Sea of Love: A Bayberry Island Novel Read Free Page B

lemonade?”
    “
What
?”
    “LEMONADE!”
    “Why the hell are you shouting at me? Damn you Flynns!”
    Rowan followed along, reaching Clancy as he handed off the sword with the flair of the track star he’d once been. “Be back in a minute,” he told her.
    “At that speed, it’ll be more like an hour.” Rowan cleared her throat and called out, “Have a nice evening, Hubie!”
    “We’d all be filthy rich by now if it weren’t for you!” Hubie tried to wrestle free of Clancy. “I’ve always hated you Flynns! You think you own the whole island and everyone on it! Always have!”
    Poor guy, Rowan thought. Sure, he was a total pain in the ass and even slashed the tires of the family’s ancient Subaru last week—which was why his daughter removed the knives—but her heart went out to him. She’d known Hubie since she’d been born, and all he wanted was to live out his remaining days in comfort. This was his once-in-a-lifetime shot at striking it rich, along with everyone else who owned property on or near the cove. Every one of them hated the Flynns at this point, and Rowan couldn’t blame them.
    Her family was being ridiculous about the whole thing. They owned three hundred prime acres at the island’s highest elevation, right in the middle of the cove, plus the entire beach. Clearly, the developer couldn’t do a thing without this land, and the interesting dynamic that had existed with her parents for decades had taken center stage in the land battle. To say Mona wore the pants in the marriage was an understatement. She also wore the jockstrap and controlled the checkbook. On more than one occasion in the last year, Rowan had heard her father say that he rued the day he agreed to put Mona on the title to the house and land. And now Mona forbade Rowan’s father from even meeting with the developers to discuss selling. Their disagreement got so heated about eight months ago that they’d decided to separate. What a mess.
    Her elderly neighbor glared at Rowan over his shoulder, offering up one last smirk as Clancy guided him through the front gate. If it could still be called a gate. There was a time when the twin twenty-foot-high scrolled wrought-iron structures provided the kind of grand entrance this place deserved. These days it was little more than a heap of corroded scrap metal, an irony that didn’t escape Rowan. A gate that had once kept out the riffraff now kept Rowan mindful of her own servitude. Hey, at least everything around here was decorated in the same style—shabby-as-shit chic.
    Rowan sighed heavily and turned back to the house. Who was she kidding? Even if the B and B broke even this year, there would be no extra money to make repairs. Her family was delusional if they thought keeping things the way they’d always been was the answer, let alone possible. If the decision were hers to make, she would have accepted the developer’s offer without giving it a second thought. It sure would have made things easier. No fighting with the neighbors. No endless zoning hearings and council meetings. No money worries—ever again—for every member of the Flynn clan and generations to come. Not to mention she could go back to New York and resume her real life.
    The sky began to rumble, and Rowan’s eyes followed the storm clouds. She decided to walk around the southeast end of the house, where she could get a look at the open water and sky. Bayberry Islanders didn’t put much stock in satellite TV weather reports and Web sites. The mood of the ocean, smell of the wind, and dance of the clouds were always more accurate.
    As she rounded the corner, Rowan averted her eyes. She took a wide berth around the screened-in side porch, giving some privacy to the canoodling couple on the old glider sofa, a piece of furniture long dubbed the love magnet by her family. They were the only festival-week honeymooners at the Safe Haven this year, though surely not the only ones on the island. The Mermaid Festival