"Looks like a party," he said to no one in particular. Empty dessert plates littered the table, but the wine was still plentiful. "Hello everyone."
"My wife insisted I call you over. Said you looked sad and lonely over there."
"Jackson!" She looked directly at Christian. "I did not say that!"
"Oh, that's right. She didn't say lonely. I think it was pathetic."
Sophia's eyes widened and she covered her mouth.
Christian grimaced. "Sophia doesn't know you're kidding, Jackson."
Jackson smirked. "Who's kidding?"
Christian strolled over to her side of the table. He pulled a chair away from another table and pointed to the spot between Sophia and Meg. "May I?"
Sophia nodded. "Yes, of course." She scooted her chair over, and when he took a seat, she gave him a squeeze on his forearm. Wade sat across from him, silent.
"We were all discussing further renovations of the inn, you know, for when we're able to move forward."
"After the spa is finished," Jackson added.
Meg continued. "And Wade had this funny idea that we should rename all of the meeting rooms and give each one its own unique look."
"Like the Madonna Inn—without all the gold cherubs and pink wallpaper," Christian said, then added, "I hope." The Madonna Inn was a one-of-a-kind hotel on the coast that was beloved to some and less-than to others.
Meg laughed. Jackson looked annoyed.
"I know he was kidding," Meg said, "but I think it's really a fabulous idea. I travel all the time and haven't seen this!"
Wade shifted forward. "And to your point, Christian, instead of focusing on the guest rooms, I'm suggesting the smaller group meeting rooms be updated with one of Sophia's designs."
"Right," Jackson said. "And like I said, this is a way we could use Sophia's skills in the entire process and advertise it as such." He spread his palms wide as if outlining a name in lights. "Designed by Sophia Agli Riley. Who knows? It might help her—and us—if we put the word out that the hotel's meeting rooms had her designer's touch."
Christian swung a look at Sophia, who had remained quiet. "What do you think of all of this?"
"Me? Oh, I know they're kidding." She nodded to an empty wine bottle, a sly smile on her face. "This is just one of the many ideas they have pitched to each other tonight."
"But we're serious about this one!" Meg said.
Sophia had a way of masking her emotions. If he were a betting man, though, Christian felt confident that if he put his dollar on "she's having none of this," he would likely win. Sophia's face may have been lacking in strong emotional upheaval, but she had been toying with the napkin in her lap during the entire conversation.
Finally, Sophia said, "I am flattered that you all think I have the kinds of skills required to make the inn a ... a showplace. I'm not sure, though, if I have the expertise for this." She turned her chin toward Meg. "You do know I create dresses, right?"
Meg smiled. "Oh, but an interior design firm will be hired, of course. I know we were only brainstorming, and that we've been goofing around all evening, but to have a family connection apparent in the inn's design ..." Meg lifted her chin to the ceiling and her smile had turned giddy. "Well, I just think this idea has merit—a unique feature that will draw visitor interest. Does that make sense?"
Sophia's gaze grew pensive, intense but focusing somewhere in the distance. She licked her lips as if preparing a speech. "I have another thought. Perhaps we could design each room around a particular person in the family. We would of course create a room that epitomized Father, as well as your mother, Jackson. And you." She paused, her eyelashes fluttering.
Meg gasped and said, "Wow—another great idea! Would be an amazing way to honor William as the patriarch, as well as Jackson's mother, who I never had the good fortune to meet."
Christian nudged her gently. "And you."
Jackson spoke up. "Of course we'll have the 'Sophia' room."
She laughed. "My only concern is that it might look too ... self-serving?"
Wade's focus was on Sophia. "Not if it's done tastefully. I think this is a unique idea with the very real possibility of creating a bidding war for each of the room's use. It will stir up group interest, which, of course, is your bread and butter. No, no, I think you're onto something, Sophia. You'll want to hire an interior designer who is willing to work within the framework that you and the team creates."
Sophia turned to her sister-in-law. "And you won't feel awkward leading tours of the 'Jackson'?"
Christian chimed in, "Trying to picture that one. Hmm ... muscle cars on the walls?"
"Ha—you wish." Jackson paused for a moment. "I'm seeing a cigar lounge. Dark wood paneling, a wingback chair, polished brass."
"You're 007 now?"
Jackson laughed. "Sure. Works for me."
"You'll want to make sure to balance the colors," Wade was saying. "I'm no designer, but you don't want colors from one room to the other to clash."
Christian's attention had drifted to Sophia, whose mangled napkin now looked as if it had gone through both the washer and the dryer.
"Right," Meg said. "There should be a nice flow to the rooms, especially since some groups will use more than one. Plus, we need to be careful to keep both a relaxed, coastal vibe that also looks upscale."
"Your interior designer can work with you on all that," Wade said.
Jackson agreed. "I don't think it'll be a huge problem, except that all of us appear to have a similar love of darker colors. The design firm will have to figure out a way to incorporate something lighter so Sea Glass Inn doesn't look like it belongs somewhere in the Rocky Mountains."
"All except for the 'Sophia,'" Christian said.
Jackson darted a confused look at Christian, his brows low to his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about. I've never seen my sister in anything other than black or white or the combination of the two. Wait. Okay, maybe gray."
"So you're limiting the design of your rooms to the colors you wear?" Christian said. "I thought the rooms might be more of a reflection of the people they represent." He glanced at Sophia, who seemed to have retreated even more from the discussion.
"So what 'color' do you think my sister represents?" Jackson said.
Meg watched him with a tilt of her head, as if amused.
Wade's eyes, which had been stuck like glue to Sophia's face, had suddenly taken an interest in him.
Christian set his gaze on Sophia, whose cheeks had tinged pink. He ran his tongue over his teeth, thinking. "She's ... a watercolor painting."
The blush of pink on Sophia's face turned to plum and those eyelashes fluttered again. But then, slowly, her lips meandered into a smile.
A wadded-up napkin landed on Christian's cheek. "Hey!"
With his pitching arm still extended, Jackson said, "Man. You didn't tell me you were writing cheesy romance novels now."
Meg laughed. Wade looked bewildered by the conversation. For her part, Sophia's smile deepened, so there was that.
As for Christian, the fire of his own face heating up made him grateful that his beard would likely mask the shock of red sure to be permeating his skin.
Sophia watched Wade through the lick of flames emanating from the outdoor fire pit. It was late, long past the time she usually stayed up—she was an early riser. But after Christian begged off to do some writing and Jackson and Meg left the restaurant, Wade mentioned he'd brought some paperwork with him from the two manufacturers they'd visited in LA. Given the sharp detour their dinnertime conversation had taken, he hadn't had a chance to show the sample agreements to her.
So she agreed to meet him out here.
"Both contracts appear to be straightforward," he was saying. "It comes down to an issue of preference. If you do decide to make a move, you should have your attorney look over the contract before you sign it."
Sophia pulled the thick blanket over her knees. She hadn't had an attorney look over her last contract,
though the thought had come to mind. The waves thrashed below the inn's outdoor deck, again reminding her of how drastic a change she had made with this move.
"Cold?"
"Not terribly. I'm enjoying the night air, though I'm in danger of falling asleep out here if I stay too long."
Wade smiled. "I won't let that happen."
The kindness in his eyes warmed her as much as the crackling fire in front of them. He told her on the drive home from Los Angeles the other day how much he wanted to help her and she couldn't fathom why. But if Jackson trusted him, she did too.
"You'd be surprised by how cold it gets out here in the middle of the night," he said.
She cocked her head. "Do you walk around outside in the middle of the night often?"
"Not if I can help it. Not a heavy sleeper, though, and sometimes a walk turns out to be what I need to clear my head."
"Work keeps you up at night then."
He paused. "Work ... and other things."
He did not offer her more insight into the workings of his mind, so she didn't ask. Sophia took another sip of her hot chocolate, something she hadn't done in ... how long? Since childhood? She inhaled the heavenly aroma, noting her contentment.
"The way you smile while drinking that cocoa reminds me of my niece, Sadie. She loves the stuff, too."
"A woman after my own heart then."
"She's four."
Sophia laughed out loud, nearly spilling the contents of her mug onto the inn-issued blanket covering her legs. "Well," she finally said, "I guess she's a girl after my own heart then."
"That she is."
"Thank you for discussing these contracts with me. I've been meaning to ask ... how do you know so much about garment manufacturing?"
"Well, I can't say that I know that much about it—but enough to assist." He leaned back in his lounge chair, lines on his face softening. "My sister worked for the California Mart—actually, it's the California Market Center now. She lives in the valley but drove to downtown LA for several years to work there as an event planner."
"And now?"
"And now, she's a busy mom of a four-year-old."
"Sadie's mother!"
He nodded, his smile beaming in the firelight. "Indeed."
"You two are close then?"
"We are. She's my little sister and her daughter is her mini-me. They're both spoiled rotten."
"By you?"
"Guilty."
"So sweet. I hope I'm an auntie someday. I suppose I'll have to talk to Jackson and Meg about that." Her face grew warmer. She searched her mind for another subject to discuss. "On another note, I am still thinking about whether to make the manufacturing move from New York."
"You mean because of sales being up in the air?"
Sophia nodded her head, agreeing. "Such a guessing game, right now. All of it."
He kept his eyes on her. "Sophia, it's important to be ready for growth so that when it happens, your company will not crumble under the weight of it." He leaned forward again, this time resting his forearms on his lap. "I think you are doing the right thing considering your options."
"I hope so. I think I am too." But she also knew there were variables, that the marketplace could be fickle. What buyers liked today they could hate tomorrow. Was she ready to take a risk?
Wade's husky voice derailed her thoughts. "May I ask if you plan on staying in California for good?"
She considered his question, knowing she did not have a ready answer. "Right now that is another issue that is up in the air."
He was quiet a moment. "Well, let's hope you are convinced to make a decision very soon."
A half hour later, Sophia wandered into her room, less drawn to sleep than when she had first taken a seat in front of that outdoor fire pit. She pulled a light blanket from the foot of the bed, wrapped it around her shoulders, and padded out onto the deck.
The shudder of waves greeted her as did a gentle sweep of wind. She lowered herself to the cushioned lounge chair and tucked the blanket beneath her bare legs, allowing her thoughts to careen and churn with the waves. Romance lit her soul whenever she thought about this move to California. She'd start fresh in a new place, family by her side, sunlight and blue sky her daily companions. For the most part, all that she had imagined had transpired.
Yet a sense of being adrift in uncharted waters clouded her days. She didn't know what to make of it, or know how to fix it, but it had been her constant companion since day one. She breathed in deeply and sighed, allowing her body to sink into the lounger. If it weren't for the dip in the temperature, she might have stayed curled up out here all night, allowing morning's light to wake her.
She wasn't sure how long she'd been outside when she heard the unmistakable scrape of Christian's slider door open, then shut. Had she been asleep? Or simply lost in thought? She pulled the blanket tighter around her, the fabric cold to the touch. Her eyes had been closed, so she lay there and allowed them to adjust to the night sky.
Christian stood at the edge of his balcony staring into the night, his silhouette visible. His hand rubbed his bearded cheek, yet he continued to concentrate somewhere ahead of him. She bit the inside of her bottom lip. The inn's decks were close enough that a person could hardly avoid seeing another if they were outside at the same time. Though that were true, why did she feel like a voyeur?
A chill ran through her and Sophia pulled the blanket even tighter around her body. Doing so must have stirred up a sprinkle of dust—and she sneezed. And sneezed again.
She recovered in time to see her neighbor’s arms dangling over her side of the balcony, his hair as lopsided as his grin. Though she knew it wasn't polite, Sophia started to giggle.
"Something funny?"
This only made her giggle more. What in the world? A grown woman with a fledgling career as a designer and innkeeper and she found herself ... giggling?
Christian attempted to take on a stern expression, but to her he resembled a young boy who hadn't gotten his way. He couldn't have been funnier if he'd tried. Or cuter.
"You know, Ms. Riley, I feel it is in your best interest to inform you that stalking can get you time in the slammer."
"Sl-slammer?" She laughed so hard that tears fell and she had to use the end of the blanket to wipe them away. "What's a slammer? Do you mean jail?"
"Jail. Pen. Pokey. Big house ... "
"You are just making all that up!"
"I'm a writer. We're not allowed to use the same word twice."
"Ah ha ha. That's hi-hi-larious."
Christian frowned. "Wait. Are you really cold?"
"F-fr-freezing."
"Then what're you ... never mind. Hang on." He disappeared and seconds later returned with a giant comforter. He tossed it over his railing and onto her lounge chair. As she wrestled to come out from under it, the entire deck shook when something landed on it.
Christian stood inches from her.
Sophia tucked the comforter beneath her chin and peered over the top of it. "You jumped over the railing?"
"Sshh," he said, tucking the folds of the blanket around her. "Don't tell the management."
She watched as he pulled up a chair next to her, his bare forearms seemingly unaffected by the frigid exhale of the sea. He reached out and put a hand on the comforter that now embraced her. "Feel better?"
"Much." She'd stopped laughing but couldn't quite remove the smile. "What were you doing out here in the cold?"
He peered at her. "I could ask you the same."
"I had a blankie."
His face broke out in a grin. "Oh, a blankie. I see. And now you have two."
"It would appear so."
He inhaled a deep breath and let it go with an audible sigh. "You told me once that designers get stuck too. Remember that?"
"Mm-hm. Is that what is happening to you tonight? Writer's block?"
He raked his beard, as if the motion helped him form words. "It's not that so much. The story is, well, it's in here.
I can feel it." He put a fist to his heart.
"But you are having trouble putting it to paper."
"Strangely, no. In fact, since I spoke to you about this last, the words have poured out so fast I've had to keep a towel handy to sop up the spillover."
She tipped her head, examining him. "You have an interesting way of saying things."
"From your mouth to readers' ears."
"Is that why you were stargazing tonight? So you could think about your story while looking into the vastness of the sky?"
How could he explain his writing process to her without sounding like an idiot? That he waited around for his muse to show up, like a dog sought a lap? That when she did, he threw himself headlong into the story she whispered to him, until his fingers and back ached and he emerged sweaty and in need of a bath, unsure of how many hours had passed? Instead he simply said, "Speaking of arranging words, I like the way you said that."
"Thank you."
"And to answer your question, I was." He eyed her. "Do you ever think about how things might have been in your life if you'd made different choices?"
More than once Sophia had questioned herself, her choices, her lack of decisions. When she learned of her father's existence, why hadn't she insisted on spending more time with him? Of flying to California and meeting her only brother? But the minute she found herself running down the path of "whys," she also discovered that she would only pick up more questions, like tumbling waves picked up seaweed
When she didn't answer him right away, Christian dropped his chin to his chest and brought his clasped hands to his forehead. Then he caught eyes with her again. "I'm sorry. Something about the night and the stars make me terribly philosophical. Writing has stirred up my brain, I guess, making deeper thoughts difficult to avoid.
"I would like to read one of your books," Sophia said, struck with the sudden thought.
He was quiet for several seconds, his chin now resting on those clasped hands. "And I would love to know what you think."
"Oh, I don't know ... I can be fairly critical."
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