gone on pie overdrive ever since she’s been pregnant,” Lori muttered. “Jason’s stopped baking because we’re getting flooded with them.”
“It’s Holly’s happy place,” Calliope reminded Lori and helped her to her feet. “Go on inside. I’ll delay Mr. Costas for a few moments so you can find a place to put him.”
“Wow, good thing we have spare rooms available. Thanks, Calliope.” Lori brushed off her pink striped maxi dress, picked up her shoes and hurried up the porch steps and through the etched glass doors.
“I thought being really early is as rude as being really late.” Stella scrunched her nose and looked up at Calliope.
“It can be. It depends on the individual.”
The practical sedan that rounded the corner came as a surprise, and for a moment, Calliope wondered if she was wrong about who the new arrival was. But that thought faded as he climbed out of the car.
Her entire body went from ice-block chilled to volcanic flames, as if her system was resetting itself. He was tall, well over six feet, with jet-black hair that glistened almost blue in the sun. His skin had that rich, olive tone to it, as if his name hadn’t been hint enough of his Greek heritage. As he gathered a suitcase and garment bag out of the car, she noticed how the muscles in his arms strained against the perfectly tailored lines of his clothes.
Nicely made. The clothes and the man.
But when he faced her, and she looked into eyes as deep and clear as the Mediterranean, she found she couldn’t breathe. She trembled, recalling a face that had haunted her dreams not for weeks or even months, but for years. For almost as long as she could remember. He’d grown with her, from a boy to a man, and was oddly and unnervingly familiar.
Stella gripped hold of her dress, ducked behind Calliope and poked her head out as the man—and fate—approached.
“My second welcoming committee.” His voice washed over her like the evening tide. “It was you on the cliffs a while ago, wasn’t it?”
“It was.” Calliope’s voice shook. It wasn’t often she had to look up at people and until now she’d considered her height a bit of a curse. She felt Stella’s fingers clench tighter in her skirt and forced herself to relax. No need to make her sister as anxious as she felt. “Calliope Jones.”
“So Charlie said. The butterfly lady.” He set down his bag and held out his hand. “Xander Costas.”
Calliope looked down at it and considered it a few moments longer than normal before returning the greeting. The second she clasped his hand in hers, she gasped. Pride was the first thing she felt, strong and pulsing, followed closely by the faintest twinge of...nerves. Interesting. Not as confident as he appeared. “Welcome to Butterfly Harbor, Mr. Costas.”
He grinned at her formality but before she could amend her greeting, he shifted his attention to Stella. “And you are?”
“Stella. Stella Jones.” She slipped around Calliope’s side and kept an arm securely around her waist.
“My sister,” Calliope said before he jumped to the same conclusion most people did. The almost twenty-year age gap left plenty of room for misconception.
“You’re early,” Stella said. “For your reservation.”
“Yeah, I know.” He shrugged and retrieved his bag. “I had some meetings cancelled so figured I might as well come on out. Given it’s a small town, I’m sure they’ll have a room for me.”
“Are you?” Calliope wasn’t fond of assumptions and leery of those who made them. “Why?”
“Why?” Xander blinked those entrancing eyes of his as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
“They could be booked up. Butterfly Harbor is growing more popular every day. It seems to me it would have been appropriate for you to call and at least check before you made the trip out here. In case they don’t have one.”
“I honestly didn’t think it would be an issue.” He looked confused but not at all concerned. “I’m sure a room can be had for the right price.”
“Not everything has a price.” Calliope arched an eyebrow, uncomfortable with the way her thoughts escaped her usual careful control. “We look forward to hearing about your plans for the butterfly sanctuary.” She reached around for Stella’s hand and squeezed. “One thing you might not know about small towns, Mr. Costas, is how involved we are with every aspect of our home. Just a word of caution as you settle in.”
“Okay.” He frowned and Calliope took more pleasure than expected in seeing him knocked down a peg. “Did I do something to offend you? Normally, people take to me right away.”
“Normal and I have never been on speaking terms, Mr. Costas.”
“Xander.” His grin returned and it was then she realized he assumed she was flirting with him. She wasn’t. Was she? He hefted his bag over his shoulder. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around. Small town and all.”
“Yes, you will.” Calliope stood stone-still as she watched him head inside. The troubling gray haze hovering around him on the beach had dissipated, but sparkles of silver and gold still appeared. Indications of hope to offset the worry and concern that plagued him.
“You weren’t very nice to him,” Stella said. “You’re nice to everyone.”
“I was nice enough.” Guilt drifted down and settled on Calliope’s shoulders. She didn’t want to like him. But she’d learned a long time ago that when fate had set its mind on something that was that. As much as she hated the idea, Calliope couldn’t shake the sensation that as of this moment, her life—her happy, contented, safe life—was never going to be the same.
XANDER HAD NEVER seen a Christmas tree decorated with seahorses and sand dollars before. Then again, he’d never had a California coastal Christmas before. Personally, he thought the giant starfish on the top of the forest-scented pine tree was an inspired touch, as were the seashell garlands interspersed with clumps of sugarcoated cranberries.
“Help yourself to some coffee and cookies, Mr. Costas, please.” The tall, plump woman behind the whitewashed counter offered him a friendly, if tense, smile. “The white-chocolate macadamia nut is my favorite.” She tucked a wavy lock of hair behind her ear and her wedding set glinted in the sun streaming through the lobby’s bay window.
“Never could say no to a cookie.” Leaving his bags by the seafoam green-and-gold upholstered chair, he wandered across the wood floor, humming along with the muted instrumental holiday music cascading through the room. The building had an old-world feel to it as he’d expected, given the structure’s history. The updates were recent, within the last year he figured, but the Flutterby did what a lot of boutique hotels and bed-and-breakfasts couldn’t quite manage—it felt like a home.
A new barrage of nerves hit his chest. He liked the idea they’d come up with for the preliminary design, but now that he was actually here, was it too modern for the town? From his discussions with Gil Hamilton, Butterfly Harbor’s mayor, he assumed they were looking to move into a more
