Della

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

lcbrown@edo.ei.gov

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!

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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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