Meet Me At Sunrise (Destined for Love: Europe)

by Lucinda Whitney

  The china demitasse cup rattled against its saucer as she hastily picked it up to calm her frustration with some chocolat chaud. The hot cocoa was like sipping liquid decadence. Creamy milk and rich dark chocolate melted into a velvety indulgence that made her taste buds burst with delight. A stark contrast to her first trip abroad as a young girl when she was introduced to instant hot cocoa. Delphine felt bad for the poor Americans who came to her country, experienced the magnifique concoction, then had to return to their country’s poor watery substitute.

  Hugo, her Yorkie Terrier, whined at her feet. She set the cocoa aside, then motioned for him to jump onto her lap, where he snuggled in. She had hoped that escaping her cramped apartment to sit at her favorite café across from La Rochelle’s stone towers and soak in the autumn’s salty ocean breeze would rejuvenate her creative brain. Instead, the pressure of writer’s block and a looming deadline weighed on her.

  Her first three novels had received great reviews, fairly good sales, and a solid readership. It was her fourth novel that had shocked her by hitting several bestseller lists. Now, instead of her editor kindly inquiring about her next project, Michel was pushing for updates to pass onto the publisher’s buying committee.

  The combination of stress to produce another bestselling book and the fear of letting her readers down had sucked all the creativity out of her.

  What if four novels was all she had in her? What if she was a one-time bestselling wonder?

  She wished she could talk to her favorite brainstorming partner, but Maman was currently out of commission and would be, well, for a long time. No, Delphine was on her own for this one. She took a deep breath to calm the quick flutter of her heart.

  “What do you think, Hugo? Should we give up for the day?” Hugo’s nose twitched and he sneezed, then shook his head back and forth to clear away whatever had tickled his nose. Delphine laughed. “I’ll take that as a sign we should stick it out a while longer.” She continued to pet him, the motion soothing both of them.

  She shifted her gaze to the cobblestone-paved plaza, hoping the mundane of everyday life would inspire her. There were the usual tourists, making their way from tours at Maison de Henri II into the port to snap photos of the majestic entry towers and multi-colored sail boats lining the ocean front. Teenagers from the local lycée school made their way to various vendors for a pastry before heading home or to the bus depot. She spotted a few university students sitting on ledges, ear buds in place as they studied their electronic tablets. Delphine’s lips lifted into a smile as she spied mothers chatting as their children scrambled around the plaza fountain, playing a game of tag. A child darted through a group of young men, causing one of them to stumble backwards, arms flailing before regaining his balance.

  “Pardon, monsieur,” another child yelled as they continued the chase.

  The man who stumbled simply waved them on as his friends patted his back and teased him about the incident. The mothers, though, called their children back to them, clearly correcting their rambunctious behavior before gathering their things together to leave. One little girl tugged on her mother’s shirt to capture her attention before pointing to the fountain where a group of teenagers stopped to toss coins in. The mother responded with a firm shake of her head. The child grabbed her younger sibling’s hand and cast a longing glance at the wishing fountain before disappearing with her family down another street.

  Delphine loved the fountain’s classic pedestal design and the ornate flowers carved into the side, each unique and intricately detailed. The water bubbled up from the center and filled the pedestal’s bath before gracefully landing in the pool below.

  The teens who cast in their coins had their heads together, whispering and giggling before moving on. Delphine couldn’t remember the last time she believed in the whimsy of wishing fountains. She certainly had before her family moved from France to Switzerland in her tween years, forcing her to leave her friends behind. Now, with her adult perspective, she was grateful for those bitter months during her formative years. It was then that her love of reading morphed into a passion for creating stories, the characters becoming her friends, her lifeline to surviving a foreign country.

  Maybe what she needed was to recapture some of her youthful whimsy. After all, if she was writing for teens, she should try to get into their perspective a little more. Delphine pulled out her change purse and used a finger to push the coins around until she found the one she was looking for. She clicked her tongue to get Hugo’s attention. After a hand signal, he leapt from her lap and settled in the shade under the café table.

  Thank goodness for those obedience school classes, she thought as she tied his leash to her chair. While dogs could go just about anywhere with their owners in France, they were expected to be well-behaved. She tested the leash’s knot, then signaled for Hugo to stay where he was.

  With the coin pressed firmly into the palm of her hand, she crossed the short distance to the fountain. She skirted away from a few groups until she found a little isolated spot that seemed just right. She opened her fingers and nudged the coin with her thumb, wondering what to wish for.

  As a child, she often wished for an ice cream treat or to visit her Aunt Jeannette’s so she could go horseback riding. Teenagers probably spent most of their wishes asking for the attention of a certain special someone. Not that romance was unappealing, but Delphine preferred the predictability of her character’s love stories. No matter how much conflict they endured, they always ended up together.

  Real-life relationships didn’t come with that guarantee and Delphine found that terrifying. Her wants these days had more to do with hoping for a royalty check big enough to pay the bills, buy groceries, and have enough left over for something fun. Those checks weren’t going to keep coming if she didn’t produce another book. So she ditched the fanciful and went for practical. She closed her eyes and squeezed the coin.

  All I wish for are story ideas. Well, not just any story idea, a magnifique Sci-Fi YA story, one that my readers will love. Because no matter what the sales numbers turn out to be, having happy readers is the ultimate goal.

  Delphine took a deep breath and sent her wish out into the universe before she opened her eyes and tossed the coin into the fountain. Her gaze followed its path through the air, but she was shocked when another coin collided with it before they both hit the water with a big plop and sank.

  She gasped, then looked around to find a man whose face reflected a similar feeling of surprise. He was handsome in a preppy casual sort of way. Jeans were paired with a white dress shirt, topped with a deep green v-neck sweater with both sets of sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hairstyle completed the look, the dark waves giving it a tousled careless vibe. What it would feel like to sink her fingers into his hair? Would it feel as silky as it looked? Or would she be disappointed to find it sticky with hair product? Her heart fluttered again, not from anxiety, but from the hesitant smile that appeared on his face. He lifted his hand in a wave. Delphine tried to swallow past the lump that formed in her throat, but her mouth had gone dry. Her hand inched up, ready to return his greeting, but what if—gasp!

  What if she had a set of characters who were crushing on each other, but just when they were finally brave enough to admit their feelings, they were forced apart? But why? It would need to be something against their will, something they couldn’t control but absolutely had to follow.

  Delphine’s hand dropped back to her side. She knew well the tragedy of leaving friends behind, but what would it be like to abandon your newly discovered true love?

  She dashed back to the café table. Hugo greeted her with a little yip before settling back down, his front paws and head lying across one of her feet. She flipped the notebook open and uncapped her fountain pen. As soon as the nib hit the paper, details about the two main characters flowed. It wasn’t the most original idea; in fact, it had been done before, many times over, but this time, it was her story, and that made it unique.
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br />   Delphine didn’t know how to describe the story unfolding in her mind. Tidbits about the characters turned into fully fleshed beings: their likes, dislikes, characteristics, scraps of dialogue, how they reacted to their feelings being crushed. As those details came together, so did conflicting ideas for the setting and the culture’s background. Delphine flipped forward several pages in the notebook, bent a corner, then jotted down those notes to review later before flipping back to the character section. She didn’t even mind sipping the cooled chocolat chaud as she became even more absorbed in Candessa and Felix’s story. Yes, Candessa and Felix, she thought, nodding and adding their names at the top of their bio pages. The characters were blooming and coming to life right before her.

  Discovery was her favorite part of the writing process. When the passion of creation flowed through an author, it was the headiest drug, addicting in its own perfect way. It was like having a front row seat to witnessing the majesty of God creating the heavens and the earth. If she pursued that flow, if she heeded the promptings of her muse, then the results would be a marvelously beautiful thing.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for reading Matias and Vanessa’s story, Meet Me at Sunrise. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. You may learn more about them and their story on Pinterest.

  Please consider leaving a review on Amazon and Goodreads. This is the best way to support me as an author.

  For news of upcoming books and promotions, join my readers club.

  I love to hear from readers! You can email me at lucinda@lucindawhitney.com.

  Thank you!

  Other Books by Lucinda Whitney

  A Love Story from Portugal Series:

  The Secret Life of Daydreams

  One Small Chance

  Romano Family Series:

  Hold Me At Twilight (a Romano Family novella)

  Meet Me At Sunrise (a Destined for Love Romance: Europe)

  Love Me At Sunset (a Destined for Love Romance: Mansions) Coming Soon

  Ask Me At Christmas (a Romano Family novella) Coming Soon

  Love Me at Sunset

  a Romano Family novel

  (Destined for Love: Mansions)

  An ex-con reforming his life. A pregnant widow hiding her past. Will the price of her secrets cost her his love?

  Catarina Romano has lost everything: her husband, her house, her lifestyle. Driven to the countryside to hide from the media and the scandal surrounding her, she discovers she is pregnant. Although she needs time and space to adjust to her new circumstances, she can’t help but feel bored and lonely at her cousin’s empty manor in the heart of Portugal.

  Afonso Cortez is done with all the lies. Fresh out of prison for trusting the wrong person, he’s ready to leave his past and look ahead to new opportunities. The remote Sunset Manor is the perfect solution, promising to provide Afonso with the solitude he craves while he restores the grounds to their former glory.

  When the new groundskeeper arrives, Catarina avoids him, not wanting to further complicate her life. Soon Catarina is drawn to him and his quiet manner. But Afonso wants to know the truth about her and that’s a secret she’s not ready to share.

  Will Afonso accept Catarina as she is? Or will she lose the man who might just restore her belief in love?

  _______________

  Turn the page for an exclusive sneak peek of Love Me At Sunset.

  Chapter One

  Afonso arrived at the stone wall and dropped the canvas bag on the side of the road. The intricate monogram on each panel of the iron gate confirmed he was a the right place. Casa do Sol Poente—Sunset Manor. Was this his fresh start? A place named after his favorite time of day could only bring good luck.

  In the valley below, the first shadows cast by the setting sun already inched closer to the foothills of the small village. The view opened far beyond the winding river, to the red-roofed houses dotting the hills on the other bank.

  He reached for his water bottle and took a long swig, appreciating the differences in the air around him. No sounds of traffic. No congested streets and crowded sidewalks. And more notably, no sounds of churning industrial-sized washers, the hiss of steam irons, and the always-present loud-cursing men.

  Only the languorous clangs of the church bell and a couple of dogs barking at each other in a farm down the hill.

  A slow smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He liked it already.

  The walk from the village had taken close to an hour and he hadn’t passed any other houses or farms in the last fifteen minutes. The promise of solitude bloomed more real than he’d thought possible.

  Afonso swung the bag over his shoulder and placed the empty bottle in an outside pocket. The gate was ajar and he passed through easily, noting the signs of neglect. The original color was hard to pick amid the rust stains, and it could clearly use a good cleaning and a new coat of paint.

  As he climbed the winding road past the bend, rows of hydrangea bushes lined the lichen-covered walls, the large blue petals brightening the old stones. Through the branches, a peek of stone caught Afonso’s attention but the thick foliage effectively hid the rest of the house from view.

  After the paved road curved sharply in the other direction, Afonso stopped. A woman stood at the edge of a weed-infested path, facing a row of mature linden trees, angled toward him. The golden light outlined her delicate figure, contrasting with the wildness of the bushes and vegetation behind her, a mass of twisted greens of various shades speckled with tiny buds of red, pink, and yellow of a once-grand rose garden.

  Before he had the chance to make his presence known, the woman clutched her middle and doubled over, retching violently.

  Afonso turned away from her and took a step back, torn between the urge to help her and the need to give her privacy. Had she eaten something bad or was she ill? His former training kicked in and his mind went through a list of possibilities.

  After a few moments, she straightened and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She mumbled something and shook her head, the disgust in her tone clear and unmistakable.

  Afonso shifted his bag. “Hey, are you okay?”

  The woman shrieked and jumped back with a hand over her chest. When she turned to face him, her eyes widened with surprise which was quickly replaced with something stronger. “This is private property.” She yelled. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” She flicked her eyes to the ground and her cheeks flamed red. “Are you some kind of pervert spying on people?”

  Afonso shouldered his bag behind his back and raised his hands in a show of conciliation. “I’m sorry if I caught you at a bad moment. I promise I’m not spying on you.” He spoke slowly, trying to diffuse the tension. “I’m here to meet with the owner.”

  She crossed her arms over her middle and this time the disgust in her expression was surely directed at him. “He should be in the main house.” Her tone was curt.

  Afonso stepped back onto the private driveway and nodded a quick thanks to her.

  Her eyes narrowed at him as she watched him go by. “You better not be lying.”

  He paused and met her eyes. “I don’t lie.” All the lies were in the past. He was done with that life.

  She didn’t reply but her left eyebrow raised. In contradiction or skepticism, he couldn’t tell.

  When Afonso reached the clearing, he looked back but she was gone. He gave himself a mental shake to clear the strange encounter from his mind.

  The manor house wasn’t as large as he’d expected. Its neoclassic style was reflected in the symmetric lines of the windows on the ground floor and the row of single balconies on the first floor. From the red-tiled roof, a pair of attic dormers rose on each side. A wide staircase led to the front where a heavy, paneled wooden door match the green of the painted shutters. The effect was almost striking, minimized only by the intense disarray of all the vegetation surrounding the area. In its glory days, the granite house’s grandeur must have b
een surely impressive.

  Afonso climbed the steps. Even the door knocker was a classic, as he lifted the iron hand-holding-a-ball and smacked it against the metal plate on the wood surface.

  After a new knocks, the door swung open.

  A dark-haired man in his mid-thirties stood at the entrance. “Hello. Can I help you?” His tone was friendly.

  “I’m looking for the owner,” Afonso said.

  The man extended his hand. “You found him. I’m Filipe Romano.” His grip was strong and he made eye contact. “Are you Afonso Cortez by any chance?”

  Afonso nodded. “I am.”

  Filipe Romano’s expression relaxed into a smile. “Praise the heavens. I thought you’d changed your mind about coming. Please, come in.”

  A faint scent of fresh paint and wood varnish permeated the air, competing with the staleness of a house once lived in. The area was clean and void of furniture but for a large rug covering the marble floor in front of the stairs and a free-standing coat rack made of heavy wood. The main staircase split in two at the first landing, one to each side of the house.

  Afonso took a moment to study Filipe Romano. He looked like a slightly older version of his cousin Matias, Afonso’s former boss. The family resemblance was evident in the same brown eyes and high forehead. “Sorry I’m late. The walk up was a bit longer than I thought.”

  “You walked from the village?”

  “I’m without my own transportation at the moment.” He was without a lot of things, a car being the least of those.

  Filipe brought a hand to his chin, as he gave Afonso an appraising look that ended somewhere between being impressed and concerned. “Well, I’m glad you made it.” He gestured to the floor by the door. “Just leave your things there. I’ll show you later where you can put them.” He turned down the way he’d come and Afonso followed to the first room.

  “This is the front parlor which turns into the music room. ell, they’re empty rooms now but that’s what the original design called for and we tried to preserve that. I’m nearly done with the interior remodel.” He gestured at the door opening as they passed from one room to the next without the connection of a hallway. “The kitchen and bathrooms are all done and the interiors have all been painted. I’m trying to decide what to do about the decorating.”