It was his turn to scoff.
She tilted her head. "I admit that I agree with you—it's difficult to find a good cup of coffee outside of Italy."
He groaned. "Not you too. Meg has poor Jackson grinding coffee beans flown in from a roaster near Florence."
She eyed him. Their first encounter aside, she'd enjoyed the way he and Jackson had bantered on the way home, like old friends saturated with memories and shared jokes. Today he was a grouch.
Pity.
She pushed away from the railing. "I retract my question."
"What question was that?"
"I asked if you were an early riser, but I see that you are not."
He spat out a coarse laugh and crossed his thick arms across his chest, his skin swathed in golden hair, that coffee mug of his dangling precariously from two fingers. His eyes narrowed, the line of his mouth still dancing. That shaggy-boy mop of chestnut hair tried to charm her, but she'd already seen his mood and doubted its ability to win her over.
"Au contraire. I've been up since dawn."
She startled. "Truly? How can that be? We arrived home so late last night. The only reason I'm able to carry on a conversation without so much as a sip of coffee is that I am still on New York time. But you ... you must not have slept all night."
He shrugged, watching her.
Sophia became suddenly cognizant of the fact that she'd neither brushed her teeth nor combed her hair. What in the world had she been thinking when she’d slid open the door to this deck?
Of course. She thought she'd be alone. Like usual ... before ... before she suddenly wasn't. Unlike some people, the quiet had never bothered her. When her mother died and she extricated herself from her half-sister's mean-spirited ways, Sophia found herself going deeper into her art of design. The caress of fabric between her fingers, the whir of the machine, her mind entranced by simple transformations.
Ironically, those designs created in solace had sent her barreling into the spotlight. Well. Not exactly a supernova-type spotlight, but her name—and her face—had quite suddenly become the talk of fashion bloggers here and there and she had quickly learned how their word-of-mouth admiration could carry more weight and more propulsion than a million-dollar ad campaign.
And how that propulsion could slow to a drip as quickly as it had appeared.
She took a step back.
He cleared his throat. "Writer's block."
"Sabbatical over?"
He gave her a sharp, shuddering shake of his head, never taking his eyes off hers.
She frowned until a proverbial light switched on inside her mind and she nodded. "Ah, so this is the reason you were up most of the night."
He closed his eyes now, giving her one succinct nod.
"And the reason you are such a grouch today."
He coughed a laugh and put a fist to his chest. "I'm hurt."
"You are not."
He laughed now. "Yeah, you're right. I'm not."
"I understand."
"You mean about the writer's block?"
"Designers get stuck sometimes, too." She did not tell him that her "sometimes" was now.
His kind eyes returned, recognition in them. "Thanks. I appreciate you saying that."
She smiled at him, knowing her pearly whites would have to make up for her otherwise lack of daytime readiness. "I'd better get inside."
"Right. The breakfast meeting. Nice of your brother to give you time to settle in."
"I don't mind. Although ... I hear the coffee's not very good here."
He laughed harder this time and wagged his head. Warm red rose in his cheeks. "My apologies to the chef."
She held her finger to her lips. "Sshh... I won't tell."
Christian stood out on the deck, his fingers curled around his mug of now-cold coffee. In the rolling waves, he saw a goddess. Or was it a mermaid? No matter. She glided closer to shore and rolled onto her back, floating, her skin luminescent, her eyes lolling gently. He leaned across the railing now, hearing snippets of her voice, like a song. It carried on the wind, but he couldn't catch it completely. Still, the soothing sound of it calmed the tremor that had pounded in his veins all night, the one that had grown in intensity the more he thought about the voicemail he'd found on his phone.
He should have ignored it. He'd come back to his cozy suite at Sea Glass Inn, content after spending the evening with Jackson—and his sister. What a schmuck he'd been. He had missed Jackson and Meg's wedding. Had been too caught up in a drama of his own making to come out of hiding and be found—even by good friends.
If he hadn't been so myopic, so seething with both self-doubt and indignation, he very well might have been at their wedding. No doubt he would have become hypnotized by the woman who stood in stark contrast to the shrew who had successfully—for a while—stolen Sophia's identity.
He blew into the wind, his cheeks deflating. He'd allowed the presence of a voicemail to disrupt the flow of his newfound motivation. He'd turned a corner, or so he thought, newly inspired by a chance at starting over. At reaching deep inside himself.
At writing, once again, a book of his heart.
Then that blasted voicemail turned his thoughts to a darker place. He'd have to listen to it completely next time and avoid the urge to delete it altogether. All he really wanted to do was forget. Forget everything.
He stood there a moment longer, fighting to keep calm. One thing he couldn't seem to forget was the sight of Sophia drifting out onto the deck next to his, her hair in disarray, those crystal eyes of hers attempting to adjust to the morning light.
She was lovely.
And then he offended her. Made snide comments about her beloved New York and watched her countenance fall. Such an idiot! And what did she do in retort? She offered him an olive branch in the form of laughter.
He shook his head.
What was it about Sophia Agli Riley that caused him to both be on his toes and push the envelope. He'd certainly pushed it at the airport. And then again, this morning. And still she spoke to him without a haughty look or condemning word.
It was humbling. Christian had done his share of eating crow over the past year. He'd had to after bringing shame upon himself and disappointing those who had believed in him. Had believed he had changed. People like Jackson.
He swallowed a gulp of that cold coffee, the taste of it bitter, as if he deserved to take his caffeine with a little punishment on the side.
Christian looked out upon the horizon again. Sophia's diamond-shaped face framed by bedhead popped into his memory and he laughed out loud. On the heels of that memory he was reminded of the way she shrank back when he'd sidled up to her with a handmade sign and spoke to her in a weird accent. Had she really been planning to turn him in to one of the guards?
He laughed out loud again.
"Man, you're sure in a good mood for so early in the morning."
His yanked his neck, causing it to spasm. "Sor—"
The woman continued, "If only my ex had worn a smile like that in the morning, we'd still be married."
Unlike Sophia, the woman on the opposite balcony had obviously run all kinds of styling tools through her mountainous blonde hair. Her face had an airbrushed quality, and he forced himself not to shade his eyes from the brightness of her lips.
"It's a beautiful day." He looked out toward the sea. "And the beach is outside my window. All kinds of reasons to be in a good mood, I suppose."
She licked her lips, eyeing him. "Sure is. Join me for a mimosa on the restaurant patio?"
He held back his knee-jerk reaction, the one shouting "no." He tilted his head and conjured up a regretful smile. "Sorry. On a deadline."
She pushed away from the railing. "Another time then."
"Perhaps."
Inside his room, he lowered himself to the desk chair next to his bed, the one that squeaked and groaned as if he were an unwelcome visitor. He'd have to mention that to Jackson. He was thankful for quick thinking and looming deadlines. He swallo
wed a chuckle, then opened the page that had pushed him outside in the first place.
It said: Chapter One.
Chapter 2
Sophia made her way through the dining room, chin up, eyes and mouth smiling. She had determined to help her brother after the horrendous year he had suffered thanks to her half-sister. Gia had stolen her identity, cheated Riley Holdings, and nearly chased off one of the company's most loyal employees—Meg. Would Jackson and Meg even be married today if her sister's crimes had not been exposed?
She shuddered. Though Sophia would have preferred to curl up in bed with her sketchpad and forget about all that had transpired, she soldiered on. Her father, God rest his beautiful soul, would have wanted it that way.
"Sophia." Her brother stood, took her right hand, and kissed her on the cheek. Another man had stood as well. "I'd like you to meet Wade Prince. Wade, my sister, Sophia."
Solidly built with salt-and-pepper waves of untamed hair, Wade took her hand and enveloped it in his. He smiled, tan and ageless, revealing a deep dimple, and shining brown eyes. Like a younger Antonio Banderas. She'd always heard that California cultivated celebrities, and Wade Prince, with his crisp, white shirt opened at the collar, appeared to have sprung from the state's verdant garden.
"It's a pleasure." Sophia took her seat.
Jackson shifted. She'd sensed a slight bit of tension in her brother's demeanor last evening, but now he gave her more than a glimpse. He smiled, but the stiffness of his posture—his back hardly grazed the seat back of his chair—alerted her.
Wade appeared not to notice. "I see you practice what you preach."
She leaned her head slightly. "Sorry?"
"I understand you are a fashion designer. That dress is beautifully made. Did you design it?" He gazed at her, but not in a way that put her on guard. On the contrary, the warmth of his voice glided through her consciousness.
"Yes. Thank you."
"It looked like one of yours." He paused, then smiled in that sheepish way, as if being caught. "Meg has shared some photos of your designs with me."
She laughed lightly. "Well, I don't make all of my own clothing."
"But you once did?"
She nodded. "It was my hobby for many years." She could have said more, but her past still held many moments that she preferred to keep private.
Jackson cut in. "It was more than your hobby—it was your passion. And I for one am anxious to see how you will be inspired by a change of landscape." He paused. "I hope and pray it suits you."
A light went on in Wade's eyes. "Yes, of course. A city girl has moved to the coast. Will tropical prints and Hawaiian shirts be in your future?"
Gratitude for laughter after a long flight and a short night of sleep filled her. "Well, I wouldn't plan on too large of a shift just yet. Besides, I'm here for more than the scenery." She gave her brother a sad smile. "To make up for lost time, mostly."
Wade's smile turned almost grim. He took a sip of coffee but did not remove his gaze from her. "I understand. Your brother has filled me in. I'm terribly sorry for all the pain that you've gone through."
"Well," she said, "I'm here now."
Wade lifted his coffee mug. "That you are. Welcome to your new life, Sophia."
She tipped her head to the side. "Thank you very much."
Jackson signaled for the waiter, though Sophia had not so much as glanced at the menu. The waiter appeared. "What can I bring you this morning?"
Sophia ordered her usual poached eggs and potatoes. A macchiato. And no bread. Wade and Jackson both ordered omelets and black coffee.
Jackson's posture stiffened again. "Wade has been a friend for several years, and after I became aware of how much debt we had acquired—"
"Because of my sister."
"Right. Because of Gia's involvement in the inn ... anyway, Wade's skills as a business consultant have been helping me dig us out ever since."
"Are you an accountant, Wade?"
He shook his head. "I worked as an accountant for a few years before discovering that my strengths lie more heavily in marketing and management. So, I made a switch." He paused. "The inn's remodel—coupled with the financial strains of late that have affected the other properties as well—have been an enormous undertaking for Jackson. He has handled it all in stride, at least that's what I see from my chair."
"But you believe the inns need a better presence online. Simple enough."
"That will help, though there is no quick fix." He spoke slowly. "Ultimately, I believe word of mouth is the best advertising a business can have. I have seen this proven time and time again."
She studied him. A certainty of concern showed in his eyes, and yet, did he not believe he could help? Were the inns in more trouble than she had first believed? Was he concerned that not enough progress had been made?
She spoke directly to him. "But you have much more to say."
Jackson touched her hand and gave Wade a look that she could only describe as cautionary. "Before I knew you, I was forced to sell the other inns—all except this one and Sea Castle in Florida. Now Wade has advised me to sell that one too."
"I see."
A server appeared with their breakfasts, quietly delivering the correct dish to each person. The presence of other patrons in the restaurant dimmed, as if they had gone quiet. Though that well may have been Sophia's imagination. Another dagger to her heart had been inserted with this latest news—news that likely would not have had to be delivered if it weren't for ...
"Is there something wrong with your order?"
Jackson's voice woke her to the present. She shook her head and lifted a fork. "It looks lovely." She hadn't the heart to tell him she had suddenly lost all interest in food.
Her brother sighed. "Let's eat before getting into more specifics. It's been a long night. For all of us."
Wade nodded and dove into his breakfast. She supposed it would be easier for the messenger to eat than it could possibly be for those who had the task of dismantling what a father had built. As she considered this, he glanced up. Their eyes met and lingered, his full of that concern she'd seen moments ago.
She glanced away, aware of the heat in her cheeks. She'd been caught mistrusting him. She didn't know the man, so why would she assume he cared less than he did?
Sophia returned to her room, her mind filled with numbers and proposals. When Jackson and Meg had suggested she move to the inn, she'd jumped at their proposal. The deeper she had moved into the business of design, the more she had grown unsure of the direction of her life. Her existence, it seemed, had cut a swath toward its own path, regardless of where or how she may have tried to direct it herself.
A housekeeper had plumped her pillows and tidied the room, so she kicked off her heels and sank into the bedding, eyelids heavy. Plenty of travelers took noontime naps, did they not? Still, the thought of not pressing on, of not doing something during the daylight hours, felt akin to slothfulness.
She woke to pounding on the door. With a start, Sophia hopped out of bed and hurried across the room.
"So good to see you, my beautiful sister!" Meg flung her arms around Sophia's neck and hugged her close. "I had to arm wrestle your brother over who got to see you first today."
Her sister-in-law's best friend Liddy strolled in behind her. "Yeah, and Meg won," she said. "She let Jackson have you first only so he could save face."
Meg laughed and glanced back at her friend. "Don't let him hear you say that."
"He's just mad that I've been making you work out with me." Liddy turned to Sophia. "Look how toned she is—I kind of hate her."
Meg tsked. "Please."
"Seriously, I've been running for years and you lift one weight and look at you—you're more cut than a freshly mowed lawn." Liddy put an arm around Sophia's shoulder. "Hey, gorgeous."
Sophia blinked.
Meg gasped. "Were you asleep? Oh no!"
Sophia stroked the air with her fingers. "Not to worry. It was just a catnap. I
need to be up now anyway so my body doesn't get confused."
Liddy clucked. "My body hasn't had its head on straight since my son was born. Not sure if it'll ever be the same."
Sophia smiled. "You have a beautiful body and a sweet baby. I would be proud to dress you both."
Liddy leaned her head to one side and gave Meg a frown-smile. "That is the sweetest thing I've heard in a long time. I would love that!"
Meg plunked down on the king-sized bed and kicked off her flats. “We were hoping to steal you away before you get too settled in." She glanced at Sophia's bags near the couch, one still open. "Is this all you brought?"
Sophia shook her head and walked over to the couch with the open suitcase. "I apologize for how I've left things. This is all I have for now." Idly, she pulled a cotton blouse from her bag and draped it over her arm."
"I love that fabric," Liddy said. "Gorgeous."
"Thank you." Sophia continued to unpack. "The rest of my things were shipped or put into storage. I don't need everything right away. Thank you for the suite, by the way. Once my things arrive, I will be utilizing every corner. Oh, and the large wooden table is perfect."
"Don't thank me—it's your home now. This inn is magical … I’m sure you’ll find that out soon enough.” She winked. “By the way, the table was Jackson's idea. He’s so cute. He actually called a couple of designers and asked what you might need."
Sophia's heart squeezed.
“Anyway,” Meg continued, "we knew you'd need much more than a room to live in. I'm sure you'll realize that once all your boxes arrive."
"I'm sure you are correct." Sophia didn't add that she'd left far more behind than she had shipped. The sense that this move might be temporary continued to shimmy its way through her heart. "As for now, I'm more than ready to see more of this city."
"Hold on," Liddy said, approaching her. "What is that?"
Her sample. Not the design she was working on for a possible new line, but a dress sample she'd made for herself on a whim long ago. She'd forgotten about it until she had found it tucked into a bottom drawer when she was packing to come here. She had already shipped the rest of her things, so she'd had no choice but to bury it in her suitcase. Or burn it.
Windswept Page 2
