Runaway Tide

by Julie Carobini

  By the time he had caught up to her, he was panting like a jackass, his mind unable to provide reason or to suffocate his yearning to spin her toward him and kiss her. Hard. If he were honest, he had dreamed of that moment ever since he had left California, long before his father passed away. When the fantasy presented itself for the taking, he stepped into it with full force, and for a brief few seconds, the fantasy had nothing on that kiss: comfort and sizzle in one. She had kissed him back, no doubt. But when he whispered something … what was it he had said, exactly? That she was stubborn? Her expression had fallen into a torturously flat line. She wrenched herself away from him and began to run again, and he just watched, rooted to the spot. It was as if he had become hyper focused on her movement away from him, as if his one chance to right the wrongs were charging away forever.

  Something, though, caught his eye briefly. What kind of bird was that? He still wasn’t sure. All he could remember was staring after her, his mind in a state of physical and emotional confusion, before catching sight of her being dive-bombed. He called out to her. She spun back around and took off again, her feet catching on a pair of flip-flops buried in the sand. His heart dropped to his gut when she went down, and he took off, skidding into the sand next to her. Agony marred her face, the sound of her pained cry stabbing at him, and any frustration over her accusations had fled.

  Chapter 2

  “What were you running from, anyway?” Her friend Liddy sat curled up on the end of the couch after driving Meg home from the emergency room.

  Meg twisted her mouth and looked away. “You mean who.”

  “Wait … you were running from a who?”

  Meg had managed to dodge this detail—and any mention of “the kiss”—on the ride home. Nor had she told Liddy about the onlookers on the beach who had gathered around her, the ones Jackson had shooed away as the lifeguard and his stretcher showed up. Jackson had driven her to the emergency room, but as soon as she had been safely deposited inside, Meg asked him to leave. She shifted and winced, as much from the pain as from all memory of the incident.

  Liddy leapt up. “What can I get for you? Water? Coffee? Glass of wine?”

  Meg nestled against the mountain of pillows Liddy had piled behind her head. The doctor said she was lucky—though her foot sustained a fracture, the bones did not appear to be displaced. In other words, she might not have to have surgery.

  “Probably shouldn’t mix wine with the meds—tempting as that is.”

  Liddy nodded, her hand migrating to the bump at her abdomen.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” Meg said, weary. “Tell me about my little nephew or niece.”

  “Baby is doing great … and nice try, by the way. I still want to know who you were running from. Though I have my suspicions.”

  “My behavior was horrifying, Lid. I don’t know what happened—no, wait. I do. I snapped. He knew how hard I had been working to nail down a contract with CartCo, so when I heard that he signed them for a better deal and without even consulting me, I lost it.”

  “So, you were running from Jackson … as in, physically running?”

  Meg slid a look at Liddy, whose mouth hung open. She groaned. “You look as incredulous as I feel. Yes! I physically ran from Jackson.”

  “But you … you don’t like running. You’re a yoga girl.”

  “Somehow pulling a star pose didn’t seem like it would be as effective.”

  “Wow. Who knew you had that in you?” Liddy said, lying back as if trying to take it all in. “At least you’re done now with the chef’s world tour.”

  Last year the hotel’s head chef won a spot on the show Celebrity Chef, and Meg had spun that adventure into a marketing gold mine for the small chain by traveling around the country with him as he gave cooking demos at their other properties. Alas, Chef left the company to open his own restaurant, a move that Pepper blamed on Meg. “You made him too popular—too valuable!”

  Meg could never win with that woman.

  “Don’t remind me about all the travel I did.” A flush of something uncomfortable rolled through her. Her mind spun and Meg held back a sob, unsure of whether it was the meds talking or the sobering realization that she might be grounded for a while. “I’m supposed to go to Florida tomorrow.”

  “Well, that’s not happening.”

  “I can’t believe it. Instead of watching amazing sunsets on Siesta Key, I’m stuck on this couch. It fries me that Pepper is going in my place.”

  Liddy’s expression perked. “Really?”

  Pepper’s presence around the inn was relatively new, and most assuredly unwelcome. After William died and it became clear that Pepper would co-lead the company with Jackson, the inn went through some growing pains—a.k.a. disputes between the siblings. Mostly, though, these spats were handled off-site and the staff was blissfully unaware. That is, until both Jackson and Pepper decided to make Sea Glass Inn their home base—and Pepper’s overbearing attitude toward the staff began to surface. “Fine, fine. I know the team will be happy to see Pepper gone. I just wish it were me.”

  “Maybe this is a sign that you should slow down a little. I am horrified that you got hurt—you know I am—but you’re always darting off to faraway places. Maybe all this head time you’re going to have will be good for you. You’ll be able to reflect and pray, and you’ll finally get some much-needed rest so you can heal.”

  Healing. There was a novel thought. Maybe she should jet off to Europe. Whenever William seemed to be having a tough day he would say, “Meg, book me a trip to Italy!”

  She’d laugh and say, “You’re not going to Italy. Too much to do here.”

  He would always shake his head then, a sad little smile on his face. “Ah, but Italy … Italy will always heal!”

  Liddy watched her. “You okay?”

  “Yes, sorry. Lost in thought from all the … medication. If you’re thinking that I plan to sit on this couch all day, though, well, I have no intention of doing that.”

  “I just meant I hope that you cancel some of your trips for a while. I mean, I need my friend here to lie to me when my chin doubles and my varicose veins start showing!”

  “You have Beau for that!”

  “Good thing my husband’s a terrible liar.” She paused. “Things are really going to change. I always thought I’d have children someday but rarely ever thought seriously about what that would be like in the day-to-day.”

  “Aw, you’ll be a great mother.”

  “I know we don’t talk about this very often, but what can I say? I have baby brain these days. What about you, Meggy? Do you want to have kids someday?”

  She turned an answer over in her mind. “That’s not something I’ve thought about much. For me, life is more about seeing the world and booking the next big juicy event.” She glanced at Liddy, who subconsciously rubbed her belly. “Guess that sounds rather shallow, doesn’t it?”

  “Of course not. You do a great job for Sea Glass Inns—I had no idea how good you were until I moved out here and started working with you. Honestly, if you weren’t my best friend I might’ve been a little intimidated by you.”

  Meg winced, but this time not from physical pain.

  “Don’t take that the wrong way. I just meant that you are focused and professional … and have I mentioned sexy?”

  Meg coughed out a laugh. “Stop it! Laughing makes my foot hurt!”

  Liddy put three of her fingers to her mouth, feigning an apology. “Oops. Sorry, hon. I call it like I see it.” She giggled and rested a hand on Meg’s blanketed legs. “Listen, how about I take you and my little peanut to Disneyland after he’s born. Kind of a way to tap into your maternal side.”

  Meg laughed, harder this time. “Or make me never, ever want to have children.”

  “Yeah, I guess the happiest place on earth may not apply to worn-out parents.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I guess it could be fun … “

  “Meg?”

  “Hmm?�
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  “You have actually been to Disneyland, right?”

  Those tears that had threatened to form earlier sprang into action again. “Once. When I was very young. I hardly remember it, though.”

  “With your mom?”

  Meg caught eyes with Liddy. “My dad was there, too.”

  Liddy gave her friend a sobering look. “You never mention him. What was he like?”

  “I-I don’t really know. I was so young when he died. It’s just that when you mentioned Disneyland, I had this strange flashback.”

  “You mean from when you were a kid? What do you remember?”

  She scooched herself up into a seated position, her back still resting against the pillows. “I think we shared pineapple ice cream or something. I remember how cold it was, and how my dad laughed every time I took a bite and jumped up and down so I wouldn’t freeze. Then I’d lean in for more.”

  “That’s a sweet memory. Pineapple froyo is a thing at Disneyland, so … you have a good memory.”

  “Yes, well, it’s one of the few I have,” Meg said. She did not remember much else about her father, and her mother rarely mentioned him—nor did she have pictures of him plastered everywhere. That was fine with her. He must have been a pretty bad guy for her mother to stay silent all these years.

  Liddy slid from the couch and stood. “I’m going to go. You look tired and should get some rest.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  Her friend smiled and leaned her head to one side. “Seriously, promise me you’ll rest. Don’t be too quick to pick up that phone—unless, of course, it’s your best friend calling. Oh—and don’t let me see you at work anytime soon!”

  “Thanks for being here.” She watched her friend leave and lock the door behind her. A yawn slipped out. Then another. When she first arrived home from the hospital, her pain level had made it difficult to think about sleep. But her fatigue had grown, proving to be stronger than the pain—a not unwelcome thought. Her mind and body began to drift from the present, interrupted only once by a call from her mother checking up on her. She took the call and felt herself drifting again. Yet though she longed to wrap herself in slumber and to plant herself deeply into the comforts of home, she knew she would not be able to stay put for too long.

  * * *

  Two days later, Meg smoothed her hand down the side of the pink maxi skirt she had slipped into, which with a heavy, clumsy cast on her foot wasn’t easy. Using one crutch to stabilize her, she buttoned her white blouse and straightened up as much as possible. She glanced in the mirror, taking in the fresh and feminine outfit, and carefully avoided staring at the circles that had formed under her eyes. Faint worry lines marred her forehead, too, likely from the constant presence of residual pain.

  Her phone dinged, announcing that Uber had arrived. Slowly she made her way outside, waving to the driver to wait for her. As it turned out, it took longer to hobble to the car, toss her briefcase on the seat, and lower herself inside than it did to ride over to her office at the inn.

  Hannah, the hotel’s stalwart bell captain, spotted her and motioned for one of the valets to grab a wheelchair, but she waved him off. Hannah came out from behind her desk near the front entrance, frowning. “You sure you don’t want some help, Meg? One of my guys can take you all the way to your office, no problem.” She lowered her voice. “Especially if you want to get in there fast so you won’t be, uh, seen.”

  Meg shook her head, barely pausing. “No. Thank you. I’m good.” Hannah, she decided, had too much time on her hands. The front entry slid open and she swung her foot forward for momentum, careful not to make eye contact with anyone at the front desk. If she could make it past the concierge desk that sat in the center of the hotel’s lobby, she’d be golden.

  “Meg! You’re here!” Too late. Trace scrambled out from behind the desk, gave her a hug, then pulled back, scrutinizing her. “You look peaked.”

  “I am a little tired.”

  “Did you really have to come in?”

  “Duty calls.”

  “That’s for sure.” She paused. “Pepper is taking over your travels for you, right?” Trace’s voice held a hint of hopefulness in it.

  “Yes, Pepper has gone to Florida.”

  Trace blew out a relieved breath.

  “It’s just one trip, Trace.”

  “That all? I’d heard it would be more. Hmm, well, I guess we’ll just count our blessings right now that she’s gone away at all.” Trace took another look at Meg’s cast-bound foot, then caught eyes with her again. “Not that your accident was a blessing or anything.”

  Meg smirked. Her armpits hurt and a shot of pain darted through her leg, reminding her that she was no longer in the comforts of her own home. Maybe she should have given it another day. It was one thing to get bored at home, and quite another to have to be “on” at the office. For the first time since she wrestled herself out of bed this morning, Meg wondered how long she would last.

  Trace reached for the briefcase dangling from Meg’s fingers. “I’ll grab this and walk with you. Where’s your purse?”

  Meg nodded toward the briefcase. “Wallet’s inside.”

  “Smart woman. No sense carrying around two heavy bags when you’re injured.” Trace said they headed for the sales office—Meg’s office would be at the far end of the hall—“What’s your prognosis?”

  “My doctor says that the bones in my foot do not appear to be out of place, so if I can make it for six weeks without putting a lot of pressure on it, I will hopefully be able to avoid surgery.”

  “Thank goodness for that! And how did it happen anyway? Hope it’s a good story—I need a good story right now.”

  Meg gave her head a shake and smiled, grateful for Trace’s upbeat attitude and for the fact that, apparently—and unlike Hannah—she had no idea how she broke her foot. “I tripped over a pair of flip-flops. How’s that for a good story?”

  “Depends. Were they bejeweled or just boring old rubber flip-flops?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Kind of, if you want to imagine who they belonged to.” Trace clucked her tongue. “Will make the whole ugly mess with Jackson so much more fun to re-tell if the flip-flops belonged to a celebrity of some type.”

  Meg stopped. “You already know what happened, don’t you?” she said, looking Trace squarely in the eyes.

  “Only what Thomas told me—he was on his break at the time. Said he saw you go down like a Jenga tower.”

  “Ah.” Thomas worked days as a valet. She remembered him as the one who Liddy dated briefly, before she met Beau. “I’m fodder for the staff now, I take it.”

  Trace put her hand on Meg’s shoulder. They had just arrived at her office door. “If it helps any, he thought about running over there and saving you himself, but then Jackson dove into that sand right next to you. Said the boss looked pretty freaked so he backed away … you were in good hands already.”

  Meg glanced at her door, then at Trace. She raised her brows. “Would you mind?”

  “Of course!” Trace threw open the office door and waited for Meg to enter.

  Meg gasped, her eyes taking in the plethora of pillows, woolen throws—and a wheelchair!—all stuffed into her average-sized office. She peeked at Trace, hoping she would tell her that Liddy had come in early to outfit her workspace, but sensed, with a sinking in the pit of her stomach, that Jackson had likely been the one to do some rearranging. It made her nervous.

  She gave Trace an inquiring glance, just in case. Trace shrugged. “Don’t ask me. All this stuff looks new and I only shop at thrift stores.” Trace flopped onto the couch and snuggled into one of the throws. “Well, come on. Might as well get comfy.”

  “That’s not nec—”

  Sally Myers, Jackson’s admin, stepped into Meg’s office from the adjacent sales department. She had been working for Sea Glass Inn for years, first assisting in the engineering department and later moving to sales. She still dressed from a bygone era in lined
knee-length suits, no-frills pumps, and a daily string of pearls. “Lovely to see you, Meghan,” she said, sending a slightly assessing look at Trace who was nearly prone and had wrapped herself in a blanket. “May I help you to the couch?”

  “Sally, do you happen to know where these things came from? The blankets, the pillows”—she swept a hand toward the wheelchair— “the chair?”

  Sally smiled warmly. “Mr. Riley asked me to get them for you. Do you like them? Is there anything else I can add to help you be more comfortable at work?”

  “No, nothing. Thank you, Sally.” She did not plan on staying around one second longer than necessary, but why burden Sally with that information?

  “Oh by the way,” Sally said, stopping short of exiting Meg’s office, “I’ve sent your travel schedule to Ms. Riley, but she is going to need more detail. I know that you prefer to make your own arrangements, so I did my best to give her a rough draft of your agenda. She will, of course, need names and contact numbers so she will be able to reach out to clients as soon as she arrives in each city.”

  “Ms. Riley? Oh, no, no. Pepper will not be meeting with any of my clients on this trip. She will be attending a few trade shows in Florida on my behalf, and maybe checking in on the staff at Sea Castle Inn, but that’s it.”

  “Oh, dear. She asked for your schedule, saying she would be extending her trip to seek out some of your clients since you are, you know, ‘under the weather.’ I assumed you and she had talked.” She fiddled with her pearls. “I am not quite sure what to do now, Meghan. She is our boss, after all.”

  Meg closed her eyes, dizzy. Yes, Pepper was technically one of the bosses, but Meg had a hard time accepting her. Except for her apparent financial expertise, she was nothing like her kindhearted father. From the day she stepped on-site at Sea Glass Inn, Meg had sensed a deeper disruption where Pepper was concerned. She was a numbers woman and seemed to guide her every decision by the bottom line, ignoring the needs of the staff, and often, those of the guests too. Whereas Meg felt like a resident of Venus to Jackson’s home planet of Mars—Pepper always seemed to be from another galaxy altogether.