You're not staying, remember?

"Well, I hope we see you around again. The muffins won't be going anywhere, but we do run out fast," Astrid says as I adjust the box in my arms.

"Yeah, tell Dolly to order more from now on, will you?"

Astrid laughs. "I'll pass along the message." She waves as I walk out the door and get hit with a gust of salty air.

Once I deposit my muffins in the car and shove one in my mouth as fast as I can, I head for the hardware store, my mood significantly improved after satisfying my craving.

Walking into this place is like stepping into another world. I have no idea what I'm looking for or where anything is, so I grab a shopping cart and just start pushing it up and down the aisles. Luckily, I find the cleaning supplies rather quickly, so I grab a broom, mop, rags, and about every cleaning liquid I can think of.

I may be able to afford to pay someone to clean my penthouse for me now, but I was raised to know how to clean a toilet and mop a floor. Hard work builds character, something my godmother, Mandy, always made sure I never forgot.

I'm completely entranced by the cleaning supplies, deliberating my choice as a sudden voice behind me makes me jump out of my skin.

"Are you finding everything you need?"

Spinning around, I lock eyes with a man that towers over me by at least eight inches. I'm five-foot seven, but this guy makes me feel tiny.

"Jesus. You scared me." My hand falls to my chest where my heart is pounding erratically.

He chuckles and then brushes a hand through his short, dark-brown hair. "I'm sorry. That wasn't my intention."

"I think I just lost five years of my life."

"Let's hope not." He grins down at me again. "So did you need any help, or are you okay?" His eyes drop to my basket full of household cleaning supplies.

"Well, yes and no. I found what I needed here, but I actually need to know where I could find someone to come take a look at a house for me."

That has his eyebrows lifting. "Well, I could help you with that, actually." He reaches his hand out. "The name's Penn, and I'm kind of the resident handyman around here."

This guy looks familiar too, but at this point, I'm thinking maybe this town is so small that it only takes five people to run the whole thing. How can I have already seen all of these people?

"Willow." I shake his hand quickly.

"New to town, Willow?"

"Not exactly… I won't be here long."

Something along the lines of recognition passes through his eyes, but he shakes it off. "So where is this house?"

"It's on Bayshore Drive."

His eyes widen. "Oh."

"Oh?" His response makes my hackles rise.

"Well, there's only one house on Bayshore Drive whose owner I'm not familiar with, so I'm guessing I know which one it is."

"Yeah, well, you're looking at the new owner."

The corner of his mouth tips up, like he's secretly happy he's met me. "Well, this is just perfect." He chuckles.

"What is?"

Shaking his head, he says, "Nothing. Anyway, you need someone to take a look at it, huh?"

"Yeah. It's been empty for years and I need to know what kind of work it needs so I can put in on the market."

"Wait. Didn't you just buy it?"

I bite my lip, fighting with myself over whether to divulge too much because my gut is telling me I should watch what I say. These people don't need to know everything. Hell, I still haven't processed it all. And the more I talk, the more they will.

Hopefully, this little project won't take too long, and I can be on my merry way back to D.C. in a week or so, leaving behind this little obstacle and returning back to my life the way I like it—minus the blueberry muffins, of course.

"Not exactly."

"I don't understand…"

I cut him off. "I don't need you to. I just need your expertise. Do you think you can handle that?"

His head retracts a bit on his neck. "Well, that's my job, so yeah. I can handle it."

"Good. So, when can you come by?"

His eyes move around the store as he thinks. "How about tomorrow morning? I can be there by eight."

"Perfect. Thank you."

We exchange contact information, and then I follow him to the register to pay for my supplies. A display of refrigerator magnets right next to the register catches my attention, but I quickly turn away, knowing I don't need anything that trivial, something that will only remind me of what brought me here in the first place.

"You want one?" Penn slides his eyes to the display and then back to mine.

"No. I'm good."

"Ah, come on. Everyone should take a little piece of Carrington Cove with them when they leave."

Actually, Penn, this place is taking pieces of me and making me feel more incomplete than I already did. I don't need any reminders.

"I don't have a need for it. I'm here to settle things, not collect souvenirs."

He grimaces at me but drops it and finishes ringing up the last few items.

In true gentlemanly fashion, he helps me out to my car, loading the items into the trunk. "Nice car," he says admiringly.

"Thank you."

"We don't see many Teslas around here."

"I imagine not."

Penn raises an eyebrow, a spark of amusement in his eyes as he steps back and shuts my trunk. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes. Bring your toolbelt, or whatever else it is you need, please."

That comment makes him smile. "I'll be ready."

"Thank you again…for all of your help."

"Oh, I haven't done anything yet, Willow."

"Yes, but I can already tell that you'll be able to help me get out of here quicker than I would on my own."

He crosses his arms over his chest. "Why are you in such a hurry to leave?"

"Because there's nothing for me here," I mutter, and then catch myself. Walking around to the driver's side of my car, I effectively end the conversation and prepare to drive off as Penn watches me from the sidewalk.

But the way he studies me has me feeling even more uneasy. All I need is for him to help me fix the house and then I can move on. I'm not looking for friends or for anyone's opinion. All I want is to get back to my life. To what I know.

When I arrive at the house, I park in the back on the gravel driveway and begin unloading the bags from my trunk, placing them all on the kitchen counter. Once everything's inside, I start to unpack the sponges, buckets, and bottles of bleach and Lysol that I know will be put to good use.

But as I empty the last bag, a magnet falls to the counter.

I pick up the ceramic anchor, the deep brown paint to mimic wood on the symbol standing out against the dark blue and white lettering in the name of the little town. It's so trivial, useless and unnecessary to a person like me, but nonetheless, I find myself walking over to the fridge and placing the magnet in the top righthand corner. I stand back, studying the trinket that makes the house feel more like a home.

But this isn't home.

Could it be though, Willow?

Shaking off the convoluted thought and the feelings accompanying it, I realize I forgot my purse in my car, so I head back out to fetch it. With only a few steps out of the door, I hear a noise so foreign to me it has me pausing in my footsteps. But then it stops, so I wearily continue down the path to my car.

"What the hell?" I twist my head toward the sound just as it rings out again, but this time there's no missing the source of the noise. "Oh my God!"

"HONK!"

A goose emerges from the bushes by my car, light gray all over except for its black neck and white spots around its eyes. It stands there, turning its head so that it can see me before opening its black bill and honking at me again. Fear kicks in, and before I can think otherwise, I turn back around, forgetting my purse entirely.

As fast as my legs will carry me, I sprint back toward the house as the goose continues to honk at me, closing the distance between us faster than I expected.

"Son of a bitch!" I twist to see the bird waddling after me, honking such jarring and drawn-out calls that I almost run into the side of the house. I sidestep to avoid the collision and race up the steps that put me on the wraparound porch leading to the front door.

Another honk rings out, and then I notice that the goose has a friend that's joined in on the chase, forcing me to hustle even faster as my hand lands on the doorknob. But as I twist the knob, the door won't budge.

"Come on!" I shout at no one but myself, throwing my body weight against the door, having no luck. My eyes dart over to the side of the house just as the two geese come around the corner, honking at me still. "Oh my God! Get away! Go! Shoo!" I kick my foot in their direction as I continue to wrestle with the door.

I take back my earlier assumption about the Inn.

Thisis how I'm going to die.

I can see the article headline now: Death by Geese. Willow Marshall, multimillion-dollar advertising mogul, died tragically by goose attack. All they could identify her by were her teeth. Those birds tore her to pieces.

Sweat drips down the side of my face as I push against the door with every ounce of strength I can muster. I make the mistake of looking back and see the geese beginning to climb the steps, determination in their beady little eyes.

They're contemplating my murder, I just know it.

I can't go out like this.

Finally, after one final shove of my shoulder against the door, it creaks open and I dart inside, slamming it shut behind me and locking it—safe at last from the feathered assassins.

"Shit." I lean against the door with my back to it, closing my eyes while I fight to get my breathing under control. "Get a new doorknob and some WD-40," I mutter out loud, reminding myself to add it to the to-do list while I stand there, waiting for my heart rate to return to normal.

And as I do, I realize that killer geese are yet another reason why I need to handle this situation as fast as possible and get as far away from Carrington Cove as quickly as I can.