CALLIOPE GAVE UP any hope of sleep shortly after midnight. Climbing out of bed, she welcomed the coolness of the wood floor against her bare feet as she pulled on the hand-knitted shawl her grandmother had made nearly a decade ago. The soft yarn had aged and softened nicely over time, and the rich greens and blues brought Calliope closer to the sense of peace she longed for.
The peace that had eluded her since she’d set eyes on Xander Costas.
She stretched her arms over her head, shifted her fingers through her hair and smiled at the tinkling of the tiny bells she planned to remove this morning. Her small room—large enough for her bed, a dresser and an overstuffed bookcase—pushed in on her. Not even pulling open the drapes to look out into the moon-kissed garden eased the constriction building inside her. The only way to slip around the churning was to begin her day.
The wooden door creaked as she pulled it open. A quick check on Stella, sleeping in the larger room across the hall, eased a bit of the worry coursing through her. Calliope stood in the doorway, arms hugging her torso as she wondered yet again how her sister could sleep in such a fashion. Blankets and sheets tossed aside, arms and legs splayed diagonally. Stella’s pillow acted as an afterthought as it teetered between the mattress and nightstand.
The gentle glow of the fairy lamp illuminated her sister’s freckled face. Little-girl snores lightened Calliope’s heart as if magic had tethered the two of them. Calliope could smell bubblegum and flowers as well as excitement and promise from the explosion of color in the room. Cascades of butterflies and flowers dripped from the ceiling, trailed over and around the branches they’d fashioned into a canopy. The weathered desk that had once been Calliope’s was piled high, not with schoolbooks and electronics, but with storybooks, drawing pads and endless stacks of paper with her sister’s story scribbles.
She’d done well here, Calliope reminded herself, as the doubt that crept in during the dark hours attempted to take hold. Stella was thriving, would continue to thrive as long as Calliope possessed breath. She couldn’t have loved her sister any more if the little girl had come from beneath her own heart.
She backed away, ducked her head and walked down the hall.
The doubt wasn’t easily defeated tonight. This time it arrived accompanied by worry, the same worry that descended whenever they were to visit Emmaline Jones.
Calliope attempted to shake off the melancholy that accompanied thoughts of their mother. Calliope had had her share of difficult days, but the one where she’d had to remove Emmaline from the house topped the list. Until recently, she’d been able to bring her home a few times a year, for a week or so, but the last occasion had proved...difficult, forcing Calliope to move her mother into private care.
Emmaline had always been challenging, but Calliope finally had to admit that looking after her mother was beyond her capabilities. She had been for a while. Since before Calliope’s grandmother passed away. Since it became clear Emmaline was a danger, not only to herself, but also to Stella.
Calliope shivered against the memory. The room where everything had changed. Had it really been eight years since her mother had walked these halls? Her mother, who had never truly comprehended all that came with the title. Nature had made Emmaline fragile, but Calliope had learned early on to be strong. And later, she’d learned to be strong for Stella.
Which was why today, as she did every other Saturday, she would make the four-hour round trip in some attempt to keep reality in place for Emmaline. At this point, it was all Calliope had left to give her.
The kitchen, sitting and dining room welcomed her at the end of the hall, as did the four-foot tree adorned with ornaments and hand-strung cranberry-and-popcorn garlands that awaited the flick of a light switch to cast its holiday glow. This area had been the original space of the house, countless decades before, when her grandmother’s father had taken guardianship of the land. The Joneses had been here long before Butterfly Harbor had a name, when their fields and property had been the only boundaries within ten miles of the ocean at the bottom of the hill. There wasn’t another place in the world Calliope belonged. She remembered the first day her bare feet had touched the soil; the day she’d been bonded to all that surrounded her, steadied her. Flitted about her. Even now she could feel the light dancing of a butterfly’s feet against a hand that had reached up to the sun the instant she’d opened her eyes.
She was, as her grandmother had been, as her great-grandmother had been, and as her mother had tried to be, a part of this place.
Change, she told herself, was inevitable. Change was important. But it was not ever easy.
Calliope clicked on the dim light over the large wooden table that had served her family well from the day it was built. Bowls and colanders of pomegranates, persimmons and red and green apples covered the weathered, stained wood. Overhead, the wooden rack displayed hanging bundles of sage, lavender, heather and thyme and, at this time of year, double the amount of rosemary. Stacks of papers and magazines on the benches reminded Calliope of the filing she needed to do, the scanning of articles she had to catch up on. The farm took a lot of work—and education. Thankfully she belonged to a generous online community dedicated to providing the most healthy and nutritious organic food to those in their area.
It was a way for Calliope and Stella to give back to the town that gave them so much. Understanding, love and companionship. She shouldn’t want for anything. How could she? And yet...
Her heart ached with loneliness.
A loneliness oddly tempered by the brief thought of a blue-eyed man with a dimpled smile, a strand of dark hair falling over his face.
Pressing a hand against her heart, she retrieved the bowl and herbs she kept in the cabinet against the far wall. She didn’t want what was being presented to her; didn’t want to change the life she already loved, but she knew better than most that sometimes fate saw things differently. Opening her heart meant surrendering to the possibility of pain and she’d already had her fair share. And perhaps that’s why, for the first time in her life, she had led with anger and hostility. And by doing so, had only increased the unease and restlessness plaguing her.
She had to remember that dreams were about possibilities and that seeing them as such was the greatest gift she could give herself. It was a gift she’d want Stella to receive, a gift she’d tell her sister never to reject or turn away from.
So why couldn’t Calliope do the same? Why was she so determined to keep him away?
Confusion and uncertainty were not emotions Calliope had often experienced. Perhaps it was that, and not Xander, that had her reacting the way she did.
It made an odd kind of sense, she told herself. But she wasn’t entirely convinced.
She set aside the dried sage bundles, reaching instead for the myrrh she knew would help reduce the stress building inside of her. Some preferred lavender, but Calliope held a fondness for the licorice scent of the winter-inspired offering and, given the day in front of her, she wanted to use something she knew brought her peace.
As the gentle fire caught and the smoke trailed into the air, she tried to make her mind blank, but the only thing she could see—the only thing she could feel—was the presence of a man she didn’t want to think about.
Xander Costas.
Calliope sank onto the bench. She couldn’t explain what came over her whenever he appeared. She could feel what she could only describe as hostility blooming inside of her, knew it wasn’t a good thing, but even as she fought it, there was no banking it. Stella had been right when she’d reminded Calliope she was normally nice and polite to everyone. Her haughtiness, her irritation was nothing more than manifested fear over what could be.
She needed to find a way past that fear; she needed to find a way around this, through this, especially if she was going to be working with him. She needed to accept that not every handsome man passing through town meant to do harm. Fate would not be so cruel as to present someone who would hurt her—not physically at least. She needed to call a truce, if for no other reason than to ensure Butterfly Harbor was protected from his engineering machinations.
And she needed to present a good example for Stella, who had questioned Calliope extensively over dinner about why Calliope didn’t like Xander.
She didn’t not like Xander Costas. She only knew she shouldn’t trust him. At least not with her heart. Not if she hoped to escape the same broken-hearted fate as had befallen her great-grandmother, grandmother and mother before her.
Calliope took a long, deep breath, closed her eyes and inhaled the myrrh into her system. Relaxation sank into her, around her, and the tension in her body eased as her hands relaxed and her shoulders sagged. She would conquer this. She would get herself to a place where he was just another person visiting Butterfly Harbor. Just another person who would be on his way sooner than later.
Maybe she was wrong about him. Maybe her past was getting in the way, blocking her from the reality of her situation. Maybe... The thought slid through her mind as effortlessly as water rolling down a hill. Her eyes flew open and she stared blankly into the dim light of her home as the truth struck like a bolt of lightning.
Maybe it wasn’t Xander she didn’t trust. She touched a hand to her heart.
Maybe she didn’t trust herself.