Windswept Way (Hope Harbor #9)(38)
Author: Irene Hannon

 

And was it also wrong to say no to Ashley, who’d worked so hard to bring their vision to life? Whose lights burned late every night in the carriage house as she gave this project all of her energy and enthusiasm?

 

Rose took a deep breath.

 

Maybe she owed more to this endeavor than her generous financial commitment.

 

Maybe she owed it a piece of herself.

 

Maybe, to use one of her father’s favorite phrases, she should put some skin in this game.

 

As that idea sent down tentative roots, she slowly continued to the cottage, grasping the support beam on the tiny porch when the ground beneath her seemed to shift.

 

Agreeing to Ashley’s proposition would require a huge leap outside her comfort zone. One she’d never planned to take.

 

But her offer to cordon off the whole parlor had been both smart and compelling. Venturing back into the world of real people couldn’t get any safer than that.

 

She stepped up onto the porch and swiveled back to look at the grand Victorian lady in the distance. Her haven. The house she’d intended to occupy alone until the good Lord called her to her eternal home.

 

Yet her decision to preserve the family heritage had trumped her desire for solitude. Giving up a modicum of privacy to bring life and laughter to those walls and these grounds had been worth the sacrifice.

 

Would sharing her music with others also be worth the sacrifice of public exposure?

 

Rose rested a hip on the railing of the tiny porch, weighing the pros and cons as a flicker of excitement licked along her nerve endings at the prospect of playing for an audience again.

 

And there wasn’t much risk. She could enjoy the thrill of performing again with relative anonymity. Be part of the gathering without mingling. Most people at events like an open house paid scant attention to the background music anyway. It tended to register on a peripheral level, setting a mood. This wouldn’t be a concert.

 

It would, however, be a performance. If she was willing to venture outside the insulated little world she’d created at Edgecliff.

 

A light came on in the long-unused carriage house, an unexpectedly comforting sign of life after months of sharing the property only with passing birds and squirrels.

 

And really, wasn’t that sufficient? Why stir the pot any more than she already had? Remaining in the shadows would keep her life placid and predictable.

 

Except . . .

 

She lowered herself to the rocking chair.

 

What had Charley once said about that very subject? The day he’d explained to her why he kept an irregular schedule, painting in solitude some days, cooking and conversing at his stand on others.

 

All at once his voice echoed in her mind.

 

“Predictability has its virtues, but too much routine can get stale and bland. A touch of spice is as essential for life as it is for my tacos.”

 

An observation applicable to many situations. Including her own.

 

Her taco-making friend had made a comment about shadows once too, hadn’t he? Something about how they were helpful for people who wished to hide, but that true freedom came only in sunlight—even if it entailed risk.

 

Brow furrowed, Rose stood and moved to the railing again, where the light from the carriage house was more visible.

 

Should she stay sequestered and safe in the shadows, or step into the light and dance with danger?

 

When no answer came to her, she turned away from the carriage house and slipped inside the cottage.

 

Perhaps a few minutes with Lucy Lynn would help clarify her thinking.

 

But this wasn’t a decision she’d finalize tonight. It deserved serious pondering for a day or two.

 

And once she did settle on a course, she’d have to pray it wasn’t one she’d live to regret.

 

 

 

“What do you mean, you and Ashley are going to tea?” From the passenger seat, Jon whipped his head around as Laura dropped that bombshell.

 

His sister continued to tool down 101 in her rental car as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

 

That made one of them.

 

“Am I not speaking English?” She sent him an amused glance. “I mean exactly what I said. We’re going to tea. On Saturday. At Bayview Lavender Farm. I invited you to join me earlier in the week, if you recall, and you nixed the idea. Since tea should never be taken alone, I asked someone who would appreciate the ambiance.”

 

“Get real, Laura. Can you see me juggling a dainty china cup and eating cucumber sandwiches?”

 

“No, but I did offer. I expect I’ll have more fun with Ashley anyway. Men tend to gulp down the food at a tea and are ready to leave in twenty minutes. We women like to have long chats over our scones and sweets.”

 

A scenario that sent a cold chill rippling through him.

 

“Laura.” He injected a warning note into his voice.

 

“What?”

 

“I want you to butt out of my love life.”

 

She snorted. “There’s no love life to butt out of, as far as I can see.”

 

“I’m serious.”

 

“So am I.” She flipped on her blinker and hung a left onto Bluff Avenue, the scenic road into town. “I hope you’re hungry.”

 

Not anymore, now that it was clear where they were going.

 

The Myrtle Café was the sole sit-down restaurant in town, and it had been packed every time he’d peeked in during his tenure here. Sitting elbow-to-elbow with locals before he’d psyched himself up for that kind of exposure was bound to result in a case of severe indigestion—assuming he could choke his food down.

 

“Not very. I had a late lunch while I was running around today, and I hear the Myrtle has generous—”

 

“We’re not going to the Myrtle, even if I’ve become addicted to their spinach quiche.”

 

Jon squinted at her. “There aren’t any other restaurants in town.”

 

“Depends how you define restaurant. I have tacos on my mind.”

 

She was taking him to Charley’s?

 

“I thought you wanted to eat at sit-down restaurants for dinner while you were here?”

 

“I did. But have you taken me to any yet?” She arched her eyebrows at him, then directed her attention back to the road that curved around the bluffs.