“The changes are coming along nicely!” Gladys said to Callie as she shuffled across the little road that sat quietly between their two beach cottages. She was in her sandals with the little wedge heels. Her familiar perfume overpowered even the briny air when she planted a kiss on Callie’s cheek. While most new neighbors didn’t greet Callie quite that affectionately, Gladys could, because she was like family.
Gladys tipped her head back to view the whole house. “I can tell you’ve been working hard today.”
Having labored all morning on the yard, Callie’s body was sandy and hot. She wiped her forehead with her arm and ran her hands through her long, dark tendrils, her fingers catching on tangles at the ends. Allowing herself to take in a tired breath, she stepped back to survey her work, shielding her eyes from the sun.
The cottage was something out of Callie’s dreams—dark wood shingled siding with white trim; the whole thing was on stilts to keep it safe from the rising tide in storms. It had a long porch across the front with a cascading staircase that Callie loved. She had been working on the walkway and the flowerbeds today, and she could just imagine the cottage as a bed and breakfast once it was finished, with weary travelers resting on rockers or on the upper deck, taking in the view of the island, the sound of the Atlantic lulling them from behind.
On the other side of the house, the rush of ocean waves beckoned, and the warm sea breeze whipped around Callie. The salty wind was always there for her, calming her and bringing her peace. She loved the quiet solitude it provided, the way the sound of it rushed in her ears, making her sleepy. It was hard to get her work done in such a paradise. But she’d managed to clear the plot today of all the overgrowth, leaving mostly sand in its place.
They stepped aside for a passing car, and Gladys watched it suspiciously as if it wasn’t supposed to be on her road. Gladys had lived in the same little cottage across the street for most of her life. She’d weathered more coastal storms than she could count and seen the shift in other nearby villages from remote landscape to the towering cottages and hotels that were eating up the coastline. Despite the changes, she’d never regretted staying for a moment. “It’s just heaven,” she’d said.
“Hello, you two!” Gladys called to Olivia and her son Wyatt on the porch, raising the glass of iced tea she’d brought outside with her. The ice clinked as condensation fogged the surface, causing drips to slide down onto her fingers. There was a lemon wedge floating on the top. “You’re gonna work yourselves to death!” Gladys said.
Wyatt’s head popped up briefly, his red curls wet with perspiration, a grin on his face when he saw his great-grandmother. He was almost hidden except for his head and shoulders behind the large railings as he sat on the porch, pounding nails that had shimmied up from the floorboards, his lips pursed, a crease of concentration between his eyes. At eight, he looked exactly like his mother had at that age, with that brilliant red hair and freckles.
Olivia giggled and shook her head. “We’re fine!” She was repainting the railings a bright white, making the original, peeled paint look gray in comparison. Her hair was pulled up into a bun held by a rubber band at the top of her head, showing her high cheekbones and bright green eyes. She waved to her grandmother.
“We’re not even tired!” Wyatt said, his concentration waning for only a moment before resuming his task. Callie and Olivia had just bought the beachfront property, and there was a lot of work to be done if they wanted to open in time to catch the end of the summer season. With the landscaping and porch rebuild still looming it would be quite a stretch, but they were hoping to unveil The Beachcomber to the public at the end of the month. With the warm temperatures extending into October, it would be just enough time to get their feet wet, testing the market.
Their whole lives, Callie and Olivia had dreamed about having this cottage across from Gladys. They’d seen it on their visits, walked the small path that went beside it down to the beach, and fantasized about what it would be like to live there. When they were older, Olivia had inquired about the property with her grandmother, just out of curiosity, so when it went on the market, Gladys called her immediately. Olivia was on the phone to Callie within minutes to see if they could scrape up enough money together to realize their dream of opening the bed and breakfast. The opportunity was like some sort of amazing dream.
“I’m going to take a lunch break—run into town. Do you need anything?” Callie asked Gladys as she tied her hair back into a ponytail and secured it with the band she’d kept on her wrist.
“Oh, I’m just fine, dear. But I am glad to see you taking care of yourself. A thin girl like you needs to eat or you’ll waste away.”
She smiled with amusement. “Olivia,” she called. “I’m going to stop for a little while and get lunch. Want me to pick something up for you?”
“Wyatt just had a sandwich when we went inside a minute ago, and I’d like to get the front steps painted before I rest,” Olivia said, wiping her forehead, leaving a milky streak of paint and sweat. She and Callie had divvied out the “to do” list according to their talents and timeframe. Callie, who’d always loved the artistic side of things, took the landscaping and interior painting, while Olivia painted a lot of the exterior and handled the demolition.
Gladys fluttered her hand in the air. “I’m heading back in—all this heat. I’m painting some mason jars for flower arrangements. I’ll get back to it. Just wanted to give my old fingers a rest.”
Callie ushered dirt from the front walk back to its proper location with her foot. “Want to go with me anyway, Wyatt?” she asked, worried he might be getting bored.
“No, thanks,” Wyatt said. He was still focused on the unruly nails, his little face pink under his freckles. The porch was completely empty with the exception of a watered-down glass of lemonade on the top step that Wyatt had brought out with him, which wobbled slightly every time he hammered.
He’d been so sweet and helpful since they’d arrived. He’d spent most of the last months of his summer repairing the house. They’d worked all evening one night, and they knew he was tired, but he hadn’t said a thing; he’d just let them work. The moon and stars were so bright that night that it was as if someone had turned a giant light on outside.
Gladys had been working with them that night, and Callie remembered her pulling Wyatt aside, without telling Olivia or Callie what she’d done. “Psst. Wyatt. Look at this,” she’d said. He’d followed her out onto the old walkway leading to the beach. It was shimmering in the moonlight. Wyatt bent down and ran his finger in the sparkles that looked very much like Gladys’s silver glitter.
“What is this?” he’d asked.
Gladys offered a big smile. “Stardust,” she said. “Whenever you’ve had a big day at the beach, you know it’s time to rest when you’ve found the stardust. There’s all kinds of magic here at the coast. You just have to know where to look…”
“Okay then,” Callie called up, returning from the memory.
“You know, it might be a good idea to get us a few sandwiches for dinner though. I’m not sure if I’ll be up for going out to get something, and we’re low on groceries. We’re down to orange sherbet popsicles and a bag of Cheetos,” Olivia said.
“That’s a good idea. I’ll pick something up for later then.” Callie wiped her hands on her shorts and headed to her car where her wallet and keys still were from her trip to the nursery to get shrubs earlier that morning.
Leaving Olivia and Wyatt at the house, Callie waved goodbye to Gladys, who was walking back across the street, and drove toward the small strip of shops that lined the beach. Sandwiched between the towns of Rodanthe and Salvo, the village of Waves, North Carolina was so small that if a person wasn’t careful driving through it, they’d miss it. It was a quiet little town, but it was known for being the home of a group of watersports giants whose offerings attracted people from all over the country. Callie and Olivia planned to reopen the bed and breakfast in Waves, hoping to capitalize on the clientele its watersports brought every summer and hoping there were still people who wanted a small-town seaside escape. She was banking on it.
Callie found a parking spot and got out of her car, her feet still sandy in her flip-flops from pulling spiny weeds all day in the front yard. She grabbed her sunglasses from the center console that held a price quote from a local landscaping company and a receipt for the six pots of thimbleweed she’d planted herself along the stone front walk and by the front picket fence this morning.
She rounded the corner and headed for a place to get a bite to eat. The shops were crawling with people, the summer months in full swing. There was a surfing competition in town, and the tourists had filled the street with a buzzy excitement.
“Excuse me, sir.” She heard a man’s loud voice from up ahead, her attention shifting toward it like it had some sort of magnetic pull. “I’d just like a statement.” A man with an iPad and a bag slung across his body—maybe a reporter of some sort—was parting the crowd hurriedly.
Callie watched for a second, wondering what he was up to. She hadn’t seen that kind of eagerness in this small town before. She quickened her pace, curiosity getting the better of her. In only a few steps, she’d caught up with the man and realized he was nearly chasing someone. She followed him into the small crowd near the shops as she continued to look for somewhere to eat. When she caught sight of the person the reporter was after, Callie recognized him just as he zeroed in directly on her.
“Oh!” he said, linking arms with her. “There you are!”
“What? I—” Callie found herself being hurried along by Luke Sullivan, the multimillionaire heir to the Sullivan fortune. She’d read about him in the local paper. His family had made their money in early real estate development along the barrier islands and expanded nationwide. With Luke’s return to the Outer Banks, heading up their latest project—Blue Water Sailing, one of those watersports giants—he’d brought with him quite a bit of press. Blue Water Sailing had taken off just like the yacht company they also owned, based in Florida. With rumors of his father’s retirement, Luke stood to take over a goldmine, being the Sullivans’ only son. Their daughter, Juliette Sullivan, was pursuing other interests, Callie had read.
Luke’s hand was gently wrapped around her bicep as he led her forward, the face of his Rolex reflecting the sun into her eyes, despite her sunglasses, as the reporter gained speed behind them.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the reporter over his shoulder. “I’m having a… lunch date. I can’t speak to you right now.”
The reporter was still behind them, but he was slowing just a bit. They kept walking briskly. Luke faced forward, his expression determined, as he swept her further down the sidewalk. She noticed that people were looking. Finally, he nearly yanked her into a shop. The door shut behind them, plunging them into the air-conditioned entrance of a small beach art gallery.
Luke let go of her arm, his attention on the door. Callie made eye contact with the salesperson, the woman clearly as surprised as Callie at their entrance.
When it seemed like the coast was clear, Luke stuck his head in Callie’s line of vision. “I’m sorry,” he said, his gaze darting back to the door once more before focusing entirely on her.
She’d seen his face in magazine photos advertising the area for tourists. But he didn’t live like those tourists. He owned what the articles referred to as a “cottage,” but it was more like a castle, a two-million-dollar home that sat on its own acreage, probably a third the size of the entire village, secluded and smack in the sand on the edge of the sea with two pools and a tennis court.
He was tall and perfectly fit, with sandy blond hair falling across his forehead, making him look younger than his age. She’d read that he was only a year older than she was, yet he had an air of experience about him that made him seem so much wiser. He was wearing long, beachy shorts and a casual T-shirt; she could tell by the stitching that they’d cost him a fortune. As he took a small step closer to her, she felt self-conscious. What must she look like right now? Her hair was yanked into a ponytail, her arms still dusted with the soil from the yard. Luke was so impeccably clean and gorgeous as he watched her with those sea-blue eyes of his.
He offered his hand. “Luke Sullivan.”
“Callie Weaver,” she said, still a little dazed.
“That guy wants an interview with me, but I’m worried about the way he’ll spin what I’m saying, so I refuse to talk to him,” Luke said. “He’s been following me everywhere. You saved me.” He smiled, and Callie had to catch her breath.
She jammed her hands in the pockets of her shorts to both keep herself steady and hide the dirt that was probably still under her fingernails from gardening all day. She blinked, trying not to freak out at the fact that she was actually talking to Luke Sullivan.
He turned his wrist over, that enormous watch swinging into view. “I’ve kept you,” he said. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll get you a drink.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said, smiling graciously and then starting toward the door. “It was nice… meeting you.” She allowed her gaze to flicker up to his face again, but she quickly turned back to the door. She was hot and sweaty. The very last thing she wanted was to sit too close to Luke Sullivan and have a drink. She needed lunch and a shower.
“Where were you headed?” He reached around her and grabbed the handle, opening the door for her. They walked out into the noise of tourists and the blinding sunshine.
“I’m just grabbing some lunch to take back with me. I’m renovating a bed and breakfast on Sand Dune Road.”
He stared ahead as he paced beside her on the sidewalk.
“The Beachcomber Bed and Breakfast,” she clarified, but she wasn’t surprised when he didn’t recognize it. It had been closed to the public for years—Gladys had told them—but she continued, her nerves getting the better of her. “Alice McFarlin’s place.”
Finally, a spark of recognition. “Oh yeah, I remember her. She was pretty involved in the town when I was growing up. I saw her everywhere…” he trailed off, clearly wondering about something but he snapped out of it. “Anyway, how about that drink?”
“I’ve been working outside all morning. I’m tired and dirty,” she said, not wanting to be rude and just dismiss his kind offer.
“You have to get lunch anyway, yes? And you’re not going to work while you sit and eat it, right?” Those blue eyes were on her, the edges crinkling with his smile. “I just dragged you down a sidewalk and threw you into a shop. Please let me buy you lunch. It’s the very least I could do.”
His expression was completely gorgeous, but it was also kind.
“I’d like to…” she said calmly. Inside she was a nervous wreck.
Before she could finish, he’d put his hand on her back to guide her across the street. “I’ll introduce you to the very best burger on the beach.”
He came to a stop at a shiny red truck with a surfboard in the back and opened her door before jogging around to his side.
“This is a nice truck,” she said, sliding onto the leather seat and latching her seatbelt.
“It isn’t mine.” Luke started the engine. “I borrowed it to pick up the surfboard.” He nodded in the direction of the truck’s bed.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he pulled onto the road.
He put his blinker on and rounded the curve, making a sharp left. “Somewhere no one will find us.”
She felt her eyes bulging but she was unable to stop herself. She didn’t even know this guy—so what if she’d seen a few ads with him around town? She knew nothing about him. He was driving a vehicle that wasn’t his, she hadn’t told a soul where she was… She set her hand on her thigh, inching toward the cell phone in her pocket in case she needed it. He could be a closet murderer or something. He could be stealing her away only to tie her up against a palm tree and leave her for the… what kind of wild animals roam the beaches in North Carolina? She discreetly twisted around to view his back seat, looking for rope when he caught her eye, the corner of his mouth turning up in amusement.
“You okay?” he asked, before looking back at the road. “This burger place is amazing. It’s small and out of the way, so no reporters.” His voice hung on that last word as if he’d caught on to her thinking, and her cheeks burned. A tiny huff of laughter escaped from his lips, and he glanced back over at her again.
The rest of the ride was quiet as she flip-flopped between sheer embarrassment that he might have been able to decipher her thoughts and utter panic that she was going on a lunch date with Luke Sullivan with paint down her leg. He pulled the truck to a stop in front of a tiny shack of a building and got out. Callie sneaked a quick look at herself in the side-view mirror but this only made her feel more self-conscious.
“Do you mind if I just pop into the ladies’ room for a second?” she asked as he opened the door for her.
She did a little jog toward the bathrooms, leaving Luke with the hostess, and commenced digging in her handbag for her powder and lip-gloss. She hit the tap, the water splashing in the basin, and washed her hands before pulling her ponytail loose and running her fingers through her hair. She looked at herself. Oh well. He’d already seen her like this; she didn’t need to worry about it. A toilet flushed and a woman stepped up behind her, waiting her turn at the sink. After a friendly nod, Callie moved aside and quickly texted Olivia that she’d be later than expected, but after waiting a little while and not getting any response, she headed out to the dining area.
The entire back of the building was open to the beach, with a long bar facing the ocean, a thatched roof, and dangling twinkle lights that must come on when the sun goes down. Luke waved from his seat on the other side, daylight on his face, giving him a glow. The hostess opened the door, allowing Callie access to the barstools that ran along the back of the building on wooden decking built over the beach. It was weathered and gritty from the surrounding sand. Luke reached over and pulled one of the seats out from under the bar for her.
“What are we having to drink today?” the bartender asked. He was wearing an old T-shirt with a faded logo, his slightly longer than average hair tucked behind his ears.
Luke waited for her to make her choice, so Callie grabbed a menu and scanned the long list of cocktails. “Um,” she said, buying time. It had been quite a while since she’d gotten a drink with someone. “A rum and Coke please,” she said, unable to focus on any one of the millions of drink options that were scrawled across the glossy page in electric blue script. This wasn’t that kind of date anyway, she thought. Best to keep it simple—and just the one drink.
“Coconut rum?” the bartender asked.
She nodded.
“And you, sir?”
“Just a beer, thanks.” He nodded toward some sort of import. Then to Callie, he said, “You mentioned a cottage—The Beachcomber? Are you opening soon?”
“My friend Olivia and I are opening it back up at the end of the summer,” she said, relieved at the question. This was a nice, easy topic. She loved talking about The Beachcomber.
Callie hated this part of meeting someone. She much preferred the point when both people felt comfortable enough to sit at a table and eat without needing to fill the silence. She’d always been bad at offering up tidbits of information about her life, preferring to keep all that private.
The bartender slid their drinks toward them. Luke retrieved a couple of loose dollars from his pocket and stuffed them into the tip jar.
“Thanks, man,” the bartender said. “Ready to order?”
Callie wasn’t ready. She hadn’t even looked at the menu yet except for her poor attempt to find a drink. “What do you normally get?” she asked Luke.
“A bacon cheeseburger.”
“I’ll have the same.”
He eyed her inquisitively. “They’re really big,” he warned, a smile twitching at his lips.
His gaze swallowed her in a way that made her feel like she was the only person on the planet. She cleared her throat and looked down at the menu. “That’s fine. I can take the rest home if I don’t eat it.”
He turned back to the bartender and ordered their burgers. When the bartender left to put in the order, Luke swiveled on his bar stool to face her. “If the world ended tomorrow, and I had one last meal, it would be this burger.”
“You would choose a burger as your last meal?” she asked, surprised. “I can think of so many things that I’d have over a burger.”
“You’ve never had this burger.” He tipped his beer up to his lips, and she tried not to watch for fear she’d be goggling at his attractiveness. She liked how easily the conversation was going, how he didn’t put her on the spot.
“You’re very confident,” she said, meaning more by her comment than just his certainty about his choice of last meal.
He took a long look at her before shifting his eyes down to his beer and having another sip from his bottle. “What would you have for your last meal, then?”
“I don’t know if I’d be worried about my meal. I’d be too busy trying to do everything I wanted before the end.” She sipped her rum and Coke, savoring the coconut flavor. . .
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
