Lake Season

by Denise Hunter

  “Molly!” Grace hollered up the staircase, loud as you please. “Molly, come here!”

  Molly started to reprimand her, but what was the point? They had no guests tonight anyway.

  Still, she got up from the bed and padded over to the railing. “Have you ever heard of an indoor voice? Or texting? I could’ve been—”

  “You have to come here! Right now.” Grace dashed toward the living room.

  Molly rolled her eyes even as she followed orders. Recipe crisis? Nail emergency? Local tragedy? No, she wouldn’t think that way. Grace seemed excited, not upset. Maybe she’d booked a winter wedding party. That would be worth whooping over.

  But when Molly entered the living room, Grace and Levi were standing behind the couch, staring at the TV, blocking her view.

  Levi turned to her. “Did you know about this?”

  “Know about what?”

  And then she saw it. Him. On the TV. He looked so handsome in a V-neck sweater with a collared shirt. Her heart stuttered at the sight. He looked a little nervous. Well, who wouldn’t be? He was on national TV.

  “What is this?” she croaked.

  “Adam is that author you love,” Levi said.

  “Turn it up, turn it up!” Grace said.

  Levi complied.

  Adam’s words reached Molly’s ears, that familiar low voice making her heart turn over in her chest.

  “I was just channel surfing and there he—”

  “Shhhh!” Molly and Grace said.

  On the screen Adam paused, nudging up his glasses. The familiarity of that gesture sent a ripple of longing through her.

  “That’s a good question, Martina,” Adam was saying. “I guess the most authentic answer is that I’m known for writing larger-than-life heroes—and yet I’ve always felt so ordinary myself.”

  Martina Lopez appeared on the screen, wearing that infamous compassion like a cozy sweater. “Is that why you wanted to keep your identity a secret?”

  “I guess when it comes down to it I was a little afraid of disappointing my readers.”

  The camera focused on Martina. “It’s hard to believe that an author who has, literally, millions of fans might be dealing with any level of insecurity.”

  “And yet I was. I write characters who deal with all sorts of issues because it’s real. It’s true. We all have flaws we have to sort out and obstacles we need to overcome. That’s just part of life.”

  “And yet here you are, on the release date of your highly anticipated next novel, on national TV, telling the world who you are. What happened to change your perspective?”

  Adam paused, breaking eye contact with the host. A sheen of perspiration had broken out across his forehead.

  Molly was rooting so hard for him she wanted to jump in front of the camera and answer for him.

  “A lot happened to me this summer,” Adam said finally. “Personal things I’d rather not get into. Suffice it to say I met a lot of amazing people, and I learned so much about myself. But mostly I’ve come to realize that we’re all just ordinary people.”

  “So this sort of coming-out . . . It’s going to be life-changing, you know. You have millions of readers, and now they know who you are, what you look like. Do you think you’re ready for that?”

  “I hope I am. I know it feels authentic. It feels freeing to be honest about who I am. And while my desire for anonymity may have allowed me to live in comfortable obscurity for a while—it also cost me the one thing I most value.”

  Martina tilted her head. “And what is that?”

  Adam gave a wistful smile, those intelligent eyes glittering under the studio lights. “Love,” he said simply.

  Martina’s dark eyebrows rose. “It sounds as if that might apply to someone in particular.”

  He gave a furtive smile. “It definitely does. But I’m not telling all my secrets tonight.”

  “And there we have it,” Martina said. “The mysterious and elusive author Nathaniel Quinn—still a bit of a mystery. And maybe that’s exactly as it should be.”

  The camera panned out as the show’s theme music began, then Martina wrapped up the segment.

  Molly’s hand was clutching the material of her pajama top. Her breaths were shallow. She was unable to tear her eyes from the screen even after the network broke for a commercial.

  Adam had just revealed his identity. On national TV no less. Molly wondered at the courage that act had taken. He’d just changed the rest of his life. More important was the motivation behind the act: Adam had obviously come to a place of peace about who he was.

  Because of Benjamin Schwartz. Because of that letter. Perhaps a little bit because of Molly herself. But mostly because God had sent him on a journey of discovery this summer.

  All things work together for the good of those who love God . . .

  Gooseflesh raced down Molly’s arms.

  She thought of Lizzie and Ben, needlessly separated from each other. She thought of her parents, taken from her so suddenly.

  But Adam was still here.

  “Did you know?” Levi’s question snapped her from her reverie. “Did he tell you?”

  Molly gave a wistful smile. “Yes, he told me.” In Italian.

  Grace grabbed her arm. “He was talking about you, wasn’t he? He’s in love with you.”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  But she did know, didn’t she? She remembered the look on his face last week just before he’d pressed that kiss to her hand. She remembered his exquisite kindness and the last overture he’d made that night in the park. It must’ve taken such courage for him to try again.

  And she’d told him no.

  Why in the world had she told him no? Sure, she was still afraid. Nobody liked having her heart broken. But why was she letting fear keep her from the thing she wanted most? Isn’t that just what Adam had been doing all these years—hiding from the public? She’d been hiding from love.

  He’d been brave. She could be brave too.

  Molly turned toward the stairs. “I have to go now.”

  “What are you doing?” Levi asked.

  “I need to see him.”

  “Ever heard of the phone?” Grace asked.

  “I can’t do this over the phone.”

  “You can’t drive all night either.” She heard the worry in Levi’s voice. “That’s not safe. Wait till morning.”

  Molly stopped at the first step. “There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep tonight anyway.”

  “Give me five minutes,” Grace said. “I’ll book you a flight.”

  “I don’t have that much in savings.”

  “You’re in love with the man, and anyone could see he makes you happy. We’ll pitch in, true love and all that.” Grace gave her brother a pointed look. “Won’t we, Levi?”

  Levi sighed, looking hard at Molly. After a moment his eyes began softening.

  Molly could almost see his purse strings loosening, one stiff thread at a time.

  “For once I agree with Spendy here,” Levi said reluctantly. “Go ahead and book the flight, little sis.”

  forty-eight

  Adam’s morning had been as chaotic as he expected. He’d been on the phone, starting early with drive-time radio interviews, scarfing down breakfast between shows. Having seen the coming wave of publicity, Rosewood had arranged a landline to be installed in his flat yesterday.

  After last night’s reveal, Jordan had gotten calls and emails from all the major national networks. It seemed everyone wanted an interview. His publisher was over the moon at all the publicity opportunities and was already rushing to a second printing.

  A last-minute release tour was in the works too. Adam would leave next week on a thirty-day tour. He’d requested a stop in Knoxville and Austin because he had personal business there. He’d been tempted to suggest Charlotte or Asheville too, but why torture himself?

  In light of his upcoming schedule Rosewood had even offered to extend the deadline on his work-in-progress.<
br />
  But the story was burning like an inferno inside him. He’d gotten up at three, restless, and had penned the first words of his new novel. The first four chapters had poured out of him before his first radio interview, and he couldn’t wait to get back to it.

  This amazing feeling of inspiration and freedom was dampened only by his grieving over Molly. He missed her. He’d never missed anyone so much in all his life.

  Adam chased the thought away as he paced his kitchen. He was currently on hold while WOWO out of Fort Wayne, Indiana, broke for commercial.

  “And we’re back with Adam Bradford—AKA bestselling author Nathaniel Quinn,” the DJ said. “Adam, you just had a book release . . . Under the Starry Sky. Looks intriguing. Tell us a little about the story and what inspired it.”

  Adam went into automatic, describing the plot as succinctly as possible and going into the back story. It was set near his hometown in Texas and inspired in part by a childhood friend who’d served in the Marines and lost a limb in Afghanistan.

  He was answering another question about the book when his doorbell rang. Adam frowned at the door. He’d placed a hold on his landline and shut off his cell so he wouldn’t be interrupted during the live shows. But he hadn’t thought to put a Do Not Disturb sign on the door.

  Hopefully it was UPS or FedEx, and they’d simply drop the package and go.

  But no, the doorbell rang again. Adam cringed at the background noise. He rushed across his apartment, regretful for the first time of the spacious living area. He twisted the lock, trying to follow the host’s line of questioning, and whooshed open the door, already lifting his shushing finger.

  His breath froze in his lungs. His finger paused midair. His brain ceased functioning, and his chest tightened until he thought he might be having a heart attack at the ripe old age of thirty. But no, that was just anxiety talking. Adam blinked, in case he was hallucinating.

  Molly gave a sheepish smile and waggled her fingers.

  Nope. Still there.

  Molly.

  In the city.

  Standing right here on his doorstep. For all of ten seconds now.

  He opened the door wider and gestured her inside. The apple-y scent of her wrapped around him like a favorite memory.

  “Mr. Bradford, are you still there?” the DJ was asking.

  The interview. Dead air. “Um, yes, sorry. Go ahead.”

  “I was just asking about your writing process. Do you plot out your books or do you tend to write by the seat of your pants?”

  “Right, right.” Adam waved Molly toward the sofa, soaking up her presence.

  She really was here in his apartment. She must’ve seen the interview. Which meant she’d heard him talk about love. Heat flooded his face. Why had he mentioned that? On the other hand . . . She was here, wasn’t she? That seemed promising.

  Dead air. He gave his head a shake, facing the wall of windows so he could concentrate.

  “Ah, I’m definitely a plotter.” Adam managed to rattle on about his process for a solid minute before he let himself look at Molly again. She gave him a nervous smile. She was twisting her purse straps. Biting her lip.

  “And that’s about it, as far as my writing process goes.” He had to wrap this up. “I really appreciate your taking the time to interview me this morning, but I, ah, I have to go now.” He winced at the clumsy ending, but it couldn’t be helped. How could he possibly think straight with Molly sitting here, watching him?

  And why exactly was she here again?

  “Uh, of course,” the DJ said. “Thank you for joining us, Mr. Bradford.”

  The DJ began wrapping up the show, including all the information about his book, website, and upcoming tour, which would make his publicity team happy.

  * * *

  Molly’s heart was hammering against her ribs as Adam paced the gigantic room. His apartment was luxurious, all beige and black, leather and steel, with clean simple lines.

  There were a few pictures and personal effects strewn about. A photo of Adam on a gondola ride with, presumably, his mother. Venice. Adam with an older couple in a mountain setting. A quilted throw that looked out of place on his sophisticated sofa. A stack of magazines and such. Oh, those were from Bluebell. She spotted their local things-to-do directory and the brochure for the Bluebell Baptist Youth Camp. There was a phone number scrawled in Adam’s neat handwriting.

  She blinked at it.

  And then Adam was hanging up the phone. He set it on the nearest table. “Molly . . .” he said finally. “You’re here.”

  The scrape of his voice abraded her heart. “It was you,” she said.

  “What?”

  She gestured toward the pamphlet. “The youth camp. You were the anonymous donor. The one who saved the camp.”

  He ducked his head, pushed up his glasses.

  She should have known. He was nothing like her ex-boyfriend. While Dominic had practically shouted to the world that he had the means and desire to save the camp, Adam had just quietly gone about it. So Adam.

  “I can’t believe you’re here.” Adam perched on an overstuffed armchair across from her. Too far away. Looking right at her.

  His appraisal sent her heart into overdrive. He looked amazing in a white button-up, rolled up at the sleeves. His six o’clock shadow and tousled hair gave him that derelict, Ryan Gosling, end-of-The-Notebook vibe.

  But unlike Noah Calhoun, Adam’s disheveled appearance no doubt had more to do with a sudden life change than a heartbreak over a woman. Over her.

  But was he glad to see her? Even just a little? She thought she’d be able to tell at first glance. But he’d been on the phone—a radio interview, no less—and his expression had given away nothing. Well, surprise. There had definitely been that.

  “I’m sorry I interrupted your interview. I should’ve called.” Because maybe he was going to reject her, and wouldn’t that have been so much easier to handle over the phone?

  He was looking at her with an inscrutable expression. What she wouldn’t have given for just a little clue to his thoughts.

  “What are you doing here, Molly?”

  Her laugh was too loud in the quiet space. “Good question.”

  She was starting to wonder that herself. Because Adam was suddenly the most intriguing man in pop culture. Millions of readers were clamoring for more of him. Female readers. Unfortunately, she hadn’t really thought of that until now. His talk of love on last night’s interview might’ve even been a publicity stunt. Also a new thought—and not a happy one.

  “I assume you, ah, saw the interview?”

  “Yes, the last bit, at least.” Molly shook her head. “I still can’t believe you were on national TV.”

  “I’m still coming to grips with that one myself.”

  “It’s great, though, Adam. Obviously it’s paying off big . . . radio interviews, a book tour . . .”

  “It’s been a little crazy around here this morning.”

  “Right. Again, I’m sorry to disrupt your morning, and I hope I can say this without sounding condescending but . . . I’m really proud of you, Adam. A little in awe too, frankly. That took tremendous courage—and that’s coming from someone who’s been working on that particular trait. You make it look easy. I’m babbling. Sorry. I guess I’m nervous.”

  “Trust me, I can relate.”

  Nervous for last night’s interview or nervous right now, with her? And all this talk of courage reminded her she’d flown all this way for a reason. She had something to say that couldn’t be said on the phone. And just because she was suddenly feeling uncertain and insecure didn’t mean she could just call it off. She was working on courage, and come hell or high water, she was going through with this.

  “Adam, I heard what you said about, uh, love.” She stared at her fingers because she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. “I don’t know how much of it was . . . Well, I guess it doesn’t matter anyway because I’m going to say what I came to say even if—is it h
ot in here?”

  The air in her lungs felt hot and stuffy. The back of her neck was warm, as was her face and everything but her hands, which were strangely cold.

  “My flat faces the east, and sunny mornings can raise the temperature by as much as seven degrees.” He got up and pointed a remote, and the blinds slid neatly over the windows with a quiet hum.

  “Oh, that’s handy.”

  “I can turn up the air if you like.”

  The closing shades instantly changed the room’s temperature and mood. “No, that’s good. Thank you.”

  She got up, too nervous to remain seated anymore, and walked toward him, reminding herself with every step to be brave. She stopped when she was an arm’s length away and forced herself to meet his gaze.

  “So I flew a long way to be here, and you must be wondering why. The thing is, I heard what you said, about love, I mean, and I don’t know if you meant it or not, but I knew with sudden clarity that I’d made a mistake before—that night in the park. I was afraid—just like you were of revealing your identity, only I was afraid of getting my heart broken again, given what Dominic did, and I know that’s not really fair to you, but I’m just putting that out there. The thing is, I’ve really missed you since you left, and when I saw you on TV last night, I knew. I just knew.”

  “Knew what?” His voice was low and smoky. And was that an almost smile hovering around those familiar lips?

  “Um, right, that.” Now or never. Fight or flight. Fear or faith. She gazed into his soulful eyes. The pools of blue were as inviting as a swimming hole on a hot summer day.

  “I knew that I loved you,” she breathed. “Still love you, I mean, present tense. I love you. Wow, it shouldn’t be that hard to say it, should it, but I think I’ve felt that way for quite a while now, only I was too afraid to take a leap of—”

  And then his mouth was on hers, strong and firm and confident. And what was a girl to do but lose all train of thought? She threw herself into the kiss with equal abandon, relishing the familiar feel, touch, and taste of him.

  He palmed her face, his fingers pushing back into her hair, sending shivers down her arms. She put her arms around his waist, her hands coming to rest against the hard planes of his back.