A Walk Along the Beach

by Debbie Macomber

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

  “How many wedding cakes have you baked?” Lucas asked suspiciously.

  “None…yet. I’ll practice and I promise I won’t let you down.”

  “Thank you,” Chantelle said, and sounded sincerely pleased.

  I knew her family had money and could afford a lavish cake. Seeing how much time I spent in the kitchen, baking for Bean There, I felt I could do a worthy job of it, given the opportunity.

  “That’s so thoughtful of you, Willa.” Chantelle was gracious, even if my brother wasn’t.

  “Have you talked to Chantelle’s father yet?” I asked, knowing my brother well enough to expect him to want his future in-laws’ approval.

  Immediately, Chantelle burst into giggles.

  “Stop laughing, it wasn’t funny,” Lucas warned.

  “What happened?” I was smiling now, too, and eager to hear the story.

  Chantelle answered for Lucas. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved Lucas more than I did the night he spoke to my father,” she said, her voice wavering with emotion. “My darling love was a nervous wreck.”

  “I was a little on edge,” Lucas reluctantly admitted.

  “A little? I thought you were going to vomit.”

  Lucas snorted. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “Close.”

  “Maybe,” Lucas concurred.

  Glancing over at Harper, I saw that she’d covered her mouth to hold back her laughter. I had trouble containing my own. I could well imagine how nerve-racking this conversation must have been for my brother.

  “So, what happened?” Harper plied.

  Again, it was Chantelle who answered. “We stopped by the house and Lucas said he wanted to speak to my dad privately. Then the two of them disappeared into my dad’s home office. When he closed the door, Lucas gave me a look like he was walking toward the electric chair.”

  “Very funny,” Lucas muttered in the background. “You and I both know your father has never been fond of me.”

  “You’re imagining things,” Chantelle muttered.

  “No, I’m not,” Lucas argued. “They had someone other than a longshoreman in mind for their beautiful daughter.”

  “You’re exaggerating, Lucas.”

  “Don’t think so, babe.”

  “Well, anyway, it was very sweet,” Chantelle said, her voice soft and full of love. “Here was a man who’d faced the Taliban, IEDs, and fought for his country, who was shaking in his boots facing my father.”

  “A divorce attorney, I’d like to remind you.”

  “Daddy takes other clients, too,” Chantelle said.

  “It must have gone well,” I said, seeing that they were now officially engaged.

  “It did,” Chantelle hurried to tell us. “Thirty minutes later they came out of the room and my father said he had a few questions for me.”

  “Right,” Lucas muttered. “He wanted to be sure Chantelle was convinced I would make a good husband, as if he was in doubt.”

  “And I told my parents I was the fortunate one to have fallen in love with a man who is kind and honorable and who loved me with all his heart.”

  “So romantic,” Harper said and sighed.

  “It wasn’t as problem-free as you make it sound,” Lucas added. “Chantelle’s parents wanted to throw us the wedding of the century.”

  “Like they did with my sister,” Chantelle explained. “I don’t want that, and neither does Lucas. Knowing my mother, she’d take over and everything would be to her liking and not mine. What’s important to us is that those we love most are there to share our wedding day.”

  “For my part, Chantelle and I are both adults, and frankly, I didn’t like the idea of Chantelle’s father paying for the wedding. I feel like I need to prove myself to him.”

  “Lucas, you don’t have anything to prove to my family.”

  I silently agreed with her.

  “Mom was horrified when I told her I would be sewing my own wedding dress,” Chantelle continued.

  “Well, yes, considering they paid the price of a small car for the one your sister wore.”

  “It took some convincing that we wanted to do this our way,” Chantelle said. “In the end, they agreed. I don’t need or want a large wedding. I’ve got everything I could ever want with Lucas as my husband and the man who will father our children.”

  I had to admire Chantelle for sticking up for what she wanted and not expecting her family to foot the bill for their wedding.

  “I couldn’t be happier,” Chantelle said. “I meant every word I told my parents. I’m the fortunate one.”

  “My brother knew a good thing when he found it,” I said.

  “And in the bargain, I get two new sisters.”

  “Two sisters who welcome you into the family with open arms.” We were the fortunate ones. I’d known Chantelle was the one for Lucas the first time I’d met her. Lucas had dated several women since leaving the Army. Harper and I had met a couple of his love interests, neither one of which I’d felt a connection to. Chantelle seemed to be the perfect match for him.

  I was happy for them both. December couldn’t get here soon enough to suit me.

  CHAPTER 9

  Willa

  “I’ve got you covered,” Harper told me.

  Her gleeful smile didn’t evoke confidence. It was hard for me to stay away from Bean There, even if it meant I would be able to spend the day with Sean.

  “Leesa and I will take over for you. No problem. We have everything under control.”

  Leesa was Harper’s best friend. They both taught yoga and fitness classes at Oceanside Fitness and had been friends since their grade-school days. I’d come to appreciate what a good friend Leesa was when Harper was first diagnosed with leukemia. She’d been a constant encouragement to my sister. Although it was inconvenient to travel into Seattle from Oceanside, Leesa had made the trip at least once a week during the worst of Harper’s treatments and long recovery.

  Traveling with Sean, especially when he was on an assignment, was highly tempting. Even though I’d already agreed, second thoughts hounded me. I wasn’t sure I could say this was such a good idea after all. It was like leaving my baby unattended.

  To be fair, Harper knew how to steam a mean cappuccino; she was good with the customers, too. Still, I hesitated. I was the responsible one. The one who made sure that everything ran smoothly, and I kept my customers happy. Leaving it in the hands of Harper and Leesa gave me pause.

  “Are you looking for excuses to get out of this trip?” Harper asked, hands on her hips. Her narrowed eyes challenged me. My sister didn’t back down often, and I knew she was determined to see me out the door at the crack of dawn and in the car with Sean on our way to eastern Washington.

  “No…I want to go.” And I did, in the worst way.

  “We got this, Willa. It’s one day. One. Day. How much damage could we possibly do?”

  The answer wasn’t something I wanted to contemplate.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Harper warned, wagging her finger at me. “You’re going.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  My sister knew all the buttons to push to convince me. And maybe, just maybe, that is what I needed, what I wanted from her. This thing, whatever it was with Sean, unnerved me. I wasn’t accustomed to men being interested in me, especially after they met Harper. I’d never minded, and didn’t now—I was just surprised and a little intimidated.

  * * *

  —

  Thursday morning, Sean picked me up bright and early. Bandit was stretched out, taking up the entire backseat. I joined Sean in the front with a small basket of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and two coffee drinks, which I set in the cupholder. The basket went down by my feet, next to my purse.

  “You ready?” he asked
, after I adjusted my seatbelt.

  “Yup,” I said, smiling over at him.

  For one awkward moment, Sean sat there and stared at me, his dark eyes intense.

  “Is something wrong?” Harper had helped me dress and fussed with my hair, giving me advice, which she seemed to think I needed. And to be frank, I probably did.

  Embarrassed, I looked away.

  “Sorry,” he said, and abruptly returned his attention to the road before shifting gears and starting out. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Oh.” I was sure I blushed. Unsure how best to respond, I placed my hands in my lap and looked straight ahead.

  After a couple of minutes, Sean reached for his coffee and took his first sip. “Hey, what’s this? It’s not coffee and it tastes…different.”

  “It’s a dark chocolate mocha. You said you didn’t enjoy coffee, so I decided to mix it up a little. How do you like it?”

  “It’s fantastic!” He continued to sip the drink, keeping it in one hand and steering with the other.

  “A lot of men order cold-brew coffee, but I didn’t think you’d want to start the day off with a cold drink.” I bent forward and retrieved the basket. “I wasn’t sure if you took time for breakfast. I have a couple of cinnamon rolls if you’re interested.”

  “Does a bear…” He hesitated. “I’m always interested in your cinnamon rolls. We’ll take a break and eat when we get to Snoqualmie Pass, if I can wait that long.”

  Before we left, I’d Googled the route and saw that the drive between Oceanside and Toppenish would take nearly five hours. That meant we’d be spending ten or more hours on the road. Sean had warned me it would be a long day. That hadn’t been a deterrent; I considered it a plus. The time in the car would give me the opportunity to get to know him better.

  “Harper and her friend Leesa are minding the café,” I mentioned, looking to start a conversation.

  “Are you worried?”

  “Not overly. Harper’s helped me out before, and Alice is there if she runs into trouble. She can make most of the drinks without a problem. It’ll be fine.”

  “You sound worried.”

  “I kind of obsess over things.” I couldn’t help it. Ever since Mom died, I’d been a worrier and a caretaker. Even now, when we were all adults, I hadn’t been able to stop, as evidenced by my constant concerns about Harper’s health. “Not just Bean There. Although this is the second time in a week that I’ve left the café in someone else’s hands. That’s not like me.”

  “I’m happy you agreed to come with me.”

  “I am, too.” I didn’t want Sean to think otherwise. Since our conversation in the grocery store, I’d been on a natural high, giddy. Of course, Harper had picked up on my mood. To hear her speak, his interest in me was akin to a wedding proposal. She might have been inspired by Lucas and Chantelle’s wedding announcement. My mistake was telling her. From that point on, Harper had been full of relationship advice, guiding me on how best to reel Sean in. I listened with half an ear, amused and at the same time interested. I found it laughable that the girl who hadn’t stayed in a relationship longer than a few weeks insisted on giving me advice.

  I hadn’t seen Sean since I’d spoken to my brother and his fiancé, so I told him Lucas was engaged.

  “You like Chantelle?” he asked.

  “Love her. She’s a good match for Lucas. I wondered why it took him as long as it did to make it official. In looking back, I believe it has something to do with her family.”

  “Oh?”

  “They have money, and, well, we don’t. My guess is Chantelle shut down that argument, which is probably why Lucas insists on paying for the wedding on their own.”

  “I can understand his point of view. A man has his pride, you know. We all do.”

  I paid close attention to that piece of knowledge. It helped me understand my brother better and would help me with Sean, too, if we continued seeing each other.

  After the first hour on the road, Bandit stirred and stuck his head between the two seats. “Well, hello there,” I said, patting his head.

  “I bet he smells those cinnamon rolls,” Sean said. “You know how he got his name, don’t you?”

  I laughed, remembering the story. “I should have brought a treat for him, too.”

  “He’s not getting my cinnamon roll, so don’t even think of offering it to him.”

  “No worries. You’re good.”

  Once we reached the top of Snoqualmie Pass, we took a short break. Sean walked Bandit and then returned to the car. I had everything ready for him when he joined me. We ate our breakfast and I shared part of my roll with Bandit, who licked my hand in appreciation. Or it might have been on the off chance a bit of the icing remained on my fingertips.

  Once we were back on the road, Sean gave me the lowdown on this assignment. “Seattle Magazine asked me to shoot several murals around the state. I was up in Anacortes a week ago, and Seattle has a number of murals as well.”

  I remembered seeing one or two over the years, mostly near Seattle Cancer Center and the University of Washington Medical Center, where Harper had spent much of her hospital stay.

  “Have you shot any in Tacoma?” I asked, thinking there were sure to be several there.

  “Tacoma’s interesting,” he said, glancing toward me before returning his attention to the road. “They have what’s known as Graffiti Garage, and that’s literally what it is. The city banned graffiti, but they allow artists into this garage every Sunday to paint the walls. I stopped by one week and the artwork was fantastic. Some of the best I’ve been able to shoot.”

  “Did you get a look at the two that are in Oceanside?” He couldn’t very well have missed them. Not many people were aware Keaton had painted those.

  “It was those murals that inspired the idea. I took pictures of them and a few in Seattle and approached the magazine with the idea and they went for it.”

  “So you drum up your own work?”

  “Yes. I am often approached to do a shoot, but others are on spec. My trip to Bolivia is on spec, which means I’m footing the cost in the hopes of finding a publication that will find it newsworthy.”

  More and more, I was learning what it meant when Sean said he was a freelance photographer.

  “Thus far, my assignments pay the bills, but there’s a lot of hustle that goes along with this career. The thing I’ve learned is that when I do what I enjoy, then the money will follow. It didn’t come easy. It involved a lot of sweat equity, but there’s nothing else I’d rather do.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said. “In the early days, I’d stand on the sidewalk in front of Bean There and hand out samples of my drinks and home-baked goods to any poor unsuspecting soul who happened to walk by.”

  “It takes effort and ingenuity to build a business. Good for you.”

  It was certainly stepping outside my comfort zone, but I didn’t mention that. “Success came slowly and involved a lot of sleepless nights, but looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  Briefly taking his eyes off the road, Sean smiled. “Me, neither.”

  The five hours it took for us to arrive in Toppenish flew by. Normally I’m an introvert, quiet and reserved. Sean had a way of drawing me into conversation. We talked in spurts. The silence was relaxed and comfortable. I learned more about his family and shared stories of my own. I told him about losing our mother and how our father had struggled in the aftermath of her death. His sympathetic look told me he had read between the lines and understood Dad’s struggle with alcoholism.

  When we arrived in Toppenish, we ate lunch in an authentic Mexican place that seemed to be doing a robust business. The building looked like it was weeks from being condemned, but the parking lot was full. The food was a different story. We ate like kings and queens. Bandit was tethered to the table where
we ate al fresco. Bandit lapped down an entire bowl of water and the dry dog food Sean brought along.

  It was at the restaurant that I learned Sean spoke fluent Spanish. The man was full of surprises. On the server’s recommendation, I ordered a tamale with asparagus and it was oh, so good. Sean had chicken enchiladas. The salsa was spicy and delicious.

  As we sat in the sunshine, I couldn’t help but notice the painted murals that covered the sides of every building in town for as far as I could see.

  “There are seventy-five here,” Sean explained between bites of his enchiladas. He gave me a brief history of how they had come into being. What I found fascinating was that the town had decided to paint murals in a day, involving a dozen or more artists until they had completed all seventy-five with historical themes, a reminder of the history of the community.

  As soon as we were done with our food, Sean retrieved his cameras from the car. I held on to Bandit’s leash while Sean and I walked around town. He took one photo after another, paying attention to the light and shadowing. Several times I noticed that he slyly added pictures of me and Bandit.

  “Sean,” I complained, uncomfortable to be the object of his pictures.

  “What?” he asked, and barked with laughter. “Why shouldn’t I take photos of my dog?”

  “Very funny.”

  “And a beautiful woman.” His eyes held the same dark intensity they had earlier.

  Two hours later, when Sean had taken no less than three to five hundred photos, we headed out of town and back to Oceanside.

  The afternoon grew warm and we stopped in Ellensburg for a break. We each got ice-cream cones with two scoops and a small bowl of vanilla ice cream for Bandit. Sitting in the shade of a park close to the Central Washington University campus, we licked away at the melting goodness. I paused long enough to mention how delicious it was and gestured with my arm, stretching it out. Seeing an opportunity, Bandit immediately snatched the cone out of my hand and gobbled it down, looking pleased with himself.

  “Bandit,” Sean chastised. “Bad dog.”

  Sean might not think it was funny, but I did and burst into giggles. “I should have known better, especially when I know how he got his name.”