remember a worse day. “And for the record, I wasn’t dumped. It was a mutual parting of the ways.”
“Rewriting history, check.” Holly grinned, but the concern in her eyes brushed lightly against Abby’s bruised heart. “What’s going on, Abs? You haven’t been your usual shiny self for a few weeks.”
“Oh, nothing much.” Abby took a deep breath as she realized Holly, and not lunch, was the real reason she’d come to the diner. There wasn’t anyone else she could confide in who would keep things quiet. “Aside from all the time-suck repairs the inn needs, I started the day by almost burning the kitchen to the ground—”
“Again?” Holly groaned. “You should come with a warning sign.”
“Not you, too.” It was bad enough to have Mr. Cranky Pants Corwin denounce her negligible cooking skills—she didn’t need to hear it from her best friend. “Believe it or not, that was the highlight of my morning. I just came from seeing Mr. Vartebetium at the hospital.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Pretty good for an eighty-two-year-old man who’s had his third heart attack.” At least he was getting the break he needed. “They’re still debating whether to send him to a transition facility before allowing him to go home. Remember all those months ago when I told you I thought maybe the Flutterby was in trouble? Yeah, well, I was wrong. It’s in huge trouble with a great big F for financial. He finally confided in me how bad things are. His words? The Flutterby would be better off if we launched it off the cliffs.”
“Oh, no.” Holly sagged onto the bench across from her. “That can’t be true. The Flutterby has been here forever. Maybe he’s exaggerating. Do you think?” The hope in her friend’s eyes didn’t do much to bolster her own.
“He wouldn’t come out with the details, but he gave me the keys to his filing cabinet,” Abby said. “It must be pretty bad considering he stopped letting me oversee the books months ago.” She’d assumed Mr. Vartebetium had wanted to keep as much control of his lifelong business as he could. Now Abby had to wonder if it was his way of keeping the truth about the finances secret. “How early is too early to crack open a bottle of pinot?”
She blinked back tears, which only made her mad. Abby Manning didn’t cry. Abby Manning was the town optimist—she got things done, and if she didn’t know how, she found a solution. Abby Manning never saw a gray cloud in the sky even when it was storming outside.
“The inn can’t close, Holl,” Abby whispered. “It’s the only home Gran’s ever known. It’s her last connection to Gramps, and now with her Parkinson’s diagnosis, ripping her out of that place will only make her decline faster.” And it would kill Abby. The Flutterby was the first home she’d ever known. “I’ve got to save it somehow. I won’t let it go without a fight.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Holly said. “I wish I could help, but between this place and Simon’s school tuition, not to mention Luke’s and my wedding—”
“Do not make these stupid tears spill over, do you hear me?” Abby ordered, appreciating more than words could say how much she loved Holly for the thought. Holly had her back, just as Abby had had hers a few weeks ago when Holly hit a rough patch with her son, Simon. That was before Holly went and fell tail over teakettle in love with the onetime bad boy of Butterfly Harbor turned sheriff, Luke Saxon.
Looking at Holly’s engagement ring glinting in the early afternoon sun made Abby’s heart ache and sing at the same time. Her friend deserved to be happy, especially after all she’d been through.
“I don’t suppose Simon is around?” Holly glanced at the half-filled diner. Whatever boost she needed, she’d bet her overly precocious eight-year-old godson could provide.
“He’s at the community center with my dad and Charlie. I swear my son and Paige’s daughter are tethered constantly, but at least they’re staying out of trouble these days. Good thing, too, since Paige has been putting in extra hours here at the diner.”
“As far as you know they’re staying out of trouble,” Abby mused, the idea of those two juvenile partners in crime roaming Butterfly Harbor on their bikes giving her heart a lift. “Tell him I’m up for a movie night anytime he’s ready.” But Abby figured her godson might already be aging out of sleepovers with his boring godmother. Well, boring when compared to seven-year-old Charlie Cooper with her crooked smile, equally crooked pigtails and mischievous personality.
“Is there anything Luke and I can do?” Holly asked, giving a nod of acknowledgment to one of her customers.
“I’ll let you know. But I should probably get back to the Flutterby and dive into those books. Can I get my order to go? Along with a turkey sandwich for Lori?”
“Of course. You know Paige, though. Chances are she’ll throw something unexpected on your burger.” Holly patted her hand and headed for the kitchen.
Considering Abby’s luck today, it would be a handful of jalapeños. Abby shuddered. She hated jalapeños. She took a calming breath and inhaled the familiar aroma—frying onions accompanied by hot sugar from Holly’s homemade pies.
How could some people make food sing while others, like her, made it scream?
Abby plucked the pamphlet advertising the By the Bay Food Festival from in front of the laminated menu of Holly’s desserts and grasped a final hope. Her full reservation book should bring in a good chunk of change for the coffers. If Matilda came home in time to get the kitchen up and running. If. If, if, if.
“Abby, what brings you by so early today?” Mayor Gil Hamilton, or Gil the Thrill, as he’d been known in high school, sidled up to her booth and leaned a hand on the table. With his longish blond hair and overbright blue eyes, Gil would forever be Butterfly Harbor’s charmer in residence. He might have spent a good portion of his thirty-two years trying to distance himself from his father’s financially irresponsible actions during his own term as mayor, but even benefit-of-the-doubt Abby had to admit Gil slipped too easily into the political swamp his father had polluted. Then again, she did believe his concern for the town’s survival was genuine. So long as some of his ideas didn’t strip the uniqueness out of Butterfly Harbor in the meantime. That was one of the reasons she was in support of the butterfly sanctuary he was trying to get off the ground.
“Errands,” she said and painted on her trademark smile. She’d keep smiling even as the ship began to sink. “How are the plans coming for the festival?”
“Amazingly well, actually. Tents and banners should start going up around town and in Skipper Park sometime tomorrow, and Calliope has offered her empty property at Duskywing Farm for the open house on Thursday night. We lucked out with the timing. Being able to celebrate Butterfly Harbor’s anniversary when we’ve got a town full of people gives us a chance to show off. One hundred twenty-five years is nothing to sneeze at. Plus, we’ll get that national exposure thanks to all the media coverage.”
“The Cocoon Club is anxious to expand on their success from the Pig in a Poke BBQ cook-off.” The group of Butterfly Harbor seniors had their fingers in a lot of events these days. She only wished she could convince Gran to get involved with them again. Abby flipped open the pamphlet for the upcoming festival and immediately locked on the bolded wording on the second page. “Wait. This is an amateur cooking competition? As in no talent required?” With a hefty fifty-thousand-dollar first prize. Was this the universe’s way of bashing her over the head with a skillet? “Who’s sponsoring this? ShopMax Foods?”
