Holiday Kisses

When the wind picked up and a number of beachgoers turned away from the water, Xander took that as a hint he’d spent enough time mulling. He cast another quick glance up at the cliffs.

His heart stopped.

Even from this distance, the woman he saw was tall, with long arms, and was draped in color, from her sun-fire red hair to the blues and purples of the dress swirling about her legs. He stood there, transfixed, as she held out her hands, palms up. Tiny flecks of color exploded from her fingers and flittered around her so fast he swore he saw a golden circle of light appear.

Xander watched the light fade and shift into tiny sparks that drifted down the side of the rocks, spinning, racing, darting around each other as they approached...him.

He couldn’t move; didn’t remember how. And then he realized they weren’t lights at all. The sun’s rays had caught the colors of the butterflies’ wings. Butterflies that flittered their way closer, so close he could see the patterns of black spots among the light orange of the town’s namesake Monarch Festival.

The winged creatures darted around him, whipping in a circle, before they arced up and returned to the cliff face and disappeared into the rocks.

For a second, he wondered if he’d dreamed them. Xander tilted his chin higher, squinted into the bright daylight. The woman turned, just a step, and angled her face down. And looked at him.

“Woof! Woof, woof!”

Xander jumped and broke his gaze. As he shifted his foggy attention back to the sand, he found the terrier mix—Tabitha, wasn’t it?—sitting in front of him, tail wagging so hard she tossed sand onto his shoes. He swore the dog was grinning at him. “Hello,” he said.

“Sorry, mister!” The girl with the butterfly backpack raced toward him, a neon pink leash in her hand. “She’s friendly, I promise.” She dropped into the sand and locked her arm around the dog’s neck, latched the leash and wound her hand to secure her hold. “She likes butterflies.” She pointed a finger up the cliffs. “Especially Calliope’s butterflies. They’re special.”

“Calliope?” Xander blinked and looked back up the cliff, but the woman was gone.

“Calliope Jones. She runs Duskywing Farm. My mom and I do deliveries for her. Um... I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” she stated matter-of-factly, but didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get away.

Xander glanced over the girl’s head to see the boy and his dog trudging through the sand toward them. “That sounds like a wise rule,” he agreed. He liked kids. While he wasn’t in any rush for a house full of his own, he’d found his niece and nephew exceedingly talented at keeping him grounded. “My name is Xander Costas.”

Her eyes went wide. “Ooooh! You’re going to build the new home for our butterflies!”

“Well, I’m helping to design the building.” As if he and his brother could agree on anything when it came to this place. “I mainly just draw, at this point.” To say he was rusty was an understatement, and he’d had to learn some new technology as drafting tables and protractors had become a thing of the past. He’d spent the last few years as the face of Costas Architecture based in New York with occasional trips to their Chicago headquarters. He was the deal-maker. The client-getter. Concepts had been where his brother and father dwelled.

Until disaster had come calling.

“That’s cool,” the little girl said. “Weren’t you supposed to be here a long time ago? Like during the Monarch Festival?”

Xander nodded. Might as well practice his mea culpas while he could. “My father got sick. I had to postpone. But I’m here now.”

“I hope he’s better. I’m Charlie, by the way.” She took a step closer and held out her hand, which Xander accepted. “Charlie Coo—oops. Bradley. I got a new name with my new dad ’cause he adopted me.”

She grinned, accentuating the dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks. She had the brightest green eyes Xander had ever seen. Sea glass, he thought. Interesting.

“He’s a deputy here in town. You’ll meet him soon I bet. Simon! It’s the archi—archi-nerts. I can never say that word. It’s the building guy for the sanctuary! He’s finally here!”

Coated in damp sand, the boy reached her and, Xander noted, took a protective stance in front of his friend. “Hi. My dad’s the sheriff.”

“Noted.” Xander gave the boy a sharp nod of understanding. “Are you two the welcoming committee?”

Charlie laughed and Simon’s lips twitched. “Nah.” Simon pushed his sand-caked glasses higher up his nose. “But where Calliope’s butterflies go, she follows.” He jerked a thumb at Charlie. “Even when it’s to talk to strangers.”

“He’s not a stranger. His name is Xander Costas,” Charlie announced. “We know each other now.”

A sharp whistle sounded from the top of the stairs. Charlie’s cheeks went instantly pink as she looked up.

“Charlie!” The man in a khaki law-enforcement uniform must be the dad she was talking about. “Hustle it up! We’re already late!”

“I gotta go.” Charlie scrambled around him. “We’re planning my mom’s surprise graduation party. I get to help decide on the cake! It was nice to meet you, Mr. Costas.” Charlie raced up the steps. “Come on, Simon!”

“You can call me Xander. Huh.” Whatever unease he’d been feeling had vanished in the last few minutes. The tide didn’t sound quite so loud now. The air wasn’t quite so sharp. He felt...more comfortable.

He looked back up to the cliffs, a smile curving his lips as he remembered the image of the woman standing above him. There was something...odd about her. There was also a sense of calm and peace he couldn’t quite identify. Whatever he’d been expecting of Butterfly Harbor, this wasn’t it. “Can’t wait to see what else this town has to offer.”

* * *

“HE’S HERE.” CALLIOPE watched the man from her dreams interact with Charlie and Simon on the beach, uncertainty spreading through her body before settling into an uneven beat. The energy she’d pushed into the air, a test of sorts, had spun its way toward him—directly toward him, as if it hadn’t a choice of where to go. It had circled and observed, absorbing what information it could beneath the gray storm clouds the man had brought with him.

Calliope steeled herself against the shiver.

It seemed as if her family’s legacy of heartache wouldn’t bypass her after all.

Unease crept over her, an unusual sensation for a woman who prided herself on self-assuredness and clearheadedness. Reading people came naturally to Calliope. Call it intuition, empathy or whatever qualifier made people comfortable—it was all fine with her. She couldn’t explain it, had never fought it; not even when the ability pegged her as the strange girl growing up, or the eccentric woman who lived on what passed for a farm in Butterfly Harbor. Most of the time it brought her a sense of peace.

Now? A sensation she could only describe as panic crawled inside her and settled. As hard as she focused, try as she might, her take on the man was as blank as a rain-washed morning.

In that moment, the solitary future she’d seen so clearly for herself blurred. Or perhaps it had dwindled away earlier. She’d been distracted lately by the possibility of losing her farm and everything she’d worked for. Thankfully, trouble had been averted when the mayor decided to go with his second location choice for the sanctuary and education center. Instead of encroaching on her property—endangering both her livelihood and the land her family had lived on for decades—the center would be built on the recently designated protected area between her farm and Liberty Lighthouse. The project would still have to be developed in just the right way, with respect, understanding and, hopefully, deference. Not everything would survive as a good portion of the historic trees in the area would have to be cut down, but Calliope understood the importance of this venture, not only to the town, but also to its residents. It would take a special person to bring the sanctuary project to fruition and give her beloved butterflies a safe place to migrate. But this man?

Doubt knocked at the back of her mind as she gnawed on her lower lip. Would a man raised among skyscrapers and freeways understand the delicate balance between nature and its inhabitants?

Calliope sighed. These days she overthought everything, uncertain about any answers. No doubt her worrying was asking for trouble. Diving into the darkness and pessimistic possibilities wouldn’t do anyone any good, least of all her. She could only control what she could control. And so she forced herself to relax as she watched the man climb the stairs to the road.

A wave of energy washed over her, invisible, powerful, but in those few seconds, she identified strength. Determination. Concern.

And passion. It was buried, simmering deep and low. But it was there.

So much passion.

Calliope took a shuddering breath.

“Calliope! Come see!”

She stepped back, broke whatever tenuous connection she’d created with the newcomer and turned toward Stella’s excited call. The ten-year-old’s enthusiasm was contagious. Calliope had never been able to wallow for long around her. For that alone, she was endlessly grateful for the gift of her little sister. With a quiet word of thanks to the day and all it had brought, Calliope turned her back on the ocean and made her way down the uneven path to the Flutterby Inn.

The three-story inn felt like a second home to most who lived in Butterfly Harbor. It was on its second—or was it third?—life. Thanks to a restaurant reinvention and new ownership, the business was thriving as never before, and bringing in a whole new clientele to the reinvigorated town.

It had been a rough few years for Butterfly Harbor, but the town had worked together and instead of floundering in their depressed economic circumstance, they now embraced what was to come with eagerness and enthusiasm.

For the most part.

Calliope refused to dwell on the downside of town politics and possible ulterior motives. Not at this time of year. Christmas. The season of gratitude and new beginnings.

And just like that, she settled.