by Susan Hatler
My heart sank. “I know, but I don’t think the judges want that from me. I think they want something classic like what Chelsea paints and I really need to win this contest.”
Wendy asked, “But if you win, then you’re moving to Italy, right? What will happen with you and Brian?”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t know. Brian doesn’t do long distance, and he’s a hometown boy. You know that, too. Right?”
Wendy sighed and that little flare of hope died fast and hard. “Yes. He’d never leave Blue Moon Bay or the inn.”
Her words sealed what I’d known all along. The legend had worked for Wendy and Olivia, and it was coming true for me, too, but in the wrong way.
Chapter Eleven
The painting was done and drying by the next day, but I didn’t feel any better about it. I also didn’t feel any better about my prospects as I stared down at my checkbook. The expenses kept accumulating and the incoming balances just weren’t there. I needed Bob to pay me. I needed Wexley to reconsider. I needed money and I needed it fast.
Or I needed to win that contest.
I’d always wanted to paint for a living and share my artistic visions with the world. But pursuing a career in painting took time and money. The whole “starving artist” label? It’s no joke. I’d worked at the dress shop forever, because it allowed me to paint on the side. Once I’d started my website design business—to try to incorporate art into my work—and started receiving clients, I had less time to paint. And if I were being honest, a huge part of me had been afraid to put my paintings out there. Rejection is no picnic.
I closed my eyes. There was a sick gut-punched feeling right above my navel every time I looked at the painting I’d done for the competition. It didn’t seem right, but I knew it could win me the dream job in Italy that I wanted so badly.
The other option—the RV, three dogs, and an air mattress—were just not acceptable. But was selling out a viable option? Brian’s words came back to haunt me. He was the one person whose opinion I trusted above all others. I needed to talk to him to sort out my quandary.
I stepped backward, lost my footing on a loose rug, and toppled backward.
“Agh!” I grabbed one arm of the sofa and swung myself down onto it just in time to keep from going headfirst through the painting I’d done for the contest. I sat there, breathing hard. Was that a sign? Was the universe trying to tell me to get rid of that painting? Brian would know.
I grabbed my purse and keys and headed for my car. I needed him to come see the finished painting and then tell me if he still thought I should paint something more unique, more me. I also needed to ask if we could do the long-distance thing if I won that contest. Not knowing if things were going to be over was eating me up inside.
The drive to the inn wasn’t long. I sped down the highway past the downtown section and toward the finger of land beneath the bluffs where the Inn at Blue Moon Bay sat proudly. Charlie’s house sat high on the bluffs and my eyes flew to that area. She’d had a really hard time letting Luke into her life after the way her ex had treated her, but she’d done it—and she’d managed to make all of her dreams come true at the same time.
If only I could find a way to do the very same thing, to be with Brian and make my wildest dreams come true at the same time. I admired Charlie for working that out with Luke, but it took two people to make a relationship work. With Charlie acting in a movie in Los Angeles and Luke acting in the soap opera, Just One Love, in San Francisco, they had to prioritize to make their long-distance relationship work. I wanted to do the very same thing.
Brian loved me.
He’d said it!
Surely, he’d be willing to do long-distance with me.
The road curved and I zoomed past the inn’s gates, turning down the long driveway that led to the inn. I parked and hurried inside. Wendy and Max stood by the coffee bar. Their heads were bent close together, and they were laughing about something. Wendy looked up at me as I strode in and I twisted my hands together. “Hey, is Brian around?” I asked.
Max nodded. “Yeah, he’s down at the beach.”
“Thanks.” I headed for the open door to the back deck and then hurried across the lawn and down the steps to the beach. I saw him standing before the ocean, staring out at the horizon, as I jumped off the last step. He wore a short-sleeved shirt and faded jeans that fit his lean body to perfection. The afternoon sunlight danced on his dark hair and I had the strong urge to run my fingers through those thick strands. My heart nearly stopped. Even from this distance, my attraction to him overwhelmed me.
I kicked off my shoes and the sand felt firm beneath my feet as I walked toward Brian, who stood near the monument. Shells littered the path I took and there were hunks of seaweed mixed into the nearby rocks, the colors making a striking contrast against the darker sand near the tide marks. White gulls flew above my head, their bellies gleaming as they winged their way across the sky.
He suddenly turned around, looking startled to see me. “Hey, Megan.”
“Hi.” I stopped beside him. His arm went around my shoulders, drawing me closer to him. I rested my head on his strong shoulder. A comforting feeling enveloped me. I never realized until just now how often I depended on his friendship. What would I do in Italy without being able to drop by and see Brian whenever I wanted to? What would I do without him to support me?
I could picture our entire lives together, the two of us at the inn, raising a family there. I wanted that just as much as I wanted to go to Italy and paint. How could I make the two things happen together? How could I have both? Brian would have to be willing to do long-distance.
His shoulder moved with his breath, buoying me upward for a moment. The little thrill that hit me every time we touched was back and rocketing through my nerves, making me want to go limp and just sag against him, his warm and lean body supporting me.
“What are you doing down here in the middle of the day?” I asked.
He shifted his hand, the sound of paper crinkling drew my gaze to the faint gleam of paper between his fingers. “I’m just thinking.”
“About what?” I tugged his arm as I dropped down to the sand, signaling for him to sit beside me. He did. I set my purse down and lifted my head so I could study his expression.
His green eyes were contemplative as they stared out at the ocean. “Just life.”
“Oh, I was afraid it was something serious,” I joked.
The corners of his mouth turned downward and tiny frown lines creased his forehead. I wanted to know what was so obviously bothering him. Was it us? Was he worried about the same things I was?
Just then the tide came rushing back in. My purse lifted on a small wave then headed out to sea. I gasped. “Oh no!” I tried to push to my feet, but they tangled beneath me and I felt back onto the sand. Brian leaped to his feet and helped me to mine. “Are you okay?”
“My purse!”
He turned his head toward the thieving wave. “I’ll get it.”
“It’s too late,” I said, watching my purse steadily drifting toward the horizon, with my car and house keys right inside it. Brian didn’t panic. He yanked off his shoes, rolled up his jeans, and then waded in. He made a few mad grabs until he was successful and then returned to the shore, my purse held aloft in a triumphant gesture.
“You’re my hero.” I smiled, taking the purse from him. “Let me get your shoes . . .” I bent down at the same time he did and our heads knocked together, making us both groan and laugh.
“Only us.” He chuckled as he slipped his shoes back on. Then he reached for my hand. “Let’s move further away from the water.”
I clutched my purse with one hand and slipped the other hand in his. We ambled along the sand, headed for that plaque. Brian paused beneath the monument. He pulled me into his arms, cupped my face in his hands, and brushed his lips across mine. His kiss was soft and tentative, as if searching.
He pulled back. “I’m going to miss you when you go to Ital
y.”
I let out a breathy sigh. “I haven’t won yet.”
“You will. I have faith in you.”
“You might not when you see the painting I’m entering in the contest.” I bit my bottom lip. That was what I’d come here to talk to him about, but now that he’d brought up our relationship I knew we had more pressing things to discuss. “If I win . . . I’ll miss you, too.”
He took a seat and I followed suit. We sat on the sand, facing each other, and our lower legs tangled together. It felt natural and perfect.
“Sometimes I think about not going.” I stared at him, a lump forming in my throat at what I was about to say. “I promised Aunt Bea that I would go to Italy and see the Boboli Gardens.” Tears sprang to my eyes, thinking about those last moments with her. “When she was at her sickest, I’d paint those gardens for her because she loved them so very much and she’d never be able to see them again. She told me there was both love and magic in those gardens and that I could find them if I let the butterflies and flowers point the way.”
Brian’s hand found mine and his thumb stroked my skin in a soothing way. Tingles spread up my arm. I pictured my other canvas again, the one of my heart. The painting I wanted to enter into the contest but knew I couldn’t because then I’d lose, and that would mean breaking that promise, and letting my dream die all at once.
“Aunt Bea knew how much I longed to travel. It made her happy when I promised to go one day soon, that I’d let the butterflies and the flowers work their magic on me, and that I’d smell the flowers for her and . . .” My voice trailed off. I swallowed hard. “But that means leaving you and I’m so torn.”
His hand tightened around mine. “You have to go, Megan.”
My eyes drifted past his shoulder to that plaque. I had always loved that legend. But that had been before it had cast its spell on Brian and me. Why had we kissed under a blue moon? Now we seemed doomed by the legend’s tragic vow.
A tear slid down my cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you, Brian. I don’t want you to feel like I’m abandoning you.”
He sighed. “I have something to show you.” He leaned back and fumbled in the front pocket of his jeans, pulling out the paper he’d held earlier.
I looked at it, a frown forming. “What is it?”
He unfolded it gently. “It’s a letter my grandma left for me with her will. Wendy had it this whole time, but she said it was a timing thing. She just gave it to me this morning.”
“What does it say?”
“You can read it . . .” He handed me the note and his arm came around me as I leaned against him, smoothed out the page, and read the handwritten letter.
My dearest Brian,
* * *
I know you’re probably confused and angry with me about the will. I’m sorry if the way I worded it hurts you, but I’m not sorry that I did it. You see, you’ve always been my rock. You were the one who stayed at the inn no matter what. I may have seemed like a crotchety old woman and maybe I was. But you were always there to remind me why it’s important to love so deeply that you’re willing to risk being in pain over that love, too.
I cherished every moment with you, dear boy. Not just because you were helpful but because of our time together. There were plenty of things you could’ve been doing besides playing gin rummy with an old woman like me. You brought light into my life, especially in my final years. I’m proud of the man you have become, kind and gentle and strong.
So why did I leave the inn in Wendy’s hands and not in yours when I know how much you want to keep the family tradition alive? Because, while tradition is important, it’s not a building or a location that makes a family. You two need each other.
You may be worried that she’ll sell the inn and go back to Sacramento and that everything solid you’ve ever known will be yanked out from under your feet. Have faith, sweet boy. Wendy has a huge heart, but it was so scarred and torn by your parents that she doesn’t know how to look past her pain. And that’s why I know she needs to come home to heal—and she has no choice but to do that now, because she would never deny you your inheritance.
I also need to confess a secret about the legend of Blue Moon Bay. The girl in that legend was me. I was young and believed that love was as wide and deep as the ocean. I found it wonderful to dive down deep and swim without knowing how I’d make it back to shore. I let my heart drown in those waters by giving in to fear and letting my love go. All of my life I’ve regretted that decision.
I know everyone thinks of you as the easygoing and good-natured jokester, but there’s a broken heart beneath that exterior. Beneath that steadiness, there’s a heart that’s afraid to let go and really love. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Love as deep as the ocean and hold on to the love with all of your strength.
I hope you understand why I’ve done all I have. Please know that I did everything with the best of intentions, because you and Wendy were a gift to me—one I’ll always treasure, even after I’m gone.
* * *
All my love,
Grandma
My fingers tightened on the paper as hot tears spilled down my face. I sniffed, turning to Brian. “The legend is real.”
There were tears in his eyes as he nodded.
“I can’t go Brian. I can’t leave you like your parents did. I can’t leave you like Wendy did. I do know how much all of that hurt you and I knew it way before you let me read that beautiful letter from your grandma. How can I do that to you?”
His eyes held mine. “How can you not? If you stay and don’t take the chance on your dreams, then you’ll be giving into fear, too. You’ll always wonder what your life could have been like. You’ll never discover just how good of an artist you are. But I know, which is why there’s no way in the world I want to take that chance away from you.”
His mouth came down on mine and there was nothing hesitant or searching about that kiss. It was full and passionate. It made my knees weak and my fingers tangle into his hair, that thick hair of his that I loved so much. He would not let me stay in Blue Moon Bay. Not even for him.
He was supporting me in a way that nobody else ever had, while he gave me another lingering and mind-blowing kiss. I wondered how on earth I’d live without him.
A few days before the final competition, Brian and I were hanging out in my living room after dinner. The lights were on and music played softly from my stereo system. I’d picked a channel that played light pop. Brian waggled his head to the beat as he munched a cookie and sipped from a mug of tea. Our bare feet were tangled together on the coffee table, and I felt utterly content by the simple act of sitting side by side with him on that sofa.
Another song came on and Brian shook his head. “No way. That’s too slow.” He grabbed the remote and began switching through the channels. “I saw your guy today.”
I grimaced as eighties rock crashed through my living room speakers. I grabbed the remote from him. “That’s way too loud and crazy for a relaxing evening,” I said, scanning the channels until soft music floated in the room again. “What guy did you see? I thought you were my guy.”
His lips twitched. He wore a huge grin he tried to hide behind his cup, but I could see the little curl of his smile anyway. “I saw your pancake guy.” He took the remote from me. “No way am I listening to classical music. That’s just torture.”
“You sure know how to kill a romantic mood,” I joked and then started laughing. “Pancake guy is not my guy. I wish he’d leave town so everyone can stop blaming me for the diner canceling their all-you-can-eat pancake special.”
“It was kind of hilarious watching him consume several dozen pancakes.” He laid his arm across my shoulder, and snagged the remote with his other hand. “I’m glad you agreed to go out with me. I saved you from having more bad luck with guys.”
I was having bad luck with Brian, but I didn’t say so. I didn’t want to bring up the possibility of an ocean between us. “I’d rather stick a knitting needle in my
ear than listen to loud rock. Give me that remote.” We tussled good-naturedly over it for a moment then I got it in my hand and pointed it at the stereo. I sighed happily as a soft rock song played. “I wish you’d saved me from crazy dates sooner.”
“So do I.” He rested his chin on top of my head. “I wish I hadn’t been worried you just thought of me as a friend and nothing more.”
“I’d been scared of the same thing.” I sighed, thinking about all of the time we would’ve had if one of us had spoken up sooner. “What made you finally kiss me?”
He played with a lock of hair by my face. “You stopped coming by the inn and agreed to work with that cowboy over me in the competition. I felt like you were slipping away from me, so I panicked and kissed you.”
I smiled up at him. “I’m glad you did.”
“Me, too.” He kissed my nose, tucking the lock of hair behind my ear. Then he suddenly popped off the couch and moved toward my easel. “I’m going to take a look at that painting so I can figure out which frame would be best for it.”
“No!” I leapt up and went to the painting, blocking it from his reach.
He lifted a brow. “I have to see it to get an idea for the frame.”
“Just make something like what you’d make for Chelsea.”
He shook his head. “No way. You two have different painting styles.”
Okay, now I really couldn’t show the painting to him. As he reached to lift the cover off the easel, I yanked it back down. “Just make a simple frame. Classic.”
“You don’t have a simple style.” He tugged on the cover just as I pulled it back up and my elbow hit the easel, sending the whole thing crashing to the floor. He looked down at the painting, while my stomach clenched. He righted the easel, picked the canvas up, setting it back on it. He gave me a side-glance. “This is your work?”