Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor (Friday Harbor #1)(9)

The girl smiled up at him uncertainly. Standing on her toes, she reached over the counter to give the shell to Maggie. And she added in another hesitant but perfectly audible whisper, “Her name is Clover.”

“The fairy?” Maggie asked in a hushed voice, while the hair on the back of her neck lifted. Holly nodded. Swallowing hard, Maggie managed to say, “Thank you for telling me, Holly.”

Three

In the shock of hearing Holly’s whisper, Mark forgot everything: their surroundings, the woman behind the counter. Six months they’d been trying to get Holly to say something, anything. Why it had happened here and now was something he’d parse out later with Sam. For now, he had to keep it together, to not overwhelm Holly with his reaction. It was just…Christ.

Mark couldn’t stop himself from lowering to one knee and pulling Holly against him. Her fine-boned arms went around his neck. He heard himself saying her name in a shattered murmur. His eyes were stinging, and he was appalled to realize that he was on the verge of losing it.

But he couldn’t control the tremors of relief at the evidence that Holly was apparently ready to start talking again. Maybe now he could let himself believe that she was going to be okay.

Feeling Holly wriggle to free herself from his tight grasp, Mark pressed a fervent kiss against her cheek and forced himself to let go. He stood, evaluated his emotion-clenched throat, and realized there was a good chance his voice would crack if he tried to say anything. He swallowed hard and blindly studied the Pink Floyd lyrics on the wall—not reading them, just focusing on the color of the paint, the texturing on the Sheetrock beneath.

Finally he slid a guarded look to the red-haired woman behind the counter—Maggie—who was holding the bag of stuff he’d just bought. He saw that she comprehended the significance of what had just happened.

He didn’t know what to make of her. She was all of five foot two, with wild red curls that squiggled and zigzagged like hieroglyphs. Her figure was slender, dressed neatly in a white tee and jeans.

The face, half-hidden by those rampant curls, was pretty and fine-featured, her skin pale except for the fever-colored flush on her cheeks. And her eyes—dark and heavy-lashed, the color of bittersweet chocolate. She reminded him a little of the girls he used to know in college, the funny, interesting ones he would stay up half the night and talk with, but never date. He had dated the trophies instead, the ones that other guys had envied him for. It was only later that he had wondered what he might have missed out on.

“Can I talk to you sometime?” he asked, sounding more abrupt than he’d intended.

“I’m always here,” Maggie said lightly. “Stop by whenever.” She nudged the shell across the counter. “Why don’t you take this home with you, Holly? Just in case you need it again.”

“Hey, you guys!” A smooth, sunny voice came from behind Mark.

It was Shelby Daniels, Mark’s girlfriend from Seattle. She was smart, beautiful, and one of the nicest people Mark had ever known. You could take Shelby anywhere, in any kind of company, and she would find a way to fit in.

Shelby approached them, tucking a swing of gleaming blond hair behind one ear. She was dressed in khaki capris, a neat white shirt, and ballet flats, with no adornment other than single pearl earrings. “Sorry I was a few minutes late, you two. I had to try on something in the shop a couple doors down, but it didn’t work out. I see you got some things, Holly.”

The girl nodded, silent as usual.

With a mixture of worry and wry amusement, Mark realized Holly wasn’t going to talk in front of Shelby. Should he say anything about what had just happened? No, that might put pressure on Holly. Best to leave it alone, stay loose.

Glancing at their surroundings, Shelby said, “What a great little shop. Next time I’m here, I’ll have to pick up some things for my nephews. Christmas is going to be here before we know it.” She curled her hand around Mark’s arm and smiled up at him. “If I’m going to make the flight, we should probably go now.”

“Sure thing.” Mark took the bag from the counter, and reached for the shell in Holly’s hand. “Want me to take that, Holls?”

She clutched it more tightly, wanting to carry it herself.

“Okay,” Mark said, “but try not to drop it.” Looking back at the little redhead behind the counter, he saw that she was reorganizing the pens in the cup by the register, straightening a row of tiny stuffed animals, busying herself with unnecessary tasks. Low-slanting light came through the windows and struck the brilliant red in her curls.

“Bye,” he said. “And thanks.”

Maggie Conroy gave him a cursory wave without really looking in his direction. Which was how he knew that she’d been set as thoroughly off balance as he had.

After dropping Shelby off at the airport, with its single strip of runway, Mark took Holly back home to Rainshadow Vineyard. It was about five and a half miles from Friday Harbor, on the southwest part of the island at False Bay. You had to drive with care on Sunday to avoid people on bicycles or horses. Black-tailed deer, tame as dogs, emerged from meadows of tall summer grass and blackberry bramble to saunter across the roads at their leisure.

Mark left the windows of his pickup open, letting the ocean-softened air flow into the vehicle. “Do you see that?” He pointed to a bald eagle soaring overhead.

“Uh-huh.”