Holly shook her head and bit her lip, regarding the house pensively.
“If you have a name in mind,” Maggie told her, “you can write it down for me.”
They were joined by Holly’s uncle, a protective hand closing over one frail shoulder. “Everything okay, Holly?”
An attractive voice, dark and slow-simmered. But there was a gleam of warning in the glance he shot at Maggie. She fell back a step as she found herself confronted by six-foot-plus of uncompromising male. Mark Nolan wasn’t precisely handsome, but his bold features and dark good looks made handsomeness irrelevant. A small crescent-shaped scar high on his cheek, faintly silvered in the light from the window, gave him an agreeable hint of toughness. And the eyes…a rare shade of blue-green, like the ocean in a tropical travel brochure. He seemed dangerous in some way that had yet to reveal itself. He was the mistake you would never entirely regret making.
She managed a neutral smile. “Hi. I’m Maggie Conroy. This is my shop.”
Nolan didn’t bother to volunteer his own name. Noticing his niece’s fascination with the fairy house, he asked, “Is that for sale?”
“Afraid not. It’s part of the shop decor.” Glancing down at Holly, Maggie added, “They’re not hard to make. If you draw a picture of one and bring it to me, I could help you build it.” Lowering to sit on her heels, she looked directly into the girl’s small face. “You never know if a fairy will come to live in it. All you can do is wait, and cross your fingers.”
“I don’t think—” Mark Nolan began, but he fell abruptly silent when Holly smiled and reached out to touch one of the crystal earrings that dangled from Maggie’s ears, sending the weight of it swinging.
Something about the girl, with her off-center ponytail and wistful gaze, reached past several layers of self-protection. Maggie felt a sweet, almost painful ache in her chest as they contemplated each other.
I understand, Maggie wanted to tell her. I’ve lost someone, too. And there were no rules for how to deal with the death of someone you loved. You had to accept that the loss would always stay with you, like a reminder note pinned to the inside of your jacket. But there were still opportunities for happiness. Even joy. Maggie couldn’t let herself doubt that.
“Would you like to see a book about fairies?” she asked, and saw eagerness light up the girl’s face.
As Maggie stood, she felt the brush of Holly’s hand against hers. Her hand closed carefully over the cool little bundle of fingers.
Risking a glance at Mark Nolan, Maggie saw that his face had gone blank, his unfriendly gaze arrowing to their clasped hands. She sensed that it had surprised him, this willingness of Holly’s to hold hands with a stranger. When he made no objection, Maggie drew Holly along with her toward the back of the store.
“The…the book section is over here,” Maggie said. They reached a child-sized table and a pair of small chairs. While Holly sat, Maggie pulled a ponderous and richly colored volume from the bookshelves. “Here we are,” she said brightly. “Everything you ever wanted to know about fairies.” It was a beautifully illustrated book with several pages of pop-up scenes. Sitting on the tiny chair next to Holly’s, Maggie opened the book for her.
Nolan stood nearby, appearing to check messages on his cell phone, but Maggie was aware of his covert interest. Although he was willing to let her interact with his niece, it wouldn’t happen without his supervision.
Maggie and Holly looked at the section titled “What Fairies Do All Day,” showing them stitching together rainbows like long ribbons, pruning their gardens, and having tea parties with butterflies and ladybugs.
From the corner of her eye, Maggie saw that Mark Nolan had pulled one of the sealed copies of the book from the shelf, and had put it in a handbasket. She couldn’t help noticing the hard, lean lines of his body, the flex of muscle beneath ancient denim and a worn gray T-shirt.
Whatever Nolan did for a living, he dressed like a working-class guy, with worn shoes, Levi’s, and a decent but unspectacular watch. That was one of the things Maggie liked about the islanders, or Sanjuaneros, as they lightly referred to themselves. You could never tell who was a millionaire and who was a landscaper.
An elderly woman approached the register, and Maggie pushed the book a bit closer to Holly. “I have to go help someone,” she said. “You can look at that book as long as you want.”
Holly nodded, gently tracing the edge of a pop-up rainbow with her fingertip.
Going behind the counter, Maggie faced a woman with artfully styled gray hair and thick-lensed glasses.
“I’d like this gift-wrapped, please,” the woman said, pushing a boxed wooden train set across the counter.
“This is a great starter set,” Maggie told her. “You can rearrange the track four different ways. And later on, you can add the swivel bridge. It has little gates that automatically open and close.”
“Really? Maybe I should get one of them right now.”
“Let me show one to you. We’ve got it on display near the front….” As Maggie guided the woman to the train table, she saw that Holly and her uncle had left the book area and were browsing among racks of fairy wings on the wall. Nolan lifted the child to give her a better view of the higher-up wings. Maggie’s stomach did a funny little swoop as she saw how his T-shirt molded to the powerful line of his back.
Dragging her gaze away from him, Maggie turned her attention to gift-wrapping the train set. While Maggie worked, the customer squinted at a phrase painted on the wall behind the counter. There’s no sensation to compare with this…suspended animation, a state of bliss…
“What a nice quote,” the woman said. “Is it from a poem?”
“Pink Floyd,” Nolan said as he came up to set a heavily filled handbasket on the counter. “It’s from a song called ‘Learning to Fly.’”
As Maggie met his gaze, she felt color blooming from head to toe. “You like Pink Floyd?”
He smiled slightly. “I did in high school. During a phase of wearing black and whining about my emotional isolation.”
“I remember that phase,” the elderly woman said. “Your parents wanted to call the governor and enlist you in the National Guard.”
“Thank God they loved their country too much to go through with it.” Nolan’s smile widened, leaving Maggie momentarily dazzled, even though he hadn’t been looking in her direction.
She fumbled a little as she slid the wrapped present into a bag with cord handles. “Here you go,” she said brightly, nudging the bag toward the elderly woman.
Nolan reached for it. “That looks heavy, Mrs. Borowitz. Why don’t you let me carry it out to the car for you?”
The diminutive woman beamed at him. “Thank you, but I can manage. How are those brothers of yours?”
“Sam’s great. Out in the vineyard most of the time. As for Alex…I haven’t seen much of him lately.”
“He’s certainly putting his mark on Roche Harbor.”
“Yeah.” There was a wry twist to his mouth. “He won’t rest until he’s covered most of the island with condos and parking lots.”
The woman looked down at Holly. “Hello, sweetheart. How are you?”
The child nodded bashfully and said nothing.
“You just started first grade, didn’t you? Do you like your teacher?”
Another timid nod.
Mrs. Borowitz clucked gently. “Still not talking? Well, you need to start soon. How will anyone know what you’re thinking if you don’t tell them?”
Holly stared fixedly at the ground.
Although the words had not been meant unkindly, Maggie saw Nolan’s jaw tighten.
“She’ll get around to it,” he said in a casual tone. “Mrs. Borowitz, that bag is bigger than you are. You’re going to have to let me take it out for you, or they’ll take back my merit badge.”
The elderly woman chuckled. “Mark Nolan, I know for a fact that you never earned a merit badge.”
“That’s because you never let me help you….”
The pair bickered amiably as Nolan took the package from her and walked her to the door. He glanced back over his shoulder. “Holly, wait there for me. I’ll be back in a second.”
“She’s fine here,” Maggie said. “I’ll look out for her.”
Nolan’s gaze slid to her briefly. “Thanks,” he said, and left the shop.
Maggie let out a pent-up breath, feeling a little like she had just gotten off an amusement-park ride, her insides settling after having been rearranged.
Leaning against the counter, Maggie regarded Holly thoughtfully. The child’s face was guarded, her eyes bright but opaque, like sea glass. Maggie tried to remember more about when her nephew, Aidan, hadn’t been able to speak at school. Selective mutism, it was called. People often thought such behavior was willful or deliberate, but it wasn’t. Aidan had gotten better in time, eventually responding to the patient overtures of his family and teacher.