Windswept

by Julie Carobini

  Windswept

  A Sea Glass Inn Novel

  Julie Carobini

  Windswept (Sea Glass Inn, book #3)

  Copyright © 2019 Julie Carobini

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Dolphin Gate Books

  Cover by Roseanna White Designs

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.

  JULIE CAROBINI writes inspirational beach romances and cozy mysteries … with a twist. RT Book Reviews says, “Carobini has a talent for creating characters that come alive.” Julie lives in California with her family and loves all things coastal (except sharks). Pick up a free ebook here: www.juliecarobini.com/free-book/

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  Welcome to the magical Sea Glass Inn novels, where secrets are revealed and hearts are mended. Read all four in the series!:

  * * *

  Walking on Sea Glass (book 1)

  Runaway Tide (book 2)

  Windswept (book 3)

  Beneath a Billion Stars (book 4)

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Dear Reader

  Also by Julie Carobini

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “She's an imposter."

  Sophia jerked up, her hands poised around her cheeks like parentheses. Water dripped down her fingers and into the dingy airport bathroom sink as two women burst into the space behind her, deep in conversation. A droplet fell from Sophia’s chin and slithered past blotches of darkness and into the drain.

  She peeked into the mirror again. Each woman slipped into a stall, pulling a suitcase behind them, their conversation never slowing.

  "I don't know why I agreed to come here anyway and watch this sham of a wedding take place," the first woman continued.

  "Well, that's exactly why I decided to come," the other woman answered from behind her stall door. "You know me—I love the drama!"

  The first woman cackled. Sophia could hear her saying, "That's for sure," above the sound of flushing water.

  The women were strangers to Sophia, but the pettiness in their tones was all too familiar. She reached for a paper towel and mopped the water from her face. She froze, the paper in her hands bringing forth a memory she'd just as soon forget, one written in the hand of someone she loved. Despite the angry missive on paper with ink, she hadn't so much as burned or tossed it away. Instead, though she longed to forget the angry words, she kept them. Perhaps as a reminder.

  Sophia sucked in a breath and gazed into the unclean mirror above the sink. She took in the taupe half circles beneath her own eyes. The green of those eyes, once vibrant, now looked more like a plate of overcooked broccoli. Pitiful. She hoped her brother, Jackson, had come alone to pick her up. Not that she was particularly vain. Sophia had conquered that mountain long ago, before she'd started her fledgling company ... and long before she'd ever even met her brother.

  Fledgling. A peculiar word that meant new, underdeveloped, and yet she had spent her whole life, it seemed, creating her company's underpinnings. And for the past year she had watched that carefully built foundation begin to crumble, the weight of revelations and timidity causing it to buckle.

  The women emerged from their stalls simultaneously and approached the wall of sinks, surrounding her. She swallowed, not looking anywhere in particular. They continued their conversation, speaking over her as if she were invisible, and as if doing so was the norm. Maybe she really was invisible to them.

  As always.

  "I heard she's gained all sorts of weight," one said.

  The other snorted. "Perfect for the wedding photo album. Most people look back on the good ol' days before baby weight—not this time, ha!"

  Sophia heaved a sigh and turned abruptly, startlingly sure that her bathroom companions had not noticed. She couldn't stay in that unremarkable, gray restroom a minute longer, listening to cruel chatter. Her makeup-less face would have to do. Soon enough, she would be in her brother's car, making the hour-long trek to a new life.

  She couldn't wait.

  At baggage claim, she glanced around at the throng—strangers, every one of them. Her temples constricted, her head dizzy. Though she had lived in some of the busiest cities in the world, she had always preferred the solitude of her own nest. She longed for that now, but pushed herself to move forward, to tear her gaze away from the masses and search for her suitcase. She spotted the brightly colored scarf she had tied around its handle, thankful for a friendly sight. Just as she bent to reach for the handle, a tap landed on her shoulder. She pivoted and smiled, expecting to see Jackson.

  But a stranger standing tall and powerfully built watched her, his eyes laser focused on Sophia's face. "Care for a ride, m'lady?"

  She shrank back. "I-I, no. I ..." She'd heard of this sort of thing, men targeting women alone in airports and other public places when their guard was down. He looked normal, though. Kind eyes. Nice wave of wheat-colored hair above his brow. The scar that emerged from the edge of his beard, traversing to his temple, made her wonder. Had he been the victim of an accident? Or had he earned that particularly jagged mark from a stint in prison?

  Her bag!

  She spun back toward the baggage carousel and bit her lip. Stupid, girl. Had the stranger purposely delayed her? Had she fallen prey to a perilous kind of distraction? Did he know that she had left her latest design inside? After all, someone once stole her identity. How much easier might it be to steal her designs too?

  She sucked in a breath, wishing away her frantic thoughts. She was not this person, or at least, she hadn't been until recently.

  Sophia searched the carousel again and exhaled. Her bag, jet black except for a glint of the cobalt blue scarf she had tied around its handle, had passed her by. But it was safe. Still in view. She glanced around. Unless she cared to scramble aboard the conveyor belt wearing spiked heels, or jostle her way to the front of the crowd that stood three-people deep to await their own luggage, she would have to wait for it to return to her. This also meant she would be unable to gracefully extricate herself from the cab driver—or whomever he was—who seemed overly concerned about her need for a ride.

  She turned at another tap on her shoulder. "Sophia?"

  She frowned. The man knew her name? She took a closer look at him and spotted the cardboard in his hands. Had he been holding that sign all along? The one with her name hastily written across it in red ink?

  "Did my brother send you? I apologize that I seem to have mistaken you for a ... " For a what? A stranger who somehow knew her name? She pulled herself together. "Are you ... are you one of my brother's valets?"

  The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, as if the folds of a curtain holding back laughter. "I am if it means you'll come home with me."

  Her bag nearly passed her by again. He was either teasing her or a con man, and Jackson, she was convinced, would not have sent either
type to pick her up at this large and lonely airport. Sophia forced her way between two teens wearing backward Dodger baseball caps standing elbow-to-elbow in front of the carousel. She lunged between them and grasped the scarf of her suitcase, tugging until she could reach the bag's handle. "Excuse me." She gave the handle a yank, hauled the bag off the conveyer until it landed on the scarred linoleum with a clatter, and strode from the baggage area as fast as safely possible. She would have to rethink wearing heels in an airport again.

  "Sophia. Wait!"

  With one hand on her phone, she zeroed in on a security guard at his post, a round, graying man who she hoped could rustle up some strength if she were to ask for his assistance. She picked up the pace while also texting her brother: Did you send a weirdo to pick me up?

  She stepped up to the guard and opened her mouth to speak, but the man behind her spoke again.

  "Seriously, Sophia," he said. "Your brother sent me. Jackson's waiting in his car nearby."

  Sophia stopped. Was that laughter in his voice? She faced him. "You really are here to retrieve me?"

  He smiled at her now, the tip of his scar more pronounced. "Jackson's circling the airport as we speak. LA traffic delayed us. He was worried you'd feel stranded if one of us wasn't here to greet you."

  She exhaled. Her gaze lingered on him and he seemed to jolt.

  "I'm Christian ... Capra. It's good to finally meet the famous Sophia Riley."

  Sophia ... Riley. Would she ever get used to hearing the name she'd always known paired with the one she'd only recently learned about? She continued to eye him until her phone dinged with an incoming text: Yeah. Sorry. Christian's harmless.

  Christian extended his hand to her.

  With a sigh, she took it. "Hello."

  He dipped his chin and glanced at her bag, reaching for it. "Is this it?"

  "For now."

  "Well, then. It's enough."

  The lull of the engine made the fight to keep her eyes open that much more difficult.

  "Meg's got your suite all set up for you. I think you'll really love it,” Jackson said.

  "I'm sure I will."

  "You could have stayed with us, you know. Our home is yours."

  "Thank you, but I think newlyweds should be left alone."

  Christian piped up from the back seat. "Until they fill their mansion with babies, you mean."

  Sophia perked up. "Is this true? Are you ..."

  Jackson chuckled. "Not yet, no. Right now we're just ... practicing."

  Sophia turned her chin toward her brother, a moniker she was still becoming used to. "This is why the suite in your hotel will be just fine for me."

  "Correction. In our hotel." He paused. “Meg calls the place ‘magical.’”

  She smiled.

  "You'll find the staff very happy to see you. All friendly people. Although Meg and Liddy already have been talking about dragging you out for wine with some of their friends." He gave her a sideways glance. "My bride is worried you'll be lonely."

  Christian cleared his throat. "I'll keep you company, if you'd like."

  She turned enough to see him in the shadows of the back seat. Was this his attempt at flirting? Or was he showing genuine concern?

  "Unless you still think I'm an ax murderer."

  Jackson nearly choked on a laugh. "A what?"

  She shook her head, her mouth grim. "I did not think that."

  Christian chuckled. "C'mon, sis, you did. Or at least a deranged guy trying to pick you up in the airport. Sorry I scared you, by the way."

  Her brother turned to her. "Wait. Sophia, does this have something to do with your text about a weirdo picking you up?"

  Christian scoffed. "Made an impression, I see."

  "What did you do?" Jackson glared at Christian in the rearview mirror. "And only one of us is calling her sis, got that, old man?"

  "Got it. And I'm a mere two years older than you." He chuckled. "You want to tell him, Sophia?"

  Sophia laughed this time. "It's not important. But I will say that I did not immediately see the sign he'd created—my eyes were tired." She paused. "Plus, I have not been called m'lady ever in my life."

  Jackson groaned. "Oh, brother. I should've warned you that my college roommate would be meeting you at baggage and that he's got a strange sense of humor."

  "Hey. I resemble that remark."

  Jackson glanced at her and rolled his eyes. "And that he'd be moving into the Sea Glass Inn to finish his next book."

  "You're a writer?"

  The smile on his face faded and he glanced out into the night, the glow from street lights occasionally illuminating him. "I am but I've been on a sort of ... sabbatical."

  Jackson broke in. "Sabbatical, huh?" He paused. "Whatever we're calling it, my friend here has always been a wanderer. I gave up trying to keep tabs on his whereabouts a long time ago. Even his forwarding orders don't work."

  "Sad but true," Christian said.

  "Well, I can understand the need for an artist to take a small break," Sophia said. "It's good for the soul—and for the art, too."

  Christian turned his chin enough that their eyes locked in the passing light.

  Jackson cleared his throat. "I know you're tired, Sophia. After you've had a good night's sleep, though, I need to speak with you. Actually ... our financial advisor will be in tomorrow morning. I'd hoped you would meet with us." He paused. "Can you do it?"

  She nodded, aware that though a part of her had looked upon this move as an extended vacation, the truth was, she had years to make up for where Jackson and the Sea Glass Inn were concerned.

  "Of course. Whatever you need from me, I will be there."

  "Thank you. Wade and I plan to have breakfast in the dining room at 8:30. You join us when you're ready, and then afterward we'll huddle in my office. Sound good?"

  "Yes. I will be there."

  Somehow she would need to make time to work on a few dress designs if she was ever going to revive her company. She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath through her nose. She did not care to think about anything other than stepping into the calm and quiet of her new home, densely populated as the inn may be.

  The next morning, Sophia stared at the ceiling trying to decipher the unfamiliar sound. A wave. The first one crashed onto shore, then another. She'd heard about the red-flag alerts on this stretch of the coast, how the waves could be positively monstrous, but she had not considered the impact that water could make when it landed. The experience had already provided her a vastly different wake-up call than that of car horns honking and sirens blaring. Not that the sounds of Manhattan bothered her. On the contrary, she had become so accustomed to the cacophony that on those occasions she had traveled elsewhere, such as to her beloved Italy, she found herself unable to sleep in with the lack of background noise.

  On her feet, Sophia cinched a hotel robe around her and stepped out onto the balcony, inhaling the odd, somewhat-addicting scent of water and air and salt.

  "Never gets old, does it."

  Her eyes widened. She hadn't seen him standing out on his deck jutting from the room so close to hers. "Hello, Christian."

  "Good morning."

  "Are you usually such an early riser?"

  He seemed to stare at her for a beat before answering, one of his eyebrows gently cocked upward. "All depends on the view I'm waking up to."

  Heat rose in her cheeks. She smoothed her hair with one hand, letting her fingers drift to her collarbone.

  He quirked that smile and glanced out to sea again. "Besides, how could I stay asleep with all that racket going on out there?"

  "Yes. I know. It'll take some getting used to."

  He swiveled a look back at her, frowning. "You're not serious."

  "Is that a question?"

  He gave his beard a scratch. "Does the sound of waves bother you? I think there are medications for that."

  She shrugged. "I meant that I'm used to something a little bit—how shall I say
it?—a little more hustle and bustle outside my window. Something less magnificent, more frenetic."

  He winced. "The City."

  "You don't care for New York?"

  "It's not that I don't care for it, it's just that, well—" He screwed up his mouth before looking her straight in the eyes. "All right. No. I really don't care for it. At all."

  "I see. And the reason for that is?"

  "Pretty near impossible to choose just one, but, okay. Let me see." He shifted. "For one thing, it smells."

  "I see. Example?"

  "Like sewage mixed with stale coffee grounds."

  She scoffed. "I cannot imagine why you'd say that."

  "Really? Have you ever strolled over a manhole in Manhattan? Or traversed that stench-filled maze lovingly known as the subway? When I think of New York, I think of dirt and grime and the shower that I always had to take at the end of the day to wash off the soot." He paused. "No offense."

  "I think maybe that you have not experienced the same New York that I have."

  "And what New York is that?"

  "Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with people from all over the world for more than fifteen minutes just to buy a bagel—"

  "Not too convincing."

  "Okay, how about pulling on my wool coat and favorite boots to walk after dark, when the city's lights blaze. There is so much magic to the nights there."

  "That's actually criminal activity." He crossed his arms and took a sip from a mug.

  She sighed. "I give up. Maybe you are just not a fan of coffee."

  He set the mug down. "Not hotel coffee."

  "Ah."

  "What?"

  "A coffee snob."