Free Cupcake Club 04 - Honey Pie by Donna Kauffman Page B

start over. Don’t let this—well, it’s not a small thing. It’s a huge, giant pain in the ass thing, I know, but don’t give up on us, okay? I wanted to run back to New York a hundred times, a thousand, when I was getting ready to open my bakery, but thank God I didn’t. You’ll be happy you stayed.”
    Honey didn’t mention that getting the shop situation figured out was only part of her problems with relocating. In fact, it might end up being the least of her worries. Alva’s and Lani’s easy breezy acceptance of her little “eccentricity” notwithstanding, if what Alva said was true and the islanders actually thought she would put out some kind of fortune teller shingle, they were going to be sadly disappointed.
    She wanted a normal life. Or as normal a life as she could have. She’d deal with her stuff, figure out how she was going to handle it as things happened. She’d been a much younger person the last time she’d allowed her curse free reign. She hoped a bit of life wisdom and maturity would help her to deal with it better this time around. She sort of had to, if she was ever going to get the life she really wanted.
    She was beyond gratified—amazed and stunned was more like it—that the locals she’d met so far seemed so unfazed by her curse. Or the idea of it, anyway. They hadn’t had to deal with it yet. Bea had been open to her gift, had nurtured it, strengthened it, utilized it. Honey’s “abilities,” however, were significantly stronger than Bea’s. When Honey let go and opened up the portals again, allowing people in . . . well, the good, kind folks of Sugarberry really might not want to know what she’d find out about them.

Chapter 5
    D ylan signed the deliveryman’s invoice, grunted his thanks, then used a utility knife to slice through the tape on the box he’d just been handed. He lifted out the vintage teak dorade box with a bronze cowl vent and carefully removed the packing material. “Damn, but you’re pretty.” He turned it so the sunlight glinted off the sleek, shiny finish, then smiled as he walked back up the crushed shell driveway.
    His sailboat sat on its trailer at the far end, closest to the house. “Look what I bought for you,” he said as he skirted the work bench, stepped over an assortment of tools, an overturned bucket, and Lolly, who lifted her head, sniffed once, realized whatever he had wasn’t edible, and plopped back down in the shade to snooze.
    â€œNot for you,” he told the dog, then climbed up the ladder and stepped onto the back of the boat. “For you.” He lifted the antique ventilator in a toast to the carved mermaid mounted above the cabin door.
    Two years he’d been looking for just the right piece, combing online auctions and sale listings on several boating sites he frequented. So, naturally he hadn’t found it on any of those. He’d found it on an ad for an old junker of a sailboat. In its original form, the junker had sported gorgeous hand-carved woodwork, the kind of craftsmanship rarely seen in the modern times of sleeker, faster, shinier. The owner had wanted to sell the boat “as is,” all or nothing. It had taken Dylan the better part of the past six months to wear him down. Well, that and the fact that no one else had put any kind of offer on the old thing.
    Of course, he’d also advised the old man that the boat was beyond salvaging. He’d advised the owner to consider putting it up for parts as he’d likely make more money (any money) on it that way, and had been gratified to see that very ad posted just last week.
    Ross & Sons had still been down near the docks when he’d first discovered the little teak beauty. His boat had been parked right out back, in easy reach to work on when there weren’t any cars in for servicing. And simply to look at when the frustrations of the job