Sea Glass Sunrise

by Donna Kauffman

  “Hannah,” he said, only it sounded more like a benediction this time. He traced his fingers over her cheek, slid his fingers down the length of her hair.

  “Tell you what,” she said, thinking that as nervous as she’d been while finally getting out why she’d come here, she was surprisingly calm now. “Why don’t you kiss me, and we’ll see how that goes. Then take it from there.” She leaned in until her lips were just a breath away from his. “You remember how to kiss me, don’t you? You just put your lips together and—” The rest of that was lost in a squeal as he took her mouth in a fierce, hard kiss. Then the sound changed to a long, keening moan, as the kiss changed into something slower, deeper, but no less devastating.

  He shoved his chair back so she could straddle his lap, but he was half shoving her dress up her thighs and she was tugging at his shirt when he said, “No, not this time.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Hold on.”

  She didn’t question him, because she had no intent of letting him go anytime soon anyway. She crossed her ankles around his back as he stood, and nibbled the side of his neck as he half stumbled, half walked them through the house, stopping every few seconds to pin her to a handy wall and plunge right back into another soul-searing kiss.

  She was panting heavily by the time they reached the bedroom. “I was pretty sure I’d blown that whole day by your truck into something unrealistic in my mind.”

  He laid her on a bed the size of a small ocean and climbed right down on top of her. “And now?”

  She smiled up into his face, wondering why in the hell she’d waited so long. “Now I think I didn’t do it justice.”

  He grinned, his eyes going all caramel hot, and she squirmed under him. She started tugging at his shirt as he undid the small row of buttons that ran down the bodice of her sundress. He finally leaned up enough to pull his T-shirt off over his head and toss it aside, but when he came back down, intent on nibbling his way along her neck, she stopped him, her hands going to the small blue talisman drilled and knotted on a piece of twined rope, tied around his tanned neck so it dangled in the hollow of his throat.

  She fingered the pitted, rounded surface, then looked up at him. “Sea glass,” she said. “Is it from—you didn’t have this on before.”

  “I found it in my jeans pocket. It was what I had. Of you. Of that perfect day.”

  She smiled, her throat growing tight. “I don’t know how perfect it was. I looked like an extra from Dawn of the Dead, and you were—”

  “I fell in love with you that day, Hannah,” he said, and her throat closed right over. “I was halfway there, maybe all the way there, even before then. But the way you gave yourself to me, completely and utterly, then watching you walking the tidal pool, your delight in just . . . in just being there. You’re life, and breath, and sunshine. And hope. I—”

  She lifted her head and kissed him, not knowing what else to say, awed to silence by his declaration. When he lifted his head, the look in his eyes leveled her. The honesty there, the truth of what he’d just told her, was laid bare for her to see. She felt humbled and not a little awed that this man, this good, honest, kind, decent, sexy as hell, hardworking, family-loving man, felt that way about her. “You, uh—” She had to clear her throat, because she wanted to say the words back to him, but she didn’t want him to think she was just parroting his. She needed him to know she truly believed every word. “You don’t strike me as the jewelry type.”

  His gaze didn’t waver from hers. “There’s an ancient belief that if you wear a piece of something you gathered in a meaningful place, carry it with you, you’ll go back there someday.”

  “You want to go back to the Cove?”

  “I wanted to go back to you.”

  “Oh, Calder,” she said on a hushed whisper. If she thought she’d been loved before, cherished before . . . she knew now she’d had no idea of the real meaning of the word. And if she thought she’d known love, known what it felt to feel love, to give love . . . it paled in the face of what she felt when she looked at him. “You never left me. Not for one second. You’ve been inside me, in my heart, my head, every part of me. I never wanted you to leave.”

  “I—”

  “No, I don’t mean leave to come back home. I know why you’re here, what you have to do. I meant . . .”

  He leaned down and caught her lips in a slow, tugging kiss, then seduced his way between them, much as he had that very first time, when she’d been in the car dressed in that ridiculous, awful getup. She ran her hands up his arms, framed his face and kissed him back, taking him, seducing him, showing him, telling him, in all the ways she could, all the ways she knew she’d never stop showing him, what he meant to her.

  The kisses changed from slow to deep, from deep to hot, and from hot to breathless. Her dress was tugged off and sent to some far corner of the room where she hoped it would stay for hours. Days. Weeks. His jeans followed, along with every other stitch of clothing they were wearing. She pulled him down on top of her, but he resisted, leaning up on one elbow to look down at her.

  “I didn’t get the pleasure of this last time,” he said, tracing a finger over her collarbone, and down to the tip of her breast. “I want to explore every inch of you. Of this lovely, very naked you.”

  She gasped, arched, and said, “I think you might have to wait until next time. After which, I’d really—really—like to return that favor.”

  He laughed, then groaned as she slid her legs up the sides of his thighs and angled her hips so he could—“Oh,” she said as he slid deep inside of her, all the way, until she was full with every hard, perfect inch of him.

  She groaned. Then she squealed when he slid out, and cried out when he thrust back in. “Maybe the time after next,” she panted, as he kept up the pace, and she matched him, thrust for thrust and they both drove each other up, up . . . and over.

  She was still trying to catch her breath when he finally slid out of her, and started working his way down her body, lingering over her most sensitive parts. “Calder, I can’t—”

  “It’s next time—”

  “I know, but I need time to—”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “No, I know what I—” Then she gasped, then she moaned.

  He chuckled against the inside of her thigh. “You’re so much more than fine.”

  “I—I believe I am,” she said, arching and crying out as he found her and took her directly to the edge, and shoved her flying off of it.

  It was another few times later, when they finally lay spent, sprawled over each other in a tangle of arms and legs, all hot and damp and sweaty . . . and delicious. She laughed.

  “What’s funny?” he said, his face half smushed into the mattress.

  “This can’t be right.”

  “If this ain’t right, then I pray to God we keep getting it wrong.”

  She laughed again, and he managed a chuckle, which came out like more of a wheeze.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, pushing his hair back from his face.

  “I might have been doing a little more actual work than you,” he said. “Just give me five minutes.”

  She ran her hand down his back, and over his very, very fine backside, which, it turned out, far exceeded even her initial expectations that day she’d first admired it, sitting inside her wrecked Audi.

  He groaned. “Okay, maybe ten.”

  She laughed again, then squealed when he reached out and tugged her so she was pinned half under him. “No more wandering fingers,” he told her, his voice getting drowsier.

  She ran her tongue over his shoulder. “How about a wandering this?”

  He slid a finger over her lips. “Shh.”

  “What if I wanted to say I love you?” she said against his big, wide finger.

  He rolled his head and opened one eye. “That you can do. But you’ll have to tell me again later. Maybe more than once.”

  “Because you think you’ll forget?”

  He m
oved more quickly than she would have thought possible, given his half-drugged stupor. She was suddenly flat on her back and a very revived Calder was pinning her to the bed. “No,” he said gruffly, “because it’s the best thing anyone has ever said to me.” He leaned in and kissed her. “And I’m greedy like that.”

  She wiggled under him. “I like greedy.”

  Now he barked a laugh. “I think perhaps I’ve awakened the real beast. It’s no wonder you like that car.”

  “I bought it,” she said proudly. “Well, I traded it. For the Audi. Sal got permission from his nephew. I think it suits the new me.”

  “The new you.”

  She nodded, then slipped her hands free of his grasp and tugged his face down to hers. “The me who loves you and drives a blue hot rod and tries really hot court cases about who stole whose lobster traps and pot buoys, and maybe figures out how to help you turn this farm into the place you’re dreaming it will be even faster, so as soon as your family is put back together, you can be here full-time. Where we can do a lot more of this.”

  “Oh,” he said, a devastatingly sexy smile starting to curve his lips. “That new you.”

  “I love you, Calder Blue.”

  He leaned down and nuzzled the side of her neck, and slipped between her thighs again. “How’d you like a last name to match that hot rod of yours?”

  She gasped, then shoved his face back to where she could see it. “Is that what I—did you just—really? Here? Is it because you’re hormone addled—?”

  “Come here, Scarlett, and let me love you some more. We’ll talk cars and last names later.”

  “But—”

  “I love you, Hannah McCrae. From Blueberry Cove. Hmm. Blueberry. I’m seeing a pattern here. I don’t know how I missed it.”

  She grinned and it felt as if her entire body had just expanded to include the entirety of the universe, because that was the only way she could describe how full of joy she was in that moment. “Me, either.”

  “We should think about that.”

  “Okay.” Then she flipped him to his back and straddled him. “But frankly, right now, Mr. Blue?” She wriggled back onto him and sighed. “I really don’t give a damn.”

  Epilogue

  “I’ve got five dollars that says she’ll chicken out as soon as that thing goes faster than a slow limp.”

  “That thing is a Tennessee Walker. Who will be quite beautiful again one day. Calder’s doing a good job with her,” Alex said.

  Kerry climbed up and sat on the paddock fence next to Alex, and looked at where Fiona stood next to them, elbows resting on the top of the fence, her feet propped up on the bottom rail. “I’ll take that five and see you twenty.”

  Fiona eyed Kerry, then looked at their eldest sister, who was presently taking a very slow stroll around the edge of the paddock on said Tennessee Walker. “Really? Why? She looks okay now,” she said, well aware she’d just been the one doubting that very thing. “Maybe she’ll be awesome.”

  Kerry snorted. “Do you see the way she’s holding those reins? And she cannot sit a saddle. Her tight ass will not ever let that happen. She is just not made for this. Poor Calder.”

  “I don’t know,” Alex MacFarland McCrae said. “A month ago she was scared to even walk through the barn when the horses were safely in their stalls. And look at her now.” She grinned at Kerry. “I give her even money.”

  Kerry hooted and looked triumphantly at Fiona. “Ha!”

  Fiona scowled and kept her attention on Hannah, feeling a rush of pride that their sister was out there, conquering one of her fears. Fiona needed to find a better way to tap into that conquering spirit. “Shouldn’t you be on a plane, train, or slow mule to China or something by now?” she groused to Kerry. How was it that Kerry was still in the Cove and it was almost August? It was a mystery to everyone except Kerry, who, for the time being, was helping Fergus run the Rusty Puffin and seemingly not in any big hurry to depart on her next worldly adventure.

  Privately, Fiona thought that was a good thing. Lord knew Uncle Gus was loving it, and even she had to admit it was nice having her sister back where they at least knew she wasn’t in danger of being eaten by cannibals or anything.

  The news that Hannah was staying in the Cove for good had been met with happy cheers by everyone, although, technically, she was really staying in Calais. But she was back in Maine, and that’s what mattered. Fiona felt like her family was coming full circle, back to where they were meant to be.

  That said, the news that Fiona was going to shut down her business in Manhattan and return to the nest as well? Yeah, well, only Hannah knew about that. For now. In fact, she’d only come back home this weekend to scope out a place to launch the new business idea she’d been working on since returning to New York after the wedding.

  Her gaze went back to Hannah, and a smile curved her lips as her eyes dropped to the sun glinting off the rock her oldest sister was sporting on her engagement ring finger. There was going to be another McCrae wedding.

  So you have a deadline now. Back in the Cove for good by Hannah’s wedding.

  “Yeah,” she murmured under her breath, trying not to let herself feel overwhelmed by everything that was going to have to happen between now and then to make that a reality. “Good luck with that.”

  Kerry’s gasp made Fiona look back into the ring. Under the close tutelage of Calder, who was riding behind her on his own mare, Vixen, Hannah had increased her speed to a slow trot.

  Alex put her fingers in her mouth and whistled, then frowned when Kerry ripped her fingers out of her mouth. “What?”

  “You’ll spook the horse.”

  “Oh!” She looked immediately worried. “Sorry!” she called out. “What do I know?” she said to Kerry. “I fix lighthouses.”

  “So I guess that means you’re next,” Kerry said, nodding to the ring.

  When Alex, who routinely hung off the side of said lighthouses, blanched at the idea of being on horseback, Kerry hooted.

  “You’re so doomed right now,” Fiona said, then sighed happily and rested her chin on her folded arms. “Have I mentioned how glad I am to have another sister?”

  It was all going to be okay. Coming home for good was the best decision she’d ever made.

  Here goes nothing! She smiled. And here comes everything.

  Recipes

  Alex & Logan’s

  Boston Cream Pie

  Wedding Cake

  I’m a big fan of the untraditional wedding cake (mine was red velvet, which was scandalous back in the day!) and in this story, Logan and Alex celebrate their nuptials with a Boston cream pie cake. I might have been projecting my own wedding-cake rebelliousness when I decided on Alex’s cake, but I know I would love to find a stunning stacked and glazed Boston cream pie sitting on the table at a wedding reception, wouldn’t you? Mmm, I want a slice right now!

  Boston cream pie first showed up at the Parker House Hotel in 1856, the creation of Armenian-French chef M. Sanzian. It has since been declared the state cake of Massachusetts, and has long been a New England favorite. It’s called a pie because pie pans were used in its original creation—those were more plentiful in those days than single-layer cake pans—but it’s actually a luscious, rich layered cake, sliced in the manner of a traditional pie.

  Below is my version of Boston cream pie—the measurements listed make a regular-sized cake—which is a recipe cobbled together from my grandmother’s yellow cake recipe, a family-favorite custard cream filling recipe, and my own chocolate ganache glaze recipe. Yes, it’s a triple-threat cake and that means three times the yum! (See final notes on wedding cake tips!)

  Warning! A little advance planning is in order, as the cake has to cool completely before it’s sliced and filled with custard, and topped with that warm, rich ganache glaze. But the real warning should be to keep a fork handy! Rich, delicious, sinful . . . enjoy!

  NOTE: Boston cream pie is often made by slicing a single nine-inch round cake in half
horizontally to make two, thinner cake layers, with the custard then spread in between. The easier version is to bake two full nine-inch cakes and layer them as you would a regular layer cake, with the custard filling in between the cake layers. This is the recipe you will find below. Mostly I love it because, more cake!

  Yellow Cake

  ½ cup sweet, unsalted butter, softened

  2½ cups sifted cake flour

  3 teaspoons baking powder

  ½ teaspoon salt

  1½ cups granulated sugar

  ¾ cup plus 2 Tablespoons milk

  1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

  2 eggs

  Directions

  Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.

  Prepare two nine-inch round cake pans with butter and dust with flour.

  Stir or blend butter until fully softened but do not overprocess.

  Combine flour, baking powder, salt, and sugar and add to butter.

  Add ¾ cup milk and the vanilla.

  Beat for 2 minutes at low speed.

  Add eggs and remaining 2 Tablespoons of milk.

  Beat for 1 minute at low speed or just until fully assimilated.

  Pour the batter into the prepared cake pans

  Bake for 20 to 25 minutes or until a tester/toothpick comes out clean.

  Turn the cakes out onto cake racks and cool completely.

  Pastry Cream Custard Filling

  ½ cup sugar

  3 Tablespoons flour or 1 Tablespoon cornstarch (I prefer cornstarch for a thicker custard.)

  Pinch of salt

  1 cup whole milk

  2 egg yolks, slightly beaten

  Directions

  Put the sugar, cornstarch and salt into a small, heavy saucepan.