Page 1 of Falling for the Wrong Guy

ChapterOne

Aria

It started as a gentle breeze, a ruffle through the weather-weary beach grass, a disturbance of air just strong enough to make the squirrel in the winter-bare maple tree sit up straighter, a burst of energy that was enough to tug the corner on the “Help wanted” sign I’d just taped to the café window; then it softened and floated around the cove like a whisper. The sound—a swooshing, rolling, damp sigh that made it seem as if the surrounding shale cliffs were yawning—didn’t happen often, but it was how our town earned the name Whisper Cove. Our Irish grandmother, or Nonna, as we lovingly called her, used to tell us it was fairies whispering to each other. Between her hugs and kisses and freshly baked cookies, she steeped us in a magical world filled with princesses, heroes, changelings and all the creatures she grew up reading about.

Nonna always insisted that when a whisper circled the cove, it meant a change was coming. It could be something as small as a robin deciding to build its nest on top of the porch light or as big as meeting your soulmate. It could be a change for the better or a change for the worse. That was the thing about fairies, Nonna would say—it all depended on what kind of mood they were in. They could be as sweet as amber honey or as sour as unripe grapes.

My phone rang. I moved the paper-wrapped sandwich to my left hand and pulled the phone free from my coat pocket. It was my youngest sister, Layla, and I already knew what the call was about.

“Did you hear it? Did you hear the whisper?” Layla asked excitedly. “I sure hope those fairies are in a good mood. I’m meeting Evan tonight for dinner. He sounds so nice on the phone, and I really think this could be the guy.” Unfortunately, Layla said that same phrase about every man she met. She was an unabashed romantic and also too easily swept off her feet. “I sure hope that whisper was for me.” She also tended to be a little self-centered, but then, she was the youngest of five sisters, and we all doted on her.

“Since the last whisper ended with me needing a new stove in the café, I gladly hand this one off to you. I don’t need a change. I need a cook. Heck, if someone knows how to crack an egg without getting it all over the floor, then I’d hire them. Running both the front and back of the café is too much.”

“Okay, then I guess this phone call is all about you,” Layla said.

I huffed loudly. “Sometimes being the oldest—well, it getsold. I do occasionally need to gripe and rant and whine, too.” I turned toward the boat marina. It was cloaked in gray skies. An icy, salty wind made my eyes water. I lowered my face to avoid it.

“You’re right, Aria. I’m sorry. Have you had any promising applicants? What about the woman with the funny name? Minnie?”

“Minerva seemed very promising until we hopped on a video interview. She kept answering her phone in the middle of my questions. Her kettle whistled at one point, and she got up and made herself a cup of tea. She returned five minutes later with her cup, and I told her the interview was over.”

“Oh my gosh, how rude. You’ll find someone. What are you doing this morning on your day off?”

“Big things, exciting things, as usual. I’m taking Oscar Mittel a tuna sandwich. His arthritis has been acting up with this cold, damp weather.” Oscar was in his nineties, possibly even his hundreds. He’d been living in the cove on his houseboat since we were kids. When he was young, he worked on a fishing fleet. Nonna used to walk over and have coffee with him every Saturday morning. She’d bring him a tin of her shortbread or a plate of oatmeal cookies. When the weather was particularly bad, like this morning, I brought him lunch. He loved my tuna sandwiches and patty melts.

Layla laughed. “I remember Nonna used to call it ‘bone-chewing weather’ because she said it felt like mice were gnawing on her knees and knuckles.”

“I don’t think any of us ever appreciated just how much pain she was in. She always seemed to smile past it.” Our grandmother became our primary guardian after our mom died from a sudden illness. Our dad traveled for business, and, frankly, he had no idea how to raise five little girls. We ended up in Nonna’s care, and she was nothing short of wonderful.

“Hey, maybe that whisper means Kellan is going to propose,” Layla said with a new burst of enthusiasm.

I laughed. After a few years of dating various men, I’d almost given up on the idea of finding my match when I met Kellan at, of all places, a farmer’s market. He was tall and handsome and very put together. (I was horrified by my own attire that day—a pair of jean cutoffs and a T-shirt with a coffee stain.) We’d both reached for the same basket of blueberries. He waved his hand, letting me know that the berries were mine, and what started as a brief conversation about the health benefits of antioxidants morphed into plans for a dinner date. He was a financial consultant who worked remotely, giving him the freedom to live anywhere, and anywhere happened to be in Fairview, the next town inland from Whisper Cove.

“We’ve only been dating six months, so that’s not happening. I’m certainly not ready for it.”

“No, but I think Kellan is. Isla said when the four of you went to dinner the other night, Kellan couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

Another laugh. “You mean he couldn’t take his eyes off Luke. Kellan even told me after we left dinner that Luke was his new idol and that he couldn’t wait to strike up a close friendship with him.”

“Well, we all feel that way about glorious Luke.” It was true. Isla had found her soulmate. I wasn’t as sure about my recent match, but I couldn’t deny that it was nice to have someone solid and trustworthy in my life. Layla’s phone beeped. “Oops, got another call. Might be Evan. We haven’t firmed up tonight’s plans yet. Say hello to Oscar for me.”

I tucked my phone back into my pocket only to have to drag it right back out. Seeing Kellan’s name on the screen caused a slight flutter in my chest. It wasn’t the same intense flutter I used to feel when Dylan, the boy I loved in high school, called me or rode his bike past the house, but there was a definite stirring. I was no longer a starry-eyed teen, so I was sure this was my adult version of a flutter—a far more sensible reaction, I reminded myself.

“Morning,” I said cheerily.

“Hey, beautiful, how about some lunch later? I’ll book us a table at Mama Maria’s for a nice, romantic meal.”

“That sounds perfect. I’ve got some things to do at the café first.”

“I thought this was your day off.”

“Says the man who works night and day seven days a week,” I teased.

“That’s how you get ahead in this business. I’m sure the café can survive if you take the morning off.” It wasn’t the first time he’d made my career seem less important than his, but I’d learned to ignore it because I knew my career and my café were important.

“Sure, I’ll just tell tomorrow morning’s customers that there will be no chopped veggies in their omelets or frittatas, and I’m sure they won’t need any biscuits with that gravy. They could just eat it with a spoon.”

He chuckled. “All right, all right. You’ve made your point. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you at lunch.” His phone beeped. “Darn it. I need to get this. Meet you at the restaurant at one. Does that work?”

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