“We know that they’re not engaged,” Zoe tells me. “You see, after I sent the first message, she wrote one back, and then we ended up talking a little bit. She’s actually really nice, and she told me that she could explain everything, and that it wasn’t what it seemed. She asked if she could talk to you, and said she was coming out this way.” Zoe stops for a breather. “So I told her where to find you.” Her face winces. “Are you mad?”
I let that whirlwind settle in my brain before answering. “I’m not mad. A little surprised, but not mad.” I reach for the martini and take a sip, a question coming to mind. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
They exchange another glance before Fiona looks at me with a sly smile. “Because he asked us not to.”
I open my mouth to speak when the music on the stereo suddenly stops. The room slowly goes quiet as the strings of a guitar fill the air. The arrangement sounds familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it. I look at Zoe and Fiona and see them staring at me in anticipation.
“I’ll be seeing you, in all the old familiar places.”
My heart stops as the male voice carries melodically over the chords. I know that voice. Standing in the middle of the restaurant, I look toward the stage. Jonah stands behind the mic, strumming the guitar. His eyes are on me.
“That this heart of mine embraces, all day through.”
“Thank god,” Zoe mumbles. “He can sing.”
I don’t take my eyes off Jonah. He’s here. He’s actually here. In Seattle. My body freezes as he sings to me. Every word, every note of my favorite song delivered with heartfelt vulnerability.
“I’ll find you in the morning sun, and when the night is new. I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you.”
I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, but I don’t care. In that moment, all I see is him. He finishes singing, the room erupting into applause, but still I can’t move. Putting down the guitar, he steps off the stage and walks towards me.
“You’re here,” I say, astonished.
“I told you.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Whatever lives we live, I’ll find you in every one of them.”
His words are the antidote to all the pain I’ve had or could ever have. “I was going to come to you,” I tell him, my relief overwhelming.
His smile radiates, and he reaches for me, kissing me without care of everyone watching. “It’s only ever been you,” he says against my lips.
“I know.” I kiss him vehemently. “I know everything.”
When we part, the restaurant is still clapping, clearly enjoying our impromptu spectacle.
I laugh with embarrassment, which melts when I see the way he’s looking at me. “I thought you were in London,” I say.
“I was. I’ve tried to call you, a hundred times.”
“I may have blocked your number.”
He laughs lightly. “I figured. But luckily I got a call from Fiona a few days back, and she told me what Catriona was about to do.”
I glance over at my dear, wonderful, meddlesome friends, the happiness on their faces reaching my own.
“I would have come sooner,” he stresses. “But my parents needed me. I couldn’t leave until I knew my dad was okay.”
“I understand.”
The tension in his brow releases and he reaches for my hand. “I’ve sold the bar.” He runs his thumb across my knuckles. “It was time.”
I can’t imagine how difficult that decision must have been to make, knowing what it meant to him.
“I quit my job.”
“Yeah?”
“It was time,” I say with a shrug.
He gives me a dimpled smile. “I guess that means you’re unattached, then.”
I look down at our hands, feeling his fingers in mine, the past, present, and future converging. “I wouldn’t say that exactly.”
“No?”
“There’s this guy,” I tell him. “Someone I met in France. I didn’t expect him. But he turned out to be the love of my life.”
“You know,” Jonah says, moving closer. “I had a similar experience.”
“Is that so?”
“But I won’t make the mistake I made last time.” With his finger beneath my chin he kisses me softly. “This time, I won’t let her go.”
Epilogue
Eleven months later
I finish rearranging the chairs for the umpteenth time. Jonah leans against the kitchen island, watching me, a smile on his lips that he quickly hides by taking a sip of his beer.
“Do you think it’s enough?” I ask, counting them again. There are twenty in front of the piano. I count the other fifteen that spill out of the barn and into the garden, and see Jane coming down the path.
“Oh, Charlotte. This is looking perfect,” she says, stepping inside. She glances up at the fairy lights hanging from the ceiling. “You have a gift for this.”
“Don’t encourage her.” Jonah laughs. “I’ve already had to repaint the loft twice in the past six months.”
“The terracotta was too dark,” I say without apology.
“It was,” Jane agrees. “I much prefer the shade you have now.”
Jonah shakes his head, knowing it’s a losing battle. “Where’s Dad?”
“In the kitchen with Francois. The caterer just dropped off the canapes.”
“Are there enough?” I ask, nervous.
“More than enough,” she assures me. “Don’t worry, it’s all going to be perfect.”
I try to ignore my anxiety, but one glance at Jonah and I know it’s written all over my face.
“Alright,” he concedes, grabbing the organizer from the counter. “Let’s go through the list again.”
I mouth a thank-you and move to get a better view of the chairs. “So Margot, Marie, and the family coming from out west will take up these three rows.”
“Then there’s Zoe, Pierre, Fiona, Denis, and Kayla,” he reads.
“I have them over here.” I point in the general direction to my right.
“What about the newlyweds?” Jane asks.
“We could just offer them our bed.”
I give Jonah a mock glare. “Catriona and Mel are in the row behind the Seattle crew.” Walking around to the back, I try to think of who I’m missing. “Jane, you and Steve will be up front with the family. I’ve put Francois with you. And any other guest who wants to join can take the seats in the garden.”
“What about us?” Jonah asks, moving to my side, putting his arm around my waist.
“I’ll be at the piano for most of it. And you” — I kiss him — “will be next to your parents.”
Jane looks around, her eyes glistening. “It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing, Charlotte. Bringing everyone together like this. I do hope we make it a tradition.”
“Me too,” I say, having hoped the same thing since the moment I came up with the idea.
She walks past, gently squeezing my arm. “This reunion is a lovely way to remember who we’ve lost.”
“And a way to bring together who we’ve found.” We all turn and see Steve stepping inside the barn. “I thought you’d like to try some of these canapes,” he says, offering up a plate of vol-au-vent.
“Hell yeah.” Jonah takes one and throws it into his mouth. He hums with delight. “I swear they only get better.”
“You say that every time they cater,” I remind him. “Which is twice a week for four months now.”
He shrugs. “Maybe it’s because I know I negotiated them down to a good deal.”
Steve scoffs. “If by negotiate, you mean Charlotte offering to play at the restaurant every other week in exchange for food at cost, then yeah, you really negotiated, son.”
The scowl Jonah gives his father has no sincerity behind it. “One of these days, I’m going to sit you down and show you exactly how much money you’ve saved since I took over.”
“Took over?” Steve’s brows lift incredulously. “You’re a partner at best.”
&
nbsp; “Whatever you say, old man.”
I look at Jane and see her roll her eyes. The banter has been a constant between the men ever since Jonah and I returned to France last July. Though you’d never hear either of them admit to it, they love working together.
And the B&B has benefited from it. After Jonah put some of the money from the bar into renovations, and his design skills into the website, we’ve had an increase in bookings. Not to mention the popularity of his World War Two tours. Though I get the feeling he’d be happy doing them even if people didn’t pay.
The greatest success has been the music nights we started. Joining with local businesses, what was originally only meant to be something for the guests, has turned into a community affair. And so, twice a week I get to perform from the comfort of my living room.
Every now and then I’ll take a larger gig in Paris, but it’s here, playing in this barn that has become more special to me than any performance in any hallowed hall.
It’s here that I feel them most.
The ones we’ve lost.
“Come on, my dear,” Jane says to Steve, taking the plate of canapes from Jonah. “Let’s go and make sure all the rooms are ready before the guests arrive. We have a full house this weekend.”
They head back down the garden path, and as I watch them, my breath catches in my throat.
“What is it?” Jonah asks, sensing my shift.
“Do you ever look around a place and wonder how you got there? How something like this was possible?” I glance at him, the familiar sense of grief and gratitude filling my heart. “I used to think I was alone in the world. And then one day I found a letter, and now...” I can’t get the words out.
“And now, you have a family,” he says, understanding.
“Yeah.” I turn around to face him. “Once it was just me.”
Jonah lifts his hand to my face, caressing my cheek. “And then we were two.”
I lean forward and kiss him, my lips lingering. “And now we’re three.”
His body slowly tenses as he grasps my meaning. He moves back, and looks at me, searching my face. “Really?” he asks, his eyes alight with joy.
I nod. His reaction is everything I could have asked for.
For a moment, he doesn’t move, he doesn’t blink, he just looks at me, smiling. “Three,” he says, elated.
“Three,” I repeat, my happiness feeling as though it could spill out of me. Over into the future that lays before us, its promises abundant.
I’ve never been more excited for what’s to come.
* * *
THE END
Acknowledgments
This book is very special to me. In 2014, my husband Alex and I went to Normandy for the 70th anniversary of D-Day. It was an incredibly moving experience. When I sat down to write The Sea of Lost Things I knew I wanted to bring some of that history to life, to tell a story that weaved loss, with hope, and love.
History holds so many clues as to who we are today. That was something I wanted to explore with Charlotte and Jonah. Whether we’re running towards our past, or from it, sometimes looking back is the only way forward.
I couldn’t have written this book without the following people:
To Alex, my wonderful husband. Thank you for believing in me, even in those countless moments when doubt clouded my way. This journey we’re on is not always easy, but I’m so glad that I have you by my side for it. I love you beyond words.
To Aman Dhesi, Connie Boston, and Laura Turner, your endless encouragement and honest feedback is a light in the dark. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fully express my gratitude, but having you three in my corner has meant the world to me.
To Karina Halle, my, my, my Marilyn. Thank you for sharing your hard-earned knowledge, for answering all my questions, and for those weird cartoons you send me that never fail to make me laugh. We’re overdue a trip to Disneyland.
To my Dad, sorry I didn’t become a lawyer. Thanks for believing in me anyways, and for raising me to believe in myself.
To my Mum, thank you for being the first person to ever call me a writer. Somehow, I think you knew before anyone else. I know I got my love of story from you.
To my Aunty Deb, your weekly calls have been a source of great comfort. I’m so grateful to have you in my life. And thank you for helping me through ‘dead fridge’ day.
To Pippin, thanks for all the technical help, and for explaining the correct terminology for web design. Who knows, maybe one day if you don’t want to be a product designer anymore you can follow your one true passion: ottomans.
To Kara Malinczak, my fantastic editor. Thank you for helping me navigate my hybrid use of the English language, and for making me a better writer.
To Hang Le for designing the beautiful cover. From concept to reality, you exceeded my every expectation. Thank you for sharing your talent with me.
To all my friends and family who throughout this process have given words of encouragement – your support is the reason I finished this book.
Finally, to the readers, thank you for going on this adventure with Charlotte and Jonah. I wrote this book for you. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed bringing their world to life.
About the Author
From the moment when she believed that the worlds inside the television were real, Kelly St-Laurent has run away with her imagination. Born in one of the most beautiful corners of the planet, she spent her childhood inspired by the mountains and oceans of New Zealand, constantly wondering about the places beyond the horizon. At age nineteen she decided to find out and hopped a plane to Canada. And, so began her love affair with the Great White North that has come to be her second home.
Prior to writing her first novel in 2016, Kelly worked as a production coordinator in a visual effects studio where she got to help bring fairies, dragons and monsters to life. Kelly currently lives in Montreal with her husband Alex and their Shetland Sheepdog Bucky. When she isn’t writing, she’s often found re-watching her favorite films with a wine in hand.
She still believes the world inside her television is real.
* * *
Join Kelly on Instagram at @authorkellystlaurent, on Twitter at @authorstlaurent, and on Facebook at @authorkellystlaurent. Sign up for the newsletter at www.kellystlaurent.com and receive news, excerpts, previews and book exclusives.
The Sea of Lost Things Page 25