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about it.”
    * * *
    A S Avery drove north on one of the island’s two main roads, she gazed out at the passing ocean view. She could have picked a lot of places to open her café. She had wanted to find a town outside of Boston, a destination that drew summer tourists, but not one that was too crowded, too expensive, or too built up.
    She had been sitting in her dentist’s office, paging through a magazine, when she saw an article about Angel Island and how the north side of the island had been improved to encourage more visitors, with a new beachfront, a boat slip, and a public park. There was a new ferry service from Newburyport that ran throughout the day and evening. Photographs showed the new ferry station house and an old-fashioned wooden boardwalk nearby that ran parallel to a short road with a few quaint-looking shops.
    Avery was struck by a chill of inspiration; gooseflesh popped up on her arms. This was it. Angel Island. An opportunity to get in on the ground floor in brand-new summer destination. She had heard of Cape Light and had even stayed over in Newburyport once or twice, on weekend escapes out of Boston. She had heard of Angel Island but had never seen it.
    She drove out to Cape Light the next day and then across the land bridge to the island. She told herself she just wanted to explore, especially the area featured in the article. It was a cold gray day in January, and the place looked nothing like the magazine photos. But Avery still felt sold on the idea of starting a business there.
    As she walked down the boardwalk, there wasn’t a soul in sight and a stiff, cold wind off the ocean made her huddle in her down coat. She easily found the row of old buildings on Ferry Street, all of them closed up tight for the winter. A sign posted on a shuttered window read FOR RENT OR LEASE right above a phone number. Avery peered in the spaces between the boards that covered the windows and could see it was a deserted ice cream parlor.
    It was sort of a wreck inside. It would take time and money to transform the shop into the image she had in mind for her café. But once the freezers and the glass-topped counter where the ice cream was served were pulled out, it appeared to be spacious enough to fit the number of seats she wanted.
    Peering in another window, she saw that the shop had a commercial kitchen in back, modest in size but large enough. Out front, there would be enough table space, she thought. She loved the location, and felt something deep in her bones, telling her that this was the spot.
    Five months later, Avery still felt sure she had made the right choice. She parked in front then gazed at the blue-gray awning with its artful black script—
Café Peregrine
. In the window, another eye-catching but tasteful sign: JOIN US FOR OUR GRAND OPENING—THIS COMING WEEKEND. CALL FOR RESERVATIONS
.
    It was still hard to believe, but she had pulled it all together just in time for the summer season. It was all hers: lock, stock, and barrel, and she was very proud. And scared.
    The boardwalk and beachfront were quiet today, but the area had been bustling with visitors over the weekend. Though Avery had been preparing the café for almost four months, she hadn’t yet met all the other shopkeepers on the street. Most of the other businesses had just reopened for Memorial Day, barely a week ago.
    Her closest neighbor was Sunshine Sundries, which sold everything a person could possibly need for a day by the sea—sunblock, beach balls, rubber shoes, cold drinks, and boogie boards. Avery thought the row of giant, inflatable water toys set up outside the store every day was a little messy looking. But the shop closed at five, and the owners did bring them in every evening. You couldn’t worry about every little thing.
    The next store on the street was Angel Island Anglers, a bait and tackle shop with a big display of fishing rods in the window and a handwritten painted sign