Sand Jewels (The Wishes Series)

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  “It’s a place in France called Dieppe,” I replied. “There’s a grand old castle that sits high up on a cliff.”

  He restudied the half-finished painting. “You’ve been there?”

  I walked over and stood beside him. “Not for a long time.”

  “And you remember this kind of detail?”

  “Not all of it,” I conceded. “I had to reference a few books.”

  “It’s amazing, Gabs,” he praised.

  “It’s no Claude Monet. His painting of the Dieppe cliffs was so good that it was stolen – twice.”

  Alex glanced across at me and smiled. “I think this is worth stealing. As soon as you’re done, I’m going to swipe it, just so you’ll know how good it is.”

  A small giggle escaped me. “Thank you. I’d be honoured to have you steal my work.”

  “Why aren’t you painting a place you can see?” he asked curiously. “There are plenty of places around here worth painting.”

  “I know, but after a year of being here, I think I’ve covered the best ones.”

  He glanced at me as if I’d just sworn at him. “Impossible.”

  “It’s true. I’ve painted the cliffs, the beach, the fields, the ocean, all of it.”

  Alex reached down and picked up and handful of brushes off the side table. “Pack you bags, sweetheart. We’re going on a road trip.”

  I grinned widely, doing nothing to hide my excitement. “What do I need to take?”

  “Paint, canvas and sensible shoes.”

  ***

  He wasn’t kidding about the sensible shoes. If I’d known that our road trip would involve an hour of uphill hiking through a national park, I might have reconsidered agreeing to go.

  “How much further?” I panted, trudging along behind him.

  I really had no right to complain. Alex was the one carrying my bag of art supplies. All I had to carry was myself.

  I’d decided against taking paint. My setup wasn’t exactly mobile. If by chance we ended up somewhere inspirational, I’d draw it and paint it later.

  “Be quiet and keep walking.” Alex stopped walking for the hundredth time to let me catch up. “You wouldn’t be so out of breath if you weren’t using it all to complain.”

  “This place had better be magnificent, Alex,” I grumbled.

  He grinned back at me. “The harder the access, the sweeter the find, Gabs.”

  The access was definitely hard. I’d lost my bearings half an hour earlier when the bush became too thick to see through. I took heart in the fact that we still seemed to be walking along a fairly well worn trail and Alex didn’t look scared or lost.

  When we finally broke through to a clearing, I realised he was right. The find was sweet. From where we stood, we could see the whole town, and the ocean beyond it. I’d looked up at the massive hill behind the town many times. I’d even painted it – but I never imagined climbing it. Until today, I didn’t even think it was possible. Even from a distance, the bush looked impenetrable. And we’d just conquered it.

  “What do you think?” Alex asked, dumping my bag on the ground.

  I kept my focus ahead. “I think I want to beat my chest and let out a triumphant cry.”

  He huffed out a quick laugh. “Settle down, Tarzan,” he teased. “Paint me a picture instead.”

  I crouched down, unzipped my bag and took out the two sketchpads I’d packed. “We’re drawing today. I’ll share my pencils with you,” I offered.

  Alex shook his head. “I can’t draw.”

  “And I couldn’t swim,” I retorted. But thanks to him, I’d finally learned. We’d been back to the black fairy lake many times. Once it got too cold to swim naked, Alex presented me with my very own wetsuit. It was bright pink and according to him, very unfashionable.

  “Never wear it on a public beach,” he warned me. “They’ll slay you and I won’t save you.”

  I didn’t care. I thought it was fabulous. My swimming ability had become fabulous too. I was now an accomplished dogpaddler. Like my wetsuit, it wasn’t sexy to look at but at least I could now save my own life if I ever fell into deep water.

  I handed him a sketchpad and two pencils.

  “Why two?” he asked naively.

  “One is lighter than the other,” I explained. “You might want to do some shading.”

  He huffed out a sharp laugh. “Stickmen don’t need shading.”

  “Draw what you can see, Alex.” I threw out my arms. “Look out there. You see the beauty in it, don’t you?”

  “Of course.” He smiled. “That’s why I brought you here.”

  I glanced around, trying to find somewhere to sit down. “Sit with me and draw it then.”

  “I am not sitting with you,” he scoffed. “You might see that my drawing is far more awesome than yours, steal my ideas and go on to make a fortune.”

  I giggled at his silliness. “Fine. You sit there.” I pointed to a large mossy rock behind him and walked a few metres away to claim my own. “I’ll sit here.”

  Alex’s eyes remained fixed on me while I sat down, flipped open my pad and began to draw. He finally followed suit, taking up position on the rock, sketchpad in hand.

  “What am I supposed to draw?” he asked in a whiny voice I never usually heard from him.

  “You have free run. It’s art.”

  “And what is art, Gabs?”

  I lowered my sketchpad and pointed to the view in front of us. “Art is beauty. Look out there and paint what you find beautiful.”

  “And wh- ”

  I cut him off. “Art is quiet too, Alex. Beautiful and quiet.”

  I saw him grinning at me from the corner of his eye. I fought hard not to smile too.

  Unbelievably, he managed to keep quiet for the next half hour. I stole the occasional glance, surprised each time to see him actually drawing. By the time I’d finished my picture, I was desperate to see his.

  “Finished?” I asked.

  “No,” he huffed, feigning annoyance. “Be quiet and let me draw.”

  I gave him a few more minutes, but was soon at the point of exploding. I stood up and walked over to his rock. The second I reached him, he flipped his pad shut and stood up, holding it high out of my reach.

  “Show me,” I ordered.

  He narrowed his eyes, holding his sketchpad against his chest. “Show me yours first.”

  I handed it to him.

  “Do you even know how clever you are?” he asked, alternating glances between the picture in his hand and me.

  I could feel the heat of embarrassment burning my cheeks. “Show me yours.”

  “Are you sure you want to see it? I don’t want you to feel inferior.”

  I snatched the sketchpad from him so quickly that he nearly lost his grip on mine. I spun around out of his reach so I could check out his drawing.

  He wasn’t kidding when he mentioned stick figures. He’d drawn something that almost resembled a person – female I think. She had stick figure boobs. It had taken him forty-five minutes to draw stick figure boobs.

  “Well?” he asked. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

  I spun back to face him. “Is it a person?”

  He dropped his head. “It’s a woman. A beautiful coppery haired French woman,” he explained theatrically. “If you’d given me coloured pencils, it would’ve been obvious.”

  I matched his laugh with one of my own. “Is it me?”

  Alex stalked over to me and pulled the sketchbook from my grasp. He dropped both books down on the rock behind me and drew me in close. “You told me to draw something beautiful,” he murmured against my mouth. “I don’t think I did you justice.”

  I stretched up, linked my arms around his neck and kissed him with all I had. “I love you, Alex Blake,” I declared, finally breaking free.

  “Let’s keep it real, sweetheart,” he quipped. “You only love me for my art.”

  12. FLOWERS

  I loved September in Australia, and there w
as no better place to be than my cottage. My little garden burst with colour. I’d lost count of the different kinds of flowers on display.

  One of the great parts of having Alex for a boyfriend was the fact that he was very handy in the garden. He mowed my lawn, pruned trees and kept my woodheap stocked. Even greater, I got to watch him do it. There was no sexier sight than Alex Blake swinging an axe, especially when he’d been at it a while and had taken his shirt off. For my own selfish reasons, I always asked him to do it on a Friday afternoon. It was a ploy that benefited both of us.

  He wasn’t any help when identifying flowers, though. I picked a small purple flower, waved it at him and asked him what it was.

  “I don’t know, Gabs,” he replied. “A purple flower?”

  I smiled at him. “You are no help.”

  Alex took the flower from me and tucked it behind my ear. “I know someone who could tell you what most of these are.”

  I was delighted by the prospect. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” His handsome face twisted a little. “She’s knowledgeable but difficult to deal with.”

  The demon child. Surely not!

  “Is she also moody and easily aggravated?”

  “That about sums her up.”

  I couldn’t imagine Charli knowing a thing about flowers, but I was prepared to humour him. “Do you think she’ll come here and tell me about them?”

  He shrugged. “I can ask her.”

  I wasn’t expecting to hear another word about it but Alex somehow got Charli to come through for me. Just an hour after leaving, he returned to the cottage, demon sister in tow.

  I met them on the porch and the games began. Charli knew nothing of my relationship with Alex. As far as she probably knew, we weren’t even friends.

  Alex looked understandably nervous. His biggest mistake was not giving me the heads-up by cluing me in on the story he’d spun to get her there. I was flying blind.

  “Ah, I explained to Charli that you needed some help identifying the flowers in your garden,” he began. “We spoke about it the other day…. when you came into the café…. for coffee.”

  For a man who was determined to keep our relationship a secret, he was doing a terrible job of it. He was also pleading with me to save him by rapidly blinking his eyes.

  I stepped off the porch and started walking toward the garden. “I’m so glad you remembered, Alex,” I said casually. “I’d forgotten all about it.”

  Both Blakes followed me. Charli still hadn’t spoken. I could feel Alex’s panic because of it.

  I turned back to face them. “I really appreciate this, Charli,” I said sweetly.

  Her shoulders moved as she shrugged. Her facial expression did not. “No big deal. What do you want to know?”

  “Well,” I picked one of the small purple flowers. “Do you know what this is?”

  “You shouldn’t pick them.” Charli shook her head. “It’s wasteful. Don’t pick them without reason. If you leave them where they are, you’ll get to enjoy them for longer.”

  Feeling suitably chastised, I cleared my throat. “Do you know what they are?”

  “They’re orchids,” she replied.

  I glanced at Alex, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I knew what an orchid looked like. The flower I’d picked was small and spindly – nothing like an orchid. I held off on the eye rolling but something in my expression still gave me away.

  “They’re orchids, Mademoiselle,” she repeated, less pleasantly than before. “They’re native orchids.” She began pointing out other flowers, none of which looked particularly similar. “And so are those and those and those. The one behind your ear is called a Caladenia, but it’s still an orchid.”

  I made a quick grab for the flower tucked behind my ear, wondering what she’d say if she knew her brother had put it there.

  Alex was must’ve been thinking the same thing. I glanced past Charli to him, immediately noticing that he was blushing. I’d never seen him blush before.

  “These are called Clematis,” continued Charli, pointing to a bush of tiny pink flowers at the edge of the rockery. “They can be pink, white or purple.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” she replied dully. “The Clematises belong here. They suit you.” The look on her face was strange, as if she regretted saying it.

  I couldn’t help questioning her. “They suit me?”

  “They signify mental beauty and art,” she explained in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

  I stole another glance at Alex. He wasn’t blushing anymore. If anything, he looked as proud as punch.

  The notoriously sullen girl managed to drop the demon act for the next fifteen minutes as we walked through the garden. I learned more than I could’ve learned in a whole season of researching it on my own.

  Apparently, peonies signify shame and bashfulness. Daisies denote innocence and irises are what you send when you want to let someone know that you have a message for them.

  “That is extraordinary, Charli,” I truthfully praised. “How do you know this?”

  She briefly turned back to Alex before answering. “It’s just a hobby,” she said humbly. “Alex once gave me a book about flowers.”

  He looked embarrassed again. I gave him the tiniest smile I could muster.

  “Well, I think it’s an amazing talent,” I told her. “Do you have a favourite?” She pointed to the garden. “The tulips. They’re important in any garden. You should probably plant more.”

  I turned to look at the sea of flowers behind me. The garden bed was full to the point of overflowing.

  “I don’t think I have any room.”

  “There’s always room for more tulips, Mademoiselle,” she replied.

  It took all I had not to question Alex when I noticed him wink at her. I suddenly felt decidedly out of the loop but held my tongue. I’d probably pushed my luck to the limit where Charli was concerned. She’d been extremely helpful and borderline pleasant.

  I thanked her instead – and Alex for no other reason than continuing with our stupid charade.

  It was then that she floored me with a most unexpected offer. “You should come to our house some time soon,” suggested Charli. “Our tulips are having a great run at the moment.”

  “Oh, I’d like that,” I stammered.

  She shrugged. “Cool.”

  Cool indeed. She’d unwittingly just given me permission to visit my boyfriend at his house for the very first time.

  13. BELIEVING

  I’d often wondered what Alex and Charli’s house looked like. There was something remarkably sordid about the fact that I hadn’t yet visited.

  More than once I’d made Alex describe it to me. From what I knew, it was just a little bit bigger than the cottage and nowhere near as stylish. He’d seemed embarrassed when telling me that part but his demeanour soon changed when he explained how he’d spent two years bringing it back from ruin.

  “It was a dump when I bought it,” he told me. “Charli was only little. It was hopeless trying to get anything done while she was there. I probably could’ve had it finished a year earlier if she hadn’t insisted on helping me paint.”

  I smiled at his reminiscing and then I felt a little sad. At an age when most young men are out living it up, he was renovating a house with a toddler so they’d keep a roof over their heads.

  “How old were you?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Twenty-one or two.”

  Stories like that made me want to never stop kissing him. It also made my mind spin in strange directions. I sometimes daydreamed, imagining a house full of kids with messy hair and cheeky smiles.

  Reality usually dragged me back quite quickly. Considering I hadn’t even visited his home yet, planning babies was probably jumping the gun.

  ***

  I managed to hold off going out there for a whole day. On Sunday morning I texted Alex and asked for directions. It was ludicrous that I didn’t know where h
e lived.

  It took me fifteen minutes to get there. I would’ve made it in ten if I hadn’t taken a wrong turn and ended up at the front gates of an alpaca farm. Until then, I hadn’t even known there was an alpaca farm in Pipers Cove.

  Eventually I bounced my small car up the rough gravel driveway and parked next to Alex’s Ute. I felt like a nervous schoolgirl heading to a blind date. Having Alex meet me on the veranda put me at ease the tiniest bit. I wanted to lurch forward and kiss him, and then remembered I had a part to play.

  I wasn’t madly-in-love Gabs today. I was Mademoiselle Décarie who was supposed to be desperately keen to check out the tulip blooms.

  I nervously smoothed down the back of my hair as I climbed the front steps.

  “Relax, Gabs,” beamed Alex. “Charli’s not here.”

  I took a breath for the first time since getting out of the car. “Where is she? She was supposed to be here to show me the tulips.”

  He shrugged, still grinning. “She got a better offer. She’s at Nicole’s.”

  I was almost relieved to hear that irresponsible, thoughtless Charli was back in pole position. For some reason, she was easier to deal with than the marginally sweet version I’d met with a few days earlier.

  Alex gripped my waist and drew me in close, kissing me intently. “I still want to see the tulips,” I said, breaking free.

  Keeping his hold on me, he straightened up and pointed down to the garden that sloped down the hill.

  I blinked a few hundred times to make sure what I was looking at was real. I couldn’t believe I’d missed it on the way up to the house. A gorgeous sea of red and orange blooms covered a huge area.

  “You planted them?” I asked in disbelief.

  Alex let out a low chuckle. “Every single one of them.”

  “Why so many?”

  He tightened his hold and whispered in my ear. “Because fairies use them as beds for their babies.”

  I’d been with Alex for nearly six months. In that time, he’d regaled me with a handful of stories that I assumed he’d made up to suit the situation. It always struck me that they rarely had happy endings. One particular story about a fairy feeding her lover crushed glass to kill him as punishment for breaking her heart had nearly reduced me to tears.