by Jenny Hale
“I’ll be in to help shortly,” Callie said, taking her coffee to the back door and grabbing a magazine from the stack on the way. She needed to buy a book for times like these, but she just hadn’t settled in to a routine yet, the house still taking nearly every single minute of her time.
While Olivia went back into the hallway Callie let herself out onto the old porch that was being redone. She waved to the crew. They were suspended around the house like a swarm of giant spiders, hammering, sawing, lining up the timber. Next to a giant water cooler, a small radio played Top 40 hits.
She and Olivia had put up a ton of their own money, hiring an architect friend of Olivia’s from college, Aiden Parker, to help with renovations. He’d put his crew on it immediately. He was very well known for his work, and because Olivia was an old friend, he’d given them a good deal, but it was still quite a high price. He was extending the entire back of the old shingled house, giving its three stories their own covered porches facing the coast. The house itself sat right on the shore, but it was back just far enough to be safe at high tide when the waves would eat up the beach, gurgling their way toward them. Once Aiden had the porches built, Callie imagined rows of wicker chairs and hanging flowers dotting the electric blue view of the ocean. It was going to be magnificent.
She took her coffee past the area where they’d been knocking the old wood off the porch and descended the long staircase to the original walkway they’d also be replacing soon, a long expanse of slatted wood that led straight to the ocean. Right now, the wood was puckered in places from years of withstanding the elements, sea grasses peeking up through the slats. She stepped carefully, as she carried her coffee in one hand, and slung her old beach chair over her arm.
The sea air pushed against her, refreshing and crisp in the morning light, the buzzing of the saws nearly drowned out by the surf. A tiny shadow bobbed along the waves, a surfer up for an early ride, and there was a couple walking hand in hand, the water running over their feet relentlessly. Without a free hand herself, Callie held up her coffee in greeting and they waved in return, calling out, “Good morning!”
The shore, an endless breadth of white, looked as though it had been sifted clean this morning, the weather having been so calm in the last week that the waves hadn’t kicked up any debris. Callie set up her chair and took a seat right at the water’s edge, digging her toes into the sand as the bubbling water retreated out to sea. It was early morning, yet she could still feel the sting of sun on her skin like she had as a girl.
She slipped on her sunglasses, pushed her cup of coffee into the wet compact sand just enough to keep it from tipping, and opened her magazine. The pages fought against the wind as she scanned the table of contents for an article to read. Her heart did a little jump when she saw yet another article about the Sullivans. So many features, she thought. No wonder that reporter had been following Luke. She opened to page forty-seven.
She lifted her mug, her coffee soothing her along with the rush of air in her ears and the warmth of sun on her shoulders. The bright white magazine page hurt her eyes in the glare of the morning light even with her sunglasses, but she squinted to get a better focus to read. A seagull flew over, casting a momentary shadow on the page.
Callie read about Luke, and how different he was in business from his father, how he spent a lot of time out with various women, traveling, and how he didn’t seem to have the drive that his father had when it came to Sullivan Enterprises. The article alluded to him being more of a figurehead of Blue Water Sailing than anything else, just a face to sell the company’s boats. And he definitely had the face.
Callie closed the magazine, not wanting to read any more, and wishing again she hadn’t spent so much time away from The Beachcomber to have lunch with him. Now, in light of all she’d read, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to go to dinner tonight. She didn’t have that kind of time to waste. The summer was slipping away from them, and they needed to get The Beachcomber open for business.
She’d had a professional photographer take photos as parts of the house were finished so she could send them out to prospective vacationers. Callie had spoken with another bed and breakfast in the area. They’d booked up through September, and they’d been sending people her way to get information. She’d promised an opening of no later than the end of August, and she was taking reservations.
She finished her coffee and went back inside.
Callie didn’t waste any time after her coffee. She went straight up to clear the extra paneling Olivia had mentioned out of the closet. With a grunt, she opened the door and lifted the large pieces, her hands sweaty and losing their grip. Because of the paint fumes, they’d kept the windows open, the sea breeze their only relief. The cry of gulls and the shushing of the ocean made it feel like the shore was right inside the room.
She grabbed the final piece of paneling, straining to move it. When she pulled it out, there was a small smack and she peered into the closet to see what had made the noise. It was a compact, leather-bound book, the edges water stained and yellowed. Callie leaned the paneling against the wall and picked up the book, flipping it open. It looked like a journal; the name Alice McFarlin on the inside, the first entry written in scratchy cursive blue ink and there was no date on it.
She read:
If I don’t write every day, I’ll explode. No one will listen to me, so, my dear journal, perhaps I will find comfort in your silence as you hear all the things I have to say. God didn’t see it in His will to give me children, and I have to trust that, but he did give me the thoughts and emotions that I possess at this moment, and I find it very difficult not to act on them…
Callie shut the book and turned it over in her hand, inspecting the cover inside and out. Wiping her hands on her shorts, she took the journal downstairs to show Olivia.
“Look what I found,” she said as she met Olivia in the hallway. Her friend was covered in dust, the powdery substance making her cough and sticking to her perspiration. Callie handed her the journal and Olivia flipped through it.
“Would it be awful to read it?” Olivia asked.
“Technically, it’s ours,” Callie said. “We bought the house and the book was in it, so it belongs to us.” She grinned at her friend. “Do you want to be nosy?”
Olivia plopped down on the top step and set the journal in her lap.
Callie sat one step down and looked up at her friend.
“We’ll probably just find her old shopping lists,” Olivia said with disappointment, handing the journal back to Callie.
“Maybe not.” Callie took it, opening to that first entry she’d read and turning it so Olivia could read.
Olivia scanned the words. “Oh,” she said. “Very dramatic.” They both giggled excitedly.
“We should be ashamed of ourselves,” Callie said, her face dropping to a frown, suddenly feeling bad. “These might be Alice’s deepest thoughts. We should treat them carefully.” The idea of sharing her innermost feelings in a private journal only to have strangers read them was terrifying, and the silliness drained right out of her.
Olivia sobered. “Yes, you’re right.”
Callie didn’t even know if she wanted to read it anymore. “I’ll put it in a safe place,” she said, not sure what she wanted to do with it. She felt protective of it all of a sudden.
Five
Callie and Olivia had worked all day, and Callie had barely finished the closets and painting in time to be ready by seven. She’d almost missed the sound of the Range Rover through the window. The guys were finishing up on the walkway before quitting for the night. Olivia had turned on music downstairs and brought up a glass of wine for her that was not quite as chilled as it should have been since it was still in the beach cooler they’d brought with them when they’d moved, and the ice was melting.
Callie took the last sip of wine and set the empty glass on the bathroom counter then peered at herself in the mirror. She had on Olivia’s white sundress, showing off th
e tan she had newly acquired from working outside. It had been a long time since she’d spent this much effort on herself, and as she viewed her reflection, she thought about how nice it was to get dressed up, have a nice meal and good conversation. Slipping on her sandals and a silver bangle to match her earrings, she grabbed the empty wine glass and headed downstairs.
She hadn’t had time to get nervous until that moment, but as soon as she saw Luke Sullivan standing in the doorway, looking like some sort of movie star, she had to catch her breath, the jitters swarming her. She couldn’t stop looking at the flecks of gray in his blue eyes, his easy smile, the gentle swing of his strong arms. She felt herself blushing and looked away. Wyatt had come in for dinner. He had let Luke in and run off, calling for Olivia, who had jumped in the shower earlier to get the heat off her.
“Hey,” Luke said, as if he knew her better than he did. “Ready?”
“Yes,” she said, hoping she didn’t come off too nervous. All those things she’d read about him were clouding her thoughts. “Let me just say goodbye to my friend Olivia. What time should she expect us back?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a laugh as if the question was ridiculous, but that curiosity in his eyes had returned, and it was intoxicating.
She’d wanted to make sure Olivia knew when to expect her, since she was going out with someone she’d only just met—he was still practically a stranger. But then again, maybe it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Luke. Maybe he was hoping if things went well, she might not come home at all. The outrage of this settled in her chest before she convinced herself that she was jumping to conclusions. Yes, the papers had all painted him as a playboy. But the Sullivans were a family that the locals loved to hate. The drama kept things interesting in that small town.
“Hello,” Olivia said, shuffling up next to them, goggling as she took the empty wine glass from Callie. She’d done her hair and changed her clothes. “Olivia Dixon.” She held out her other hand, now clean and smooth, toward Luke, glancing over at Callie who had to hide her smirk. Olivia obviously wanted to say something more but she didn’t. Usually full of words, she seemed to have lost them all.
“Luke Sullivan.” Luke shook her hand.
He glanced around but then his gaze returned to Callie. Perhaps he was being polite and didn’t want to pry. She wished she could’ve whipped the place up into better shape before having a millionaire come through its doors, but there was no use getting stressed out about it. There was nothing she could do now.
“We should probably get going,” he said.
Olivia offered Callie a smile that was riddled with questions and Oh my Gods, but Callie tried not to look at her for fear she’d get too nervous. Olivia stepped back, allowing Callie and Luke to leave. As they walked out into the heat of the sunshine, Callie slipped her sunglasses on, after debating whether or not to just hold them and squint so she’d have something to occupy her hands.
Luke opened the passenger side door of the Range Rover for her, the car purring as he climbed in behind the wheel.
“I thought we could have dinner on my boat tonight.”
Callie’s mind immediately went back to that bikini model in the photo and she suddenly felt like nothing special. She’d spent extra time on herself, scrubbing away all the dirt and paint, applying her make-up and adding shimmery lip-gloss when she usually wouldn’t. She’d worn Olivia’s white dress.
When she didn’t respond, he said, “I don’t want the press to think I’m cheating on Ashley. That’s why I thought we could have dinner somewhere secluded.”
Her pulse throbbed in her ears, and she felt the prickle of heat beneath her cheeks. Did he say cheating? And who was Ashley? He was asking Callie out to dinner when he had a girlfriend? She stared at that smug face, trying to keep her eyes from noticeably narrowing. There was no way she was going to stoop so low.
“You have a girlfriend?” she asked as calmly as she could, immediately regretting it because now it might look like she was hoping he didn’t, when she wasn’t. After all, this wasn’t really a date, was it? It was only a kind gesture to repay her. She just didn’t want to get in the middle of things.
She must’ve looked horrified because it seemed to take him off guard. After a moment, he tipped his head back and laughed. “You look concerned,” he said, still grinning. “I haven’t dated Ashley in about four months but her manager thinks it would be best with her upcoming movie release to keep it quiet so as not to take the focus off the premier.”
The way he could read her was unsettling. “I’m sorry,” she said. How terrible that he’d broken up with his girlfriend months ago and he couldn’t even feel comfortable taking someone to dinner for fear it would get back to the tabloids.
“About what?”
Not wanting to go into her opinions about his lifestyle and the press, she said simply, “I’m sorry that you and your girlfriend broke up.”
“Oh. Well, we weren’t even exclusively dating, but when the media sees you out more than once, they hunker down for the proposal shot.”
“My God,” she said, realizing how totally different their lives were.
Six
After a few minutes’ drive down the road, Luke pulled into the parking lot of a nearby marina and shut off the engine.
He started typing on his phone. “Okay, I’m just putting in our order with the chef. I figured for dinner, we could both get a lobster frittata. I like caviar on mine. How does that sound?” His head popped up when he’d finished typing.
A lobster what? She wasn’t sure how to answer. Her idea of fancy food was getting a side salad instead of fries.
She’d assumed they were going to sit in a beachside tiki bar somewhere like they had for lunch and sip on piña coladas while reggae music played around them. But now she had visions of her hair pulling out of her clip as the wind tore through her on some boat while she held on to a lobster something or other for dear life. He glanced at her briefly, obviously waiting for an answer.
“I’ve never had that before,” she said honestly. “So I don’t know.”
It seemed as if understanding dawned on him, and she thought back to the article that had said how the Sullivans were out of touch with the average person. He typed something else on his phone and then looked at her. “If you could have your favorite seafood, what would it be?”
“I always get a crab cake. Maybe some shrimp on the side.” Quickly, worried he might be judging her choices in some way, to make it sound better, she added, “With a side salad.”
“Done. I’ve put in the order.” He smiled as he finished typing on that phone of his. Then he put it in his pocket and led the way to the massive docks. She followed along beside him, waiting to see what kind of gorgeous boat he had.
Nothing prepared her for what she saw, as they approached a man in a navy sailing uniform. He greeted Luke, addressing him as Mr. Sullivan, and introduced himself to her as the captain as he stepped aside, ushering them aboard the white luxury boat. The floors were a glossy hardwood, the seats all white leather with accent lighting pulling her eyes in every direction. The normally dark blue water looked like a turquoise stripe through the windows of the ship, matching the coordinating throw pillows. The indoor and outdoor spaces were open to each other, connected by a towering arch. Luke walked her over to the compact mahogany bar where one of the staff was ready to pour a drink from the endless supply of beer and spirits that glistened on the wall behind him. He patted the barstool, indicating for her to take a seat.
“What would you like?” Luke asked her. His demeanor drove home how normal this was for him, making Callie feel very out of place. She took her sunglasses off and set them on the highly lacquered bar to get a better look, as the boat’s engine grumbled below. She kept waiting to wake up in her dusty bedroom, the ocean having lulled her to sleep through the open window, but it was clear as Luke put his hand on her back and leaned forward to take a look at his own choices that this was no dream. When she did
n’t answer, he said, “How about a mojito? It’s got white rum, mint, and lime.”
“That sounds amazing,” she said, still somewhat at a loss for words.
“Two mojitos please,” he said to the bartender.
The colossal vessel began to move, its horn blowing as it pulled away from the marina. By the time they’d gotten their drinks—frosty glasses, the concoction as sweet as nectar and surrounded by rounds of lime, mint leaves, and ice—they were already picking up speed in the harbor, heading toward the open water. The breeze blowing in was just the right temperature to cool the sun’s relentless rays, and it seemed to be taking its time to dip below the horizon. She’d been glad to have daylight until around nine o’clock each night so they could work on the bed and breakfast, but the heat could be exhausting. Not on board this boat. With the salty air around her and a cold drink in her hand the temperature was perfect.
“I’ve never been on a boat like this before,” she said, trying to make conversation and suddenly struggling when she thought about those articles. She didn’t want to admit that the only boat she’d ever been on was her grandfather’s little fishing boat. Until now, she hadn’t really spent much time at the beach. She’d been too busy working the nine to five that really ended up being more like eight to seven-thirty. But that was all going to change. Being at the beach house would allow her to be closer to Olivia and Wyatt, and to figure out what she really wanted in her own life.
“Grab your drink,” he said with a grin, standing up. “Let’s go to the stern.” She followed his lead.
They sat down on a long leather bench that extended along the back of the boat, and she ran her fingers down the puckered details where leather buttons were sewn into the seat. Luke plopped down, not seeming to notice her admiring the upholstery. He took a long swig of his mojito, his hair blowing in the breeze.