by Nina Hatch
But then an icy panic whips across my skin. “Wait, how are you all here? Are you in hiding? You’re not safe here, none of you are. If Talia finds out, her deal with me will be off, she’ll be furious.”
“Relax. You don’t have to protect us anymore, Jake,” Luca says, beaming. “We know all about how gave up your boat for us. It was Olivia here that figured out how to get it back.”
“I wasn’t alone,” she says. “We worked together. And the fight may not be over yet.”
Luca steps up, proud to be part of this team, “Ci, Talia might be plotting her revenge right now, but I don’t care anymore. We’re out in the open, we’re standing strong, and others will see that too. This community is bigger than just the DiCicco’s, and we’re not letting them keep Schiaro down any longer.”
I can’t believe this. I can’t believe the courage of my brave friends. I can’t believe that they came together to find me, that I’m lucky enough to have them in my life.
Tears blur my vision. “I didn’t know how to protect you, Liv. It broke my heart to leave you, but I thought it was the only way. I wanted to be so strong — to be the only one to bear the weight — to take all the pain so that you would be safe. So that you could still go on.”
“There’s no going on without you. We’re a team, you and me,” she says, looking up at me with eyes the color of the sea after a storm. “And you don’t have to be strong enough for both of us, you just have to be strong enough for me to lean on sometimes. And you lean on me the other times.”
Ernesto and Luca head into the cabin to take a nap while we turn the boat around to bring them back to Schiaro, leaving Olivia and I alone at last. I pull her under my arm and we steer the ship together, Bacon joining us at the helm.
“I always figured he’d be afraid of being out on the open water,” I say, reaching out to scratch his chin.
“Nope, he’s a cat of the sea now, through and through. Looks like you’re stuck with both of us.” She reaches an arm around my waist, moving in closer. “Hey, what’s this?” she asks, finding the folded up wet papers I’d shoved in my back pocket. She pulls them out and unfolds them, laying them out in front of us. The ink is smeared, but you can still tell the lines used to form a map.
“It’s something I was working on,” I tell her, “I’ve been trying to earn enough money to buy a plane ticket to New York to come find you. This is, or I guess, was, a map so I could have something to start with. See the smeary red circles? Those are the best coffee shops in Manhattan. The blue circles are the ones I thought had the best odds that you might be there.”
She pulls back to look up at me, a smile twitching on her lips. “You made a plan like an obsessive crazy person?”
“Hey, you gotta think like a fox to catch a fox.”
She gives me a playful punch and nestles back under my arm.
When I first met Olivia, she was trying to sneak a bite of sub-par tiramisu, hair tied back tight, afraid that someone would catch her actually enjoying something. Now she’s open, flung wide to life, steering a damned boat and taking on both Italian folklore traditions and Italian despots with an easy grace.
Am I surprised? No. I knew she was special the moment I first saw her. I yearned for her the way you yearn for home after a long journey. She’s the rainbow at the end of a storm. She’s mine, and I am hers. Forever.
Midway through our trip, Olivia calls her father to tell him she’s not getting on the plane or coming back to New York. She tells him the truth, every word of it, and, though the voice I hear through the earpiece doesn’t sound thrilled, when Olivia hangs up the phone, she looks completely at peace.
By the time the sun is setting, we pull into the Schiaro pier, where Bernardo is waiting on the dock to meet us. I welcome him home as Luca and Ernesto climb down off the boat, both of them headed straight to bed.
When Olivia starts to climb over the side as well, I put my hand out to hold onto her small wrist. ”You’re not going anywhere, Princess.”
She looks up at me, a mischievous glint in her eye. “What are you going to do, tie me up?”
A groan rumbles through my chest at that. “Oh, you can count on it.”
Epilogue
Olivia
One Year Later
“Jake, have you seen my clipboard?” I yell, running around the Daisy like a lunatic, peering in closets, under furniture, even in the oven.
We named the boat Daisy after the yellow wildflowers Jake brought me on our first date, and she seemed to take to the name rather well, gleaming a little brighter, letting even a little more cheery sunlight filter through every porthole.
“I hid it,” Jake says, popping his head around the doorframe. He flashes his single dimple at me, that roguish grin still the key to my heart.
“C’mon, it’s my first fashion show, let me make my obsessive lists,” I whine.
“Fine. You can have it for two minutes.” He hands over the checklist, it’s corners curling from overuse. Anyone can see that every box already has a checkmark, but I run my finger down the margin anyway, rereading every line.
“Put it down, you know you’re ready.” Jake puts his hands on my shoulders, his icy blue eyes staring straight into mine with a levity that calms my nerves. “You’ve got this.”
The capstone project for my fellowship in Milan was to create a hypothetical fashion collection ready for the runway and ready for distribution. Because Jake built me my own studio on the boat, I was able to take the hypothetical to reality, designing and sewing a cohesive spring collection in time for fashion week in September. I sent a couple looks to the student show for Milan Fashion Week, but I was launching my first full show on the beaches of Schiaro.
Schiaro is where this collection was born, after all. The debut spring line from Olivia Quinn features chic resort wear for men and women, contemporary looks with vintage detailing.
We set up the dressing rooms and backstage at the Vincent Hotel, not far from the pier, and when Jake and I walk in, everyone is in a flurry of motion. Dodging flat irons and steamers, we get our first look at the models actually in the clothes — in my clothes. It’s a small show, mostly just to give me the experience of launching, and I only invited a couple of buyers, but the pride that swells in my heart is almost overwhelming.
“You did it. I’m so proud of you,” Jake says, turning me toward him and pressing his hand to my heart. He blinks them away, but I know I see tears sparkling in his eyes for just a moment.
“We did it,” I correct him. “I couldn’t have done this without you.” Jake designed and built all the staging for the show, including three olive wood arches for the models to walk through, stylized with carved vines and seagrass.
The fellowship in Milan was hard work, but the experience was incredible. Most of the lessons I learned were just about how to let myself be creative and let go — something that Jake helped me work on every night for extra credit.
“Olivia!” I hear my name in accented baritone from across the room, and I turn to see Ernesto trotting toward us, Bernardo not far behind. Ernesto pulls me into a hug, pressing me against his barrel chest so tight I can almost feel my ribs crack.
“Thanks for making it down, Mr. Mayor,” Jake says, punching Ernesto on the shoulder.
“Ah, well, what’s that you say in America? Can’t forget the little people?”
After we got Jake and his boat back last year, Ernesto started politically organizing. He, Bernardo, and Luca refused to let illegal activity and infect Schiaro any longer, and they started holding clandestine town meetings at the Pizzeria, gathering enough support to take their ideas wide. They didn’t go quietly, but the DiCicco’s eventually accepted defeat and moved on — after Ernesto ran for mayor himself and won by a staggering number of votes.
Bernardo set up a small outpost of his shoe business in Schiaro, right next to Ernesto’s Pizzeria, and together, they revolutionized the downtown district, bringing in thriving local businesses and restaurants. Ern
esto commissioned Jake to create the doors for all the businesses along the main strip, customizing each one and giving the town and community an identity. The new look immediately brought pride to the residents and was already being written about in all the latest guide books. It took Jake all winter to build and carve that many doors, but by the end of it, he had a model in place for starting his own high-end carpentry business — one that had a waiting list of over six months.
I chance a peek out the drapes where the models will be emerging to see what the crowd looks like along the runway.
I see two familiar faces, sitting stiffly in silence in the white beach chairs we set out. “I didn’t know my parents would be here,” I say, hitting Jake in the chest.
“I invited them. They said they wouldn’t miss it.”
Even though this is just an informal soft launch, it means a lot to see them here to support me. My mom gives me a sheepish wave as I walk across the sand to greet her. She and I have become something resembling cordial over the past couple months, both of us agreeing to start fresh and be honest with one another. My parents also agreed to my stipulation that they no longer question my decisions or undermine me.
“Olivia, everything looks lovely. Even your hair is just fine for something like this.” I shake my head. Old habits die hard. “Do you have anything in blue?” she asks me. “If I’m sitting front row at my daughter’s first fashion show, I want to be wearing something from your collection.” I smile, at her, genuinely touched.
“And I don’t know where your grandmother has gotten off to, but I’m sure she’d love something as well.”
“Grandma Imogene is here?”
“Of course. She said nothing could keep her away from Olivia Quinn’s first fashion show.”
I run back to grab two jackets, one in indigo for my mom, and one in emerald for my grandma, but as I’m flicking through the racks backstage, I see Grandma Imogene, flirtatiously stroking Ernesto’s arm. Jake sees them too and he shoots me a wink, raising a finger to his lips to keep quiet.
By the time the show starts, Grandma is sitting next to Ernesto, his hand already on her knee.
My debut collection is breezy and light, ephemeral enough for a summer day, yet quality made to last. I focused around just a few colors and patterns for the spring collection: the warm neutrals of Milan’s architecture, the whites and indigos of Santorini, the aquas, yellows, and emerald tones of Schiaro.
I poured everything from the past year into this collection, bleeding the entire adventure into a tapestry, and the chairs lining the catwalk are filled with all the faces that have been part of this journey with Jake and I. Not only is my biological family here, but my entire Venus family is in the front row, and when the show ends, Mel is the first one to place her order. Claire, Lucy, and Teddy pull me into a tight embrace before Teddy edges away to start chatting up the male models. Luca is with them too — he just wrapped up his first season on the Venus as a deckhand, a job where he made more money than he ever could under Talia, and he sends every cent back to help his mamma’s bar.
As soon as the last model walks the runway, my mother comes over, beaming with pride, to ask me if she can set up an American launch. She’s telling me about when we can get on the schedule for the club in Nantucket, when I suddenly notice that everyone sat back down in their seats.
What are they doing?
I fumble around for my checklist in a blind panic. Did I print the invitation wrong? Did I say I was doing an encore? The models are already slugging down champagne in their sweats!
I’m about to take the runway to apologize and make an announcement when I see Jake stride out, holding a bouquet of yellow flowers, bright and wild like the ones he brought me that first night at Emily’s wedding.
He’s devastatingly handsome, wearing the new blue suit I made him. It’s my first foray into men’s fashion — a modern take on Bernardo’s bright blue vintage suit, the one I first met Jake in. The sun off the sand hits his features in such a striking manner, his tousled black hair shining, cut jawline just as god-like as the first day I saw him. The audience, led by Teddy, lets out an audible sigh at how smooth and sexy he is — but he never takes his eyes off me.
I press a hand to my chest to try to keep the thumping of my heart from leaping into my throat, but its too late.
Bacon is right on Jake’s heels, tail pointed and alert as he scampers along. He’s a little pudgier than he was when I woke up with him on the beach so many months ago — neither Jake nor I can say no to his sweet tabby headbutts when he wants an extra treat — and he’s wearing a green silk collar that I don’t recognize.
A green silk collar with something blindingly sparkly hanging from around his neck.
I cover my mouth with my hands.
Jake drops to one knee, in front of me a huge grin on his face.
Then Bacon takes off, sprinting away, running down the pier to where Daisy is docked.
“Sorry, folks, the cat has the ring!” Jake shouts to the shocked audience before he scoops me up in his powerful arms and carries me down the pier. I’m so lost in his scent — fresh cut cedar and barrel-aged whiskey — that I barely even notice the crowd still on the beach, jumping up and down, cheering for us the entire way. Jake lifts me easily onto the boat and climbs on after me. Then he immediately gives Bacon a chin scratch and a slice of prosciutto, slipping off the collar. “Good cat,” he murmurs.
That’s when I see the trail of yellow wildflowers leading to our bedroom. When I turn around, Jake is down on one knee again, making this true proposal intimate, all about us — just like he planned all along.
“Liv,” he says, staring into my eyes, so unafraid, so bold. “You’re my home, my safe place, the sun in my sky. You’re the brightest most brilliant light, and you make me better just by shining next to me. You’re my strength, my partner, my best friend, and I want to walk beside you, sail beside you, live beside you for the rest of my days.”
Tears are spilling down my cheeks, and when Jake reaches for my hands, I have no other option but to give them to him, even though they’re sopping wet and trembling.
“Olivia Quinn,” Jake continues, his voice choked. “Would you continue this adventure with me and marry me?”
The words strike me like a timpani drum. Everything is twirling around me, and when I gasp out a “YES!” I’m twirling too, lifted in Jake’s arms and spinning and free. He slips the ring on my finger and it shines like sun gleaming off the water.
In this moment that will last an eternity, I’m completely present, completely happy. I’m one with my heart and one with Jake.
This is the moment it all begins.
Acknowledgments
Thank you so much for picking up Sea Legs — I am truly grateful for your purchase. As a newbie on this thrilling adventure of becoming a published author, I have encountered so much talent and heart and passion from my contemporaries, and I appreciate you as a reader choosing to spend some of your valuable time with me. Let’s keep meeting like this, huh?
To Mr. Hatch — you are the true hero here. Thank you for letting me ply you with margaritas to endure endless plotting sessions. Thank you for tending to the cats and generally keeping our life running when I have a nervous breakdown and pass out at my computer. Thank you for your countless dialogue tips and punchline innuendos, despite the fact that they would make even Jake blush…
To my ARC team — sweet mother of pearl, you inspire me. Wow, did I ever make you wait a long time for this. You were eager and you believed in me before you ever even had a product to read, and your patient encouragement helped me believe in myself despite a patch of rough seas.
To red wine — thanks for seeing me through many a late night writing session and for the courage to start typing when the chapters refused to write themselves.
And lastly, to my readers — this book is for you. This is for everyone who believes in the transcendent power of true love. To happy endings and to caring for one anot
her. To those who strive and try and dream, no matter what the odds.
About the Author
Nina Hatch is a lover of words, particularly when they lead to a happy ending. She is a fan of all animals, and even a few people. She is a firm advocate of laughing at herself, staying up all night to finish a book, and ordering another round.
From Colorado roots, Nina is headed for California shores, where she surely will take up hiking, as long as we all understand “hiking” to mean wine tasting. She and her laptop live with her real life hero and their two cats who do not value ergonomics.
Whenever possible, Nina avoids putting on real pants, updating her computer, and writing about herself in the third person, though she can be convinced to do any of these things with espresso or guacamole (though not together). Nina’s stories are filled with funny, feisty heroines, fantastic locales, and your next book boyfriend.
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www.ninahatch.com