Book One
Enchanted Island Series
New Release!
Amazon
Della
Sun, scissors, and scandal—just another day in
paradise…
Della Delaney arrives on Enchanted Island armed with a hairstyling grant, a suitcase full of mousse, and big dreams of running her own salon on historic Main Street. But before she can unpack her flat iron, she’s already fending off public doubt that downtown can be revived, and a gifted local artist whose killer smile is more than a little distracting. Between opening a salon and trying to unmask whoever is attempting to sabotage not only her business but her future, Della is learning that love—and success—never come without a little frizz.
He’s done with art, at odds with his family, and
struggling with his identity…
After getting rejected by every art gallery in Miami, Logan Chandler returns to Morganville with a portfolio full of watercolor paintings and his morale so low that he contemplates quitting the art scene for good. Then he meets Della—an optimistic whirlwind of vitality and sass who’s convinced that giving up is never an option. When he discovers she’s caught in a tug-of-war between Main Street dreams and resort-town politics—with his own family in the middle—Logan is forced to choose between his family and the girl who stole his heart while making him believe in his talent again.
Prologue
The Saint Paul Hotel, St. Paul, Minnesota
Late January
Some days, getting out of bed felt like Sleeping Beauty
trying to wake up from her life-altering snooze. Today was one of those days.
Della Delaney groaned and dragged the covers over her head
just as the adjoining door to her parents’ hotel room burst open with all the
subtlety of a marching band. In stormed her older sister, Christina, the new Queen
of Snows of the St. Paul Winter Carnival. The jingle of her charm bracelet, a
gift from King Boreas Rex, heralded her arrival.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” she sang with spirited cheer.
“It’s Sunday and you’re going to the King’s Brunch!”
“Ugh. Long weekend. I’m too tired,” Della mumbled into her
pillow, barely awake.
“No time for excuses.” Christina marched to the window and
flung the curtains open like she was revealing a surprise prize on a game show.
“It’s already eight-thirty!”
“Okay, Cruella,” Della mumbled.
Then, like a true villain, her sister ripped the warm covers
off the bed.
“Hey!” Della shrieked, flailing to grab the blankets like they
were a lifeline. “Give me that back!”
“No. Mom and Dad are ready and waiting to go. You
were supposed to be up thirty minutes ago,” Christina said with a disapproving
frown. “You need to shower, fix your face, and pretend to be charming. Social
hour starts at ten. Oh, and since you are a hairdresser, I expect you to
fix your bedhead. Okay?”
Christina stood tall and regal, a vision of winter elegance
in her form-fitting, soft ivory wool dress. Her coppery hair was impeccably swept
into a thick cluster of curls and crowned with the official Winter Carnival diadem,
a sparkling symbol of her prestigious new title. Her makeup, expertly applied,
completed the portrait of composed majesty. But underneath all that queenly
grace, she was still the same bossy older sister by five years. Not even a
sparkling crown could change that.
Della sat up with a loud sigh. “Fine. But I’m not wearing
heels. I draw the line at toe frostbite.”
“Don’t be dramatic.” Christina tossed her a fuzzy robe. “Hurry
up. If you’re late, you’ll embarrass me.”
Fully awake now, Della glared at her sister. “We’ve been
going non-stop since Friday night. I’m wiped out.”
“Oh, poor you,” Christina replied with a wry smile, her dark
brown eyes flashing. “I’ve already given an interview and made a television
appearance today. Stop complaining and get going!”
Della yawned and tried to gather her thoughts as Christina
swept out of the room, leaving the adjoining door open behind her. From the
other unit, a deep, polished male voice spoke about the current temperature, a
clear sign that her parents were watching the morning news.
How Christina could be so chipper on such little sleep
remained a mystery. Della was happy about her sister’s success and wished her
well, but becoming an integral part of the Winter Carnival Royal Family was
Christina’s passion—not hers.
At the four-hour celebration on Friday evening, Christina was
crowned Aurora Borealis, Queen of the Saint Paul Winter Carnival, and became an
official ambassador for the city of St. Paul. People cried. Della cheered and clapped
until her hands became numb. Then came the Royal Ball that lasted until one in
the morning.
At the Saturday parade, Della and her parents stood outside
for hours just to catch a glimpse of Christina riding past on the official
Winter Carnival float with King Boreas Rex, both waving like royalty and
somehow not turning into human popsicles.
She looked amazing, of course, Della thought with a
wistful shake of her head. I looked like an Eskimo with mascara.
Today was the King’s Brunch, thankfully held indoors. There
was just one catch. She’d spend the morning fielding congratulations on
Christina’s big win and dodging that dreaded question: “So, are you planning to
follow in your big sister’s footsteps?”
I’d rather climb Mount Everest in flip-flops than speak
in front of a crowd of strangers, she thought glumly. More than anything,
she wanted to step out of Christina’s shadow. She wanted to stop feeling
invisible, like an afterthought, and finally live a life that was truly her
own.
It’s time for me to turn the page, Della thought desperately, and write my own story.
Chapter One
Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport
Early Friday morning, late February
Della Delaney stared out the car window at the cold, dark
clouds covering the winter sky, wondering whether she’d made the right decision
or if she’d wasted her last dollar pursuing the wrong dream. Her trip to
Enchanted Island would either be the most successful gamble she’d ever
undertaken or the most spectacular failure of her life. Was the risk worth it? She
sighed.
I’ll never know unless I try…
“There’s the Delta sign,” her mother exclaimed as her dad
drove through the busy airport departure drop-off area. “I wish Christina could
have accompanied us to see you off, but she has multiple appearances this
weekend out of town.”
“That’s okay, Mom,” Della said, sighing inside with relief.
“She’s busy with her own thing.” Christina had voiced skepticism about Della’s
decision to set up a business on a heart-shaped tropical island fifty miles off
the coast of Florida. She didn’t need any more of her sister’s doubts echoing
in her head today.
Dozens of red taillights shone through the congestion like
glowing beacons. Bill Delaney maneuvered his way across two slow-moving lanes
of traffic toward the entrance to the Delta check-in area and darted into a
space behind another car as it drove away. He parked the car and jumped out to
retrieve Della’s suitcases from the back of the SUV.
Della grabbed her large carry-on bag and started to open the
car door when her mother, sitting in the front seat, turned to her with a
serious frown. “Be sure to give us a call when you land,” Rachel Delaney said
in a worried, motherly tone. She looked like a mature version of Christina with
coppery hair and dark brown eyes. “And be careful with your carry-on bag. You
never know what kind of person you’re sitting next to at the gate. It would be
awful if someone stole your phone or your laptop.”
Mom, Della thought wearily. I’m twenty-five, not
fifteen. I know enough to watch my stuff.
“Okay, I’ll remember,” she said dutifully as she zipped her
pink hoodie and opened the car door, anxious to get into the terminal and be on
her way. She met her father at the car’s open tailgate.
“Geez,” Bill complained as he hoisted the heavy black
suitcases out of the car. “How much stuff did you pack? These things weigh a
ton. If they go over the weight allowance, it’s gonna cost you extra.”
“Just making sure I have everything I need,” Della replied
with a nervous laugh. She’d packed her scissors, blow dryers, and the rest of
her hairstyling tools along with a few outfits. She’d acquire additional
supplies once she got to the island. For now, she had enough to get started.
Opening a new business so far from home was exciting and a
little scary, too. She’d nearly changed her mind—twice—but her father didn’t
need to know that. If he did, he’d start second-guessing every little detail of
her plans. As it was, ever since she announced her intention to go to Enchanted
Island and start a hair salon, he’d been trying to talk her out of it. When
that failed, he’d insisted on going with her to help her decide if the venture
was worth it. No way. This was something she needed to do on her own. She
vowed to herself to work hard, take things one day at a time, and consider
everything with an open mind.
“Here you go, honey,” Bill said and pressed a hundred-dollar
bill into her hand. Her tall, silver-haired father smiled, but the sadness in
his eyes mirrored his true feelings. “This is from me and Mom. Buy yourself
something nice on the island.”
“Gee, thanks, Dad! Thanks, Mom!” Resisting the temptation to
cry and climb back into the car, she shoved the bill into her pocket, hugged
her parents with a hurried goodbye, and hauled her suitcases through the
automatic doors into the terminal, heading for the Delta check-in area.
Laughter and excited chatter from the early morning throng
of hundreds of happy travelers echoed through the cavernous, two-story ticketing
lobby as she maneuvered her way toward the kiosk to print her bag tags. After
her suitcases were sent to be screened, she went through security screening and
didn’t relax until she collapsed into her seat on the plane.
“B-r-r-r,” she murmured to herself as she stared out the
window at the leaden morning sky. Large flakes swirled in the breeze and
drifted softly against her window. Depending on how things went on Enchanted
Island, this might be the last time she saw snow for a long, long while.
Reaching down, she pulled a sheet of paper from her carry-on
and unfolded it, reading it for the umpteenth time with the same nervous
excitement and anticipation she had the day she’d received it.
From: lcbrown@edo.ei.gov
Friday, February 10th
Thank you for your request to the Enchanted Island Economic
Development Office’s small business grant program. Your application has been
reviewed and approved for a matching grant in the amount of $5,000. Attached is
the official agreement with details specific to the terms and conditions of the
grant, reporting requirements, usage restrictions, and the timeline for
disbursement.
As part of the program, the Enchanted Island Women’s
Business Association (EIWBA) has assigned one of its members to welcome you to
the island. Elsie Dubois, owner of Bella’s Enchanted B&B, is looking
forward to assisting you through the process. Her contact information is listed
in the agreement.
Please accept my sincere congratulations, and do not
hesitate to contact me if you have any questions!
All my best,
Ladonya Brown
Grant Administrator
Enchanted Island Economic Development Office
1000 Main Street #304
Morganville, EI 00500
Della had never been to Enchanted Island and had no idea
what lay ahead, but it didn’t matter. The prospect of living on an idyllic
Caribbean Island with sun-kissed beaches, mouth-watering cuisine bursting with
vibrant flavors and island spices, and warm tropical air instead of a cold,
snowy Minnesota winter sounded like heaven. Her first order of business,
however, was to contact Elsie Dubois to view the property assigned to her to
set up her salon and make sure FedEx had delivered her customer products to
Elsie’s residence. She’d already decided on a name, Island Glow Hair Salon.
In her mind, she visualized a spacious, light-filled salon with large windows,
trendy music, and a chic, modern vibe. Putting together something that
sophisticated, however, would cost a lot more money than the paltry ten grand
she had. Her stomach lurched at the thought of failing.
Think positive! she thought stubbornly. Besides,
it’s too late to turn back now. I’ve accepted the grant, and they just shut the
door on the plane. I’m on my way!
Miami Ferry Terminal
Late Afternoon
Logan Chandler adjusted the nylon strap of his black art
portfolio case as he approached the boarding ramp to the ferry, slipping the
wide, flat bag over his head in cross-body fashion just in case he needed to
make a quick exit. Over the past five days, hotel rooms, meals, and Uber rides
to art galleries around Miami had maxed out the limit of his credit card. An
hour ago, he’d paid for a burger combo for a homeless guy he’d encountered in
front of The Shake Shack, and now he realized he didn’t have enough money to
buy a ticket to Enchanted Island. He was tired, discouraged, and wanted to go
home, so he had to get creative. Looking around, he saw the perfect opportunity
just ahead.
Short and frail, Dodie Pinder stooped over her footed cane
in her egg yolk-yellow pantsuit, slowly shuffling toward the boarding ramp.
Logan had known the dark-skinned, white-haired lady for most of his life. Poor
Miss Dodie had suffered the misfortune of being his elementary school
principal.
“Miss Dodie,” he greeted in his most charming voice as he set
down his other bag, a dark green duffel, and deftly slipped his fingers through
the handle of her red, plastic shopping bag. “Let me help you with that.”
She glanced up, a horrified expression crossing her face as
she squinted to get a better look at him. “Logan? Logan Chandler? You give me
that bag back right now!”
“I will as soon as I get you on board, okay?” He slid his
arm around her waist. “Come along.” He projected a concerned look at the
employee scanning tickets. “Excuse us. My Aunt Dodie needs to use the
wheelchair entrance right away. She’s feeling faint.”
“What? I’m not feeling faint,” Dodie snapped, “and I’m not
your aunt! I can walk up the ramp by myself. Go away, Logan. Wherever you go,
trouble follows!”
The ferry employee, a tall, dark-skinned man with salt and
pepper hair wearing dark slacks and a light blue, short-sleeved shirt, stepped
forward with his portable scanner. “Yo’ ticket please,” he said with a Jamaican
accent.
Dodie leaned on her cane, breathing heavily as she held out
her season pass to have it scanned. Logan ignored the man and continued to move
Dodie along.
“Yo’ ticket, sah?”
Logan set their bags on the ramp and reached into his
pocket, pulling out a wrinkled ticket from a former trip. He flashed it in the
man’s face and crumpled it in his palm. “I need to get my aunt settled first.
Then I’ll be back.”
The man frowned, glancing back and forth from Dodie’s dark face
to Logan’s light skin and blond hair as though not quite believing his
story.
Logan responded with a carefree shrug, grabbed the bags, and
kept moving until he escorted Dodie to a row of unoccupied wheelchairs. He
helped her into the closest one and hoisted the bags onto his shoulder again.
He quickly wheeled her to the security check and then to the row of handicap
spaces inside the main cabin. “Here’s your bag,” he said to her and handed her
the shopping bag. He pushed her chair onto an empty spot, locked the wheels,
and strapped the chair to the floor.
“You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” she snapped and snatched
her bag, plopping it on her lap. “A spoiled brat who thinks the rules are for
everyone else but you. And don’t even think of sitting with me to keep me
company. The next time you use me to get on board without paying, I’m going to
report you!”
“You’re right. I wasn’t the most well-behaved kid,” he
murmured, “but even a brat grows up eventually. Thirty years will do that to a
person. Believe me, Miss Dodie, I’ve learned my lesson.”
The last five days were frustrating and depressing proof
that growing up spoiled and wealthy didn’t guarantee future success or
happiness. Sadly, at this point, he had no clue what did. Pushing the
thought from his mind, he walked away, heading for the lower level where the
transported vehicles were stored.
He found an unlocked SUV and slipped into the back seat to
change clothes. Pulling off his white polo shirt, he grabbed a black T-shirt
from his duffel bag and a matching bill cap. He slipped on the items and
completed his new look with a pair of blue aviator shades.
One long blast indicated that the ferry was leaving the
dock.
Armed with his new identity, Logan left the SUV and
stealthily made his way up to the main deck to blend in with the noisy crowd. The
deep, methodical hum of the ship’s engines reverberated through the floor,
mixed with laughter and happy conversations of hundreds of passengers filling
the wide, two-story room, making it easy for him to make the hour-long trip to
Morganville unnoticed.
At the main entrance, the ticket inspector stood in the
doorway, staring into the crowd. Suspecting who he might be looking for, Logan
headed to the opposite side of the room to find a place to sit. Looking across
rows and rows of bright blue loungers, he found an empty seat next to a pretty
young woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties, with sandy-colored hair, and
wearing a long pink sundress. The perfect cover for him. “Is this seat taken?”
“What?” She glanced at him, looking distracted.
“May I sit here? Or is this seat for someone else? Your
boyfriend, perhaps?”
She pulled off her sunglasses and blinked, as though she had
been deep in thought. “Um…no. I mean, I don’t have a boyfriend. You’re free to
sit down.”
She had the prettiest deep blue eyes, like one of the
richest shades of sapphire paint he’d ever used on canvas. Her soft,
sand-colored hair, accentuated with sun-kissed streaks of blonde, nearly
reached her elbows.
“Are you getting off at Morganville or are you going all the
way to Nassau?” he asked as he slowly sank into the seat next to her and dropped
his duffel bag on the floor. He pulled off his portfolio case and set it on the
floor, resting the wide, flat bag against the seat ahead of him.
“I’m going to Morganville,” she said and stared out the huge
window that overlooked the sea.
“Me, too,” he offered. “I live on the island. Been there
most of my life.”
She swiftly turned toward him, her eyes widening with
curiosity. “Really? Do you like it there?”
“I guess so. Never really thought about it before. Why do
you ask?”
His gaze dropped to her pink-tinted lips as she burst into a
generous smile, lighting up her face. “I received a grant from the Island
Economic Development Office. I’m going to set up a business on Main Street!”
She looked so happy that he didn’t want to burst her bubble.
Most of the small businesses on the island failed because they couldn’t compete
with the trendy shops in the resorts. Sadly, once she’d used up her grant money,
she’d find out for herself.
Despite his cynicism, he couldn’t help smiling back. “So,
you got a grant, huh? You’re one of the lucky ones.”
“Oh?” She looked so sweet when she frowned. “You sound like
you’re speaking from personal experience.”
“Not really. It’s just that most of the people I know who
applied for one got turned down. What kind of business are you going to open?”
She gathered her long, silky hair and pulled it over one
shoulder. “A salon that specializes in trendy haircuts and other services like
hair coloring and perms.” She glanced at his art portfolio case. “What kind of
business would you start if you received a grant?”
Logan sat back and drew a deep, tense breath. After the
disappointing results he’d received this week, he had no idea. “I don’t know.”
She looked puzzled. “Well, what are you passionate about?”
“My paintings,” he replied slowly, finding it painful to
talk about. “But they’re not very inspiring, or so I’ve been told.”
“What?” she persisted. “By whom?”
He leaned forward and grabbed his portfolio case. “By nearly
every art gallery in Miami.”
“May I see one?”
He unzipped the case and pulled out the top watercolor,
wondering why he’d just confessed his failed career to a total stranger. “This
one is a wet-on-wet technique with painterly brush strokes,” Logan said wryly.
“One art dealer described it as a loose and expressive style…ethereal, dreamy,
impressionistic. Then he went on to say that he wasn’t interested because he
already had a half-dozen like it.”
She let out a surprised gasp at a picture of a pink-sand
beach, palm trees, and vibrant buildings of yellow, aqua, and white on the
island. “It’s beautiful! You’re a wonderful artist.”
“Would you like to have it? Take them all, and the case,
too.” He let out a long sigh of defeat. “I don’t have any use for them. Not
anymore.”
She slid the watercolor back into the case. “That’s a
terrible thing to say, mister, um…”
“Logan,” he replied, removing his sunglasses. “Logan
Chandler. And you?”
“Della Delaney.” She turned toward him and placed her hand
on his knee. “You can’t give up, Logan. You’re very talented!”
He didn’t know if his talent was unique or a vain exercise
in futility, but he couldn’t concentrate enough right now to even think about
it. The soft impression of her hand on his knee distracted him so much he could
hardly breathe, much less think about the empty, meaningless future facing him
if he gave up his art. “Ah…right,” he said and quickly stood.
“Hey,” someone declared from the next row. “Aren’t you the
guy who skipped out on paying for his ticket? I stood right behind you in
line!”
“Well, I wish you the best of luck, Ms. Delaney,” Logan said
hastily. “It’s been nice chatting with you.” He slipped his shades back on,
grabbed his duffel bag, and turned away.
“Logan, wait! You forgot your art case!”
Ignoring her pleas, he shuffled to the end of the row and
headed for the upper deck to escape. He needed the sunny breeze and the soothing,
peaceful view of the crystal-clear water to lift his mood. As he climbed the
stairs, the salty wind brushed his face. The shrill cry of gulls circling the
ferry cut through the roar of the waves crashing against the huge vessel. Alone
with his thoughts, he leaned against the railing and stared across the
shimmering turquoise sea, wondering if letting go of his dreams would make the
ache in his chest disappear—or only make the pain worse.
He feared the answer.
End of Chapter One
~*~
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