by Leighton, M.
I’ve barely finished my sentence before she’s out of my arms, on her feet and blazing off down the beach, her long hair flowing out behind her like midnight flames.
This straight stretch of beach is practically deserted, so I let her run as fast as she wants to. There’s a great likelihood that I’ll have to carry her back, but I don’t mind. I treasure any chance I get to hold her close and pretend that nothing in the world could ever take her away from me. Plus, all this exercise means she’ll probably fall asleep in my arms tonight. She’ll be exhausted. I smile at the thought. The perfect end to what’s looking like a nearly perfect day.
Up ahead, Emmy stops several feet from what I now recognize as someone building an elaborate sandcastle. I see her pop her thumb in her mouth, so I speed up. That’s a sure sign of distress for her. That and the way she goes still as a statue, not moving a single muscle. Those are the only outward signs of her condition.
Without looking back, as though she can sense my presence when I stop at her side, she reaches for my fingers with her free hand, squeezing them as tightly as she can.
I squat down, something I’ve learned is soothing to her. When she’s anxious, she likes to be able to hide. While she’ll tuck herself behind my legs if I’m standing, she relaxes more quickly if I’m down on her level where I can hold her.
She surprises me when she doesn’t turn into my chest and bury her face like she usually does in these situations. Instead, she stands perfectly still, watching the man who’s on his hands and knees constructing the castle. His back is to us and I doubt he knows we’re here, so intent is he on what he’s doing. Obviously he takes his castling seriously, which gives me ample time to study the scene.
The castle is taller than Emmy and has at least a dozen spires and turrets of various sizes. It’s probably taken him all day to construct it. There are even trees in the “castle grounds” that lead down to the edge of the mote he’s currently digging. The whole thing is pretty impressive. But not nearly as impressive as the guy who’s building it, I learn once I turn my attention to him.
His hands are broad and long-fingered, tanned and capable-looking, as though they’re used often and probably calloused. I follow them up muscular forearms roped with thick veins and bands of sinew, to biceps that bulge against the dark blue cotton of his T-shirt. The material is stretched tight across his wide shoulders, too, which only further accentuates his narrow waist.
I evaluate the man in the same clinical way that I do the castle–with an appreciation for form and structure. Nothing more.
That is, until he turns his shaggy blond head to look at me.
I can tell by the frown that creases his forehead and shades his bright blue eyes that we took him by surprise. Normally I would do the polite thing and apologize, but at the moment my thoughts are as scattered and hard to catch as my breath.
He’s handsome, yes. He’s built well, yes. I’m sure in another life or if I were someone else, I’d be very attracted to him. Only I’m not attracted to men. Or women. Not anymore. I’m not attracted to anyone anymore.
So then why can’t I breathe? Why do I feel like I just fell into a black hole that sucked all the air from the world and dropped hot boulders into my stomach?
He rocks back on his haunches, brushing off his hands almost angrily. My insides do a funny little quiver as he watches me. It’s not really fear or embarrassment; it’s more like…awareness. Extreme awareness.
Emmy stirs where she had gone around behind me to peek over my shoulder, and her movement draws his piercing eyes. After that, I think I cease to exist.
As he stares at her, the color leaves his handsome, golden face, taking with it the frown that he was wearing. His mouth drops open a little and I hear the huff of a breath as he releases it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he looks shocked. I just don’t know why he would be.
He gapes at Emmy for a few long seconds before, wordlessly, he turns away. At first, he does nothing. Doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even appear to breathe. Just continues to kneel, facing away from us, staring at the sandcastle. But then, after a bit, he returns to his mote. He digs into the sand fiercely, almost angrily, and I wonder that his fingers don’t bleed.
I don’t really know whether I should say something or not, so I opt with not. Already he doesn’t seem too thrilled with our presence. Another interruption might be even more poorly received.
Just as I’m rising to sweep Emmy into my arms and carry her back, the man pauses, his head turning as he catches a glimpse of the clump of daisies buried stem-deep in the sand in front of the castle. His shoulders slump visibly. I see his hand start to jut out and then stop, and then start again. He reaches for one flower, plucking it from the bunch and twirling it in his fingers. I know I should leave, leave him to whatever he was doing and thinking before we arrived, but I can’t. Not yet. I can’t, but I just don’t know why.
Finally, he glances back at us, at Emmy. His gaze isn’t too direct, almost as though he knows that too much attention is hard for my daughter. I watch as he extends the flower, his hand shaking the tiniest bit as he holds it out to her. I start to reach for it, but Emmy surprises me by grabbing it herself, her slim little hand easing out to carefully take the daisy from his grasp.
The stranger gives her a small smile and turns away again. He doesn’t get to see the way Emmy’s lips curve around the thumb still stuck in her mouth. He doesn’t get to see the way she watches him afterward.
“Thank you,” I tell him quietly.
He pauses, turning only enough that I can see his strong profile–straight nose, carved mouth, square chin. He nods once and then returns to his excavating, as intent as he was before we interrupted.
Puzzled and flustered, I turn and carry my daughter back the way we came, the scent of fresh-cut daisies teasing my nose and the quiet hum of my child tickling my ear.
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A FINAL WORD
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review and recommending it to a friend. You are more powerful than you know. YOU–the words from your mouth, the thoughts from your heart, shared with others, can move mountains. You make a huge difference in the life of an author. You have in mine. You do every day, which brings me to my gratitude, my overwhelming, heartfelt gratitude.
A few times in life, I’ve found myself in a position of such love and appreciation that saying THANK YOU seems trite, like it’s just not enough. That is the position that I find myself in now when it comes to you, my readers. You are the sole reason that my dream of being a writer has come true and your encouragement keeps me going. It brings me unimaginable pleasure to hear that you love my work, that it has touched you in some way, that it has made life seem a little bit better for having read it. So it is from the depths of my soul, from the very bottom of my heart that I say I simply cannot THANK YOU enough, which I say a lot of in this post.
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Other books by M. Leighton on Amazon
All the Pretty Lies ** All the Pretty Poses
All Things Pretty ** All Things Pr
etty (part two)
Down to You ** Up to Me
Everything for Us
Pocketful of Sand
Strong Enough ** Tough Enough
Brave Enough
The Wild Ones ** Wild Child
Some Like It Wild ** There’s Wild, Then There’s You
YA and PARANORMAL
Fragile
Madly ** Madly & Wolfhardt
Madly & the Jackal ** Madly Boxed Set
Blood Like Poison: For the Love of a Vampire
Blood Like Poison: Destined for a Vampire
Blood Like Poison: To Kill an Angel
Blood Like Poison Boxed Set
The Reaping ** The Reckoning
Gravity
Caterpillar
Wiccan
Beginnings: An M. Leighton Anthology
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, M. Leighton, is a native of Ohio. She relocated to the warmer climates of the South, where she can be near the water all summer and miss the snow all winter. Possessed of an overactive imagination from early in her childhood, Michelle finally found an acceptable outlet for her fantastical visions: literary fiction. Having written over a dozen novels, these days Michelle enjoys letting her mind wander to more romantic settings with sexy Southern guys, much like the one she married and the ones you'll find in her latest books. When her thoughts aren't roaming in that direction, she'll be riding wild horses, skiing the slopes of Aspen or scuba diving with a hot rock star, all without leaving the cozy comfort of her office.
About Michelle: I love coffee and chocolate, even more so when they are combined. I'm convinced that one day they could be the basis for world peace. I also love the color red and am seriously considering dying my hair.
