“Especially if it frees Calliope up to be the distraction so we can surprise the entire family,” Xander said. “So, Roman. How are you finding Butterfly Harbor?”
“Interesting.” Roman bit into a piece of crisp bacon that Calliope had offered and nearly sighed. She’d baked it in the oven with brown sugar and a touch of maple syrup. “Wasn’t entirely sure what to think of such a small town. Everybody seems to know each other.” And their business.
Calliope sat next to her husband and began to eat her breakfast. “And Frankie? Are you two getting along all right?”
Ah, Frankie. She’d grunted a few pleasantries at him that morning, but he could practically see the gears racing in her head and had opted to leave her with her thoughts. “Sure.” He didn’t miss the look that passed between Xander and Calliope. “Why? Have you heard something I haven’t?”
“I’m sure we’ve all heard the same thing.” Calliope smiled over the top of her coffee mug. “I have no doubt she’s disappointed you’re here, especially given all the plans she had in mind for the department, but we tend to be given what we need. Not necessarily what we want.”
Roman inclined his head. Now that was a way of looking at things he’d never really considered before. Wait. Frankie had plans for the department? “I don’t suppose I’ve earned enough goodwill yet to maybe get some hints as to how to handle the situation?”
“Afraid I can’t help you there.” Xander dug into his own breakfast. “I’m still figuring out how to handle this one.” He glanced at his wife, who, instead of taking offense, appeared delighted at the statement.
“My plan is to keep you figuring me out well into our dotage. Frankie’s not that complicated, Roman. If you’re straight with her, she’ll be straight with you. Once her pride recovers and she realizes that her job title doesn’t define who she is nor what she means to this community, things will settle. For both of you.”
“Think that might happen by Monday when I officially take over?”
“Anything is possible.”
“Don’t be fooled,” Xander added. “That’s pretty much Calliope’s motto for everything.”
“The eternal optimist?” Roman said.
“Something like that.” Calliope nibbled on a piece of bacon before reaching for an apple. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d best check on Stella and our customers. Do you cook, Roman?”
“It’s kind of in my blood. While my Dad had Spanish roots, I’m Italian on my mother’s side. I was helping my grandmother make sauce from the time I could stand on a stool.” It was one of the things he assumed he’d miss most, with such a small department. Not getting the chance to cook very much for his fellow firefighters.
“Excellent. Take one of our flyers. That garden has just about everything.” She retrieved one from the cubby by the door and set it in front of him. “We provide delivery services for whatever frequency you’d like. And we’ll soon be expanding to fresh eggs. We’re getting chickens.”
“We’re talking about getting chickens,” Xander corrected.
“Stella has expressed an interest, so we will be getting chickens,” Calliope continued smoothly. “Just a few at first, but I anticipate adding them to our inventory of offerings quite soon. Will your family be joining you for Thanksgiving, Roman?”
“No. My mother’s currently on a cruise with her sisters, so it’ll just be me this year.”
“No one spends Thanksgiving in Butterfly Harbor alone,” Calliope stated on her way to the door. “We’re having a potluck Thanksgiving here at the farm. You’re welcome to join us.”
“I—” She walked out the door before he could respond. “I’ll probably be on duty,” Roman told Xander. “You’ll explain if I don’t show up?”
“I won’t have to,” Xander smiled. “She’ll know.”
* * *
“WATCH YOUR STEP, Mrs. Manning.” Frankie held out her arm for the elderly woman to use as a guide as she dropped out of the SUV. “And take your time. We have all that you need.” She waited until Alice Manning was securely on the sidewalk before Frankie closed the door and rotated to keep the frail, trembling hand in place.
“Got lots to do before tonight,” Alice told her. “Did you get my groceries?”
“I’ll bring them in once you’re settled.”
“Appreciate you answering the call, Frankie.” Alice put her hand on Frankie’s as they made their way up the ramp of the unique-looking three-story Victorian. The stately home took up a good portion of the corner where Red Admiral Lane met Milk Thistle Way. The place had always reminded Frankie of one of those old Hollywood sets, with a rusted chicken weather vane situated on top of the peaked tower, and worn gray wood shingles lined up like good soldiers along the expansive roof. One of the original houses in town, the building had once served as city hall, a speakeasy, an orphanage and, most recently, a doll and dollhouse museum.