The Abalone Shell

Chapter 2

Two

“Hey, big brother.”

Owen eyed his sister with his spoon hovering millimeters from his mouth. She leaned beside him with her hip against the counter and a Cheshire cat gleam in her eyes. He sucked the spoonful of chowder into his mouth and savored it for a moment before he addressed her. “Is there a reason why you’re interrupting my lunch again? I need to get back to work, Erin, and I’d really like to finish my chowder before I do.”

“Whine, whine, whine. See that pretty woman at the table over by the window?”

“Which window?”

“Like you need to ask.”

He didn’t. He’d spotted the woman and her beautiful little girl when they’d walked through the door and again after he’d sensed her watching him. Svelte build and on the taller side, light brown hair pulled back in a short, playful ponytail, and blue eyes. And her daughter was the spitting image of her. “What about her?”

“She seems pretty interested in your wind chimes.”

The way she said it with that devious smile hovering at the corners of her mouth told him the wind chimes were only part of the woman’s interest, and not a large part.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Come on, Owen. It’s been three years.”

“So?”

“So… Mom’s getting antsy again.”

“So… it’s your turn to get married and give her a grandbaby.”

“I’m not the marrying type.”

Owen snorted. “How would you know? You’ve never given a man a chance to prove you might be.”

“I have yet to date a man worthy of a chance.”

Rolling his eyes, he ate another spoonful of his clam chowder. They’d had this conversation more times than he could recall, and for the last three years, it always ended the same, with him angry and bitter and heartbroken all over again, so he headed it off before his pleasant day took a turn south. He waved his hand in dismissal. “If that’s all you wanted, buzz off.”

“Just thought you might like to know you have an admirer. That’s all.”

She sauntered off to check on her tables, and Owen didn’t watch her go. Fearing another interruption—this time from his mother, because Erin was sure to mention the woman and her daughter as soon as she returned to the kitchen—he ate the rest of his lunch in a rush and carried his dishes into the kitchen.

“Amazing as always, Mom,” he said. “Thanks.”

“You’re done already?”

“I’ve got customers.” A half-truth. He’d already checked with the couple browsing his gallery and they were waiting for the rest of their party to arrive for lunch. He leaned down, kissed her cheek, and scooted out of the kitchen just as his sister entered, suspecting closing time wasn’t going to come fast enough today.

A few of the diners came into his gallery after finishing their lunches, and most bought something. When one woman—a young mother of twin girls who reminded him strongly of his wife—begged her husband for his most expensive wind chimes and two kites, he threw in a sea-glass pendant for each of their girls.

“You don’t have to do that!” the mother said. “Please. Let us pay for the necklaces.”

“Their smiles are p*****t enough,” he replied. “Please. My gift.”

“If you’re sure….”

“I am.”

“What do you say, girls?”

“Thank you!” they chorused.

“You’re most welcome.”

Sensing someone watching him, he turned toward the Salty Dog and found the woman his sister had mentioned standing in the doorway between the two businesses with a curious expression. When their gazes met, her cheeks pinkened prettily. What had his sister said to the poor woman?

He ambled over to her, extending his hand in greeting. “I’m Owen.”

“Hope,” she said, shaking his hand. “And this is my daughter, Daphne.”

“Daphne St. Cloud,” the little girl said. “Well, my name is actually Daphne Andrews, but since Mom and Dad aren’t married anymore, I want to go by St. Cloud ‘cause I like it better. It’s special.”

Owen’s brows rose. Hope’s embarrassment darkened into mortification.

A divorcée, huh? Curiosity sparked.

“It suits you,” he replied to the girl.

“I’m sorry,” Hope said in a rush. “She’s not usually so chatty around strangers. In fact, she’s usually so shy she hides behind me.”

He studied her with narrowed eyes as she recovered from her shock. Up close, she was even prettier, and she glanced over him with an intriguing appreciation that made his pulse quicken.

It had been a while since he’d felt that.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Erin said you might be interested in some wind chimes.”

“Erin? Oh, our waitress. Right. Yes, I was admiring your wind chimes. Did you find all the glass on the beach here?”

“Yes, ma’am, I did.”

“There’s glass on the beach?” Daphne asked, concerned.

“Lots of it,” Owen replied. He snatched another necklace—this one braided twine woven with a half a dozen varied pieces of aqua and cobalt glass and as many bits of iridescent abalone shell—and squatted in front of the girl. “The ocean tumbles it against the sand and rocks and takes off the sharp edges. See how smooth and soft it is now?”

“Oh….”

He glanced at her mother. “May I?”

Her brows dipped briefly, and she opened her mouth to object.

“My gift,” he interrupted. “It isn’t the first one I’ve given away today, and it probably won’t be the last.”

“How do you make a living if you keep giving your products away?”

“The best things in life can’t be bought.” He offered a tight smile. “Take it from someone who knows too well how precious and how brief those things sometimes are. There’s a mirror just over there, Daphne, if you want to look.”

The little girl trotted away, and Hope stared at him. She snapped her mouth closed, and he could see the cogs working in her mind as she untangled his statement, searching for what he meant by it.

“Besides,” he said quickly before she could ask, “this is probably the very least I can do to make up for my sister.”

“Your sister?”

“Erin. Your waitress. I don’t know what she said to you, but I’m sorry it upset you.”

“It didn’t,” she said hastily. “She just caught me off guard.”

He nearly groaned. “Please tell me she didn’t stick her nose completely in it.”

“In what?”

“For the last three years, her goal in life has become setting me up with a new woman.”

Her gaze shifted to his left hand, and she frowned. The indentation from his wedding ring was still there; he’d stopped wearing it only a few weeks ago.

“You’re divorced?” she asked.

“Widowed.”

Sympathy rounded her eyes, and when she replied, her voice was distractingly soft. “I’m so sorry.”

He nodded in acknowledgement.

Abruptly, she straightened. “Wow.”

“Hmm?”

“This is a dark and rather deep conversation for a sunny day between two strangers.”

“So it is.” Grateful for the proverbial open door through which he could escape the conversation, he walked through it with her. “How about those wind chimes?”

By the time she and her daughter left the shop with a brand new set of sea-glass wind chimes for their family’s cottage—somehow he wasn’t surprised she was one of the St. Clouds who owned the cottage on North Point Loop just one driveway over from his—he was struggling to keep the memories at bay. He glanced at the abalone shell displayed on the wall behind his cash register. It wasn’t either of the two he’d found, but it brought them and the days he’d found them to mind.

Suddenly, spending the afternoon gathering more sea glass and shells for his projects sounded like a fantastic idea. He called his lone employee, who was only too glad for the extra hours. Within half an hour, he was parking his truck in front of his house on the point. He grabbed his scavenging sack and headed along the gravel path that connected his home, the cottage next to it, and Hope’s to the stairs that led down to the tiny and aptly named Hidden Beach tucked away between two arms of the point. Compulsion drove him down the stairs and straight for the natural rock arch that, at low tide, provided a direct path to the main, mile-long beach.

It was there in that tunnel of stone that he’d found the first whole, pristine abalone shell. Every other time he checked down here, he’d found only fragments of shells no larger than a couple inches across, and that’s all he expected to find today.

He recognized the iridescent crescent sticking out of the coarse sand immediately and stooped to pick it up. It wasn’t a whole shell, but it was almost half of one and among the largest pieces he’d ever found on the beach of Sea Glass Cove. He skimmed his fingers over its shimmery interior as he strolled under the arch to the main beach, ignoring the sea glass littering the shore, and glanced up at the St. Cloud cottage perched high above him.

The little girl Daphne was out on the deck—of course she was—and despite the distance, she spotted him. He returned her exuberant wave, absently turning and twisting the shell fragment in his hand. After three years without so much as a flicker of interest in a new woman, the immediate pull he felt toward Hope was as bright as the lighthouse’s lantern on the blackest night. How long were she and her daughter going to be in town? And would it be long enough to investigate this undeniable attraction?