Windswept

by Julie Carobini

  Sticks and stones ...

  Words will never hurt you ...

  Lines from the old rhyme from childhood rang in her mind.

  "Sophia, look at me."

  His eyes caressed her face in a way that told her he cared. Blue and open, with faint crow’s feet, they held her steady.

  She said, "You don't have to say anything."

  "I've been where you are. Artists produce for others, yet what we produce is personal. The accolades roll in and we promise not to allow them to go to our heads. But no matter how well our work might sell, or how many glowing reviews we see, the mean-spirited ones carry the clout. That said ... I haven't read a review in more than a year."

  "How is that possible?"

  He blew out a deep breath, myriad emotions alive in his face. "Stubbornness. Experience. I refuse to look at the bad ones any longer—or the good. I've learned that either one can mess with my head."

  Admittedly, she had not read his work. She had heard that his first book was a runaway hit, that readers loved the adventure and magic of his stories. Others followed. Then ... writer's block hit him and he had come here to clear his head. In a way, she had been "blocked" too, and coming here had already released her to design again. The difference between them, though, was she had been stalled ... frozen with fear after a particularly harsh review by a blogger.

  She rolled her neck, breathing in deeply. "I wish I could be like you, Christian."

  He gave her a full-mouth smile at that and hung his head, as if embarrassed. He raised his gaze to hers again, a mischievous glint in it. "I haven't always avoided reviews." He pulled his phone from his pocket and began scrolling with his thumb. "In fact, I have something to share with you."

  "You don't have—"

  He raised his pointer finger. "Ah ah ah. Trust me here."

  She smiled for the first time all day.

  "A writer named Jeffrey Robinson said that critics are to authors what dogs are to lampposts. Now, settle back and prepare to be shocked and amazed ..."

  "Are you taking me to the circus?"

  He winked. "Sort of. Okay, I've found what I was looking for on my phone—I actually saved these to my notes. Motivation, if you will."

  She had no idea what he was talking about but began to relax, the cadence of his voice soothing.

  “The characters inspire one emotion only: disgust.”

  She lifted her head from the lounge chair. "What?!"

  "I'm just getting started."

  "The story is hokey." He glanced at her during a pause. "At best."

  She made a shushing sound and gave him a single laugh.

  "Predictable, boring fluff ... not worth reading ... too expensive ... a waste of beautiful trees ... cartoonish characters that made me groan out loud."

  She pressed a palm to her cheek. "No."

  He continued. "This book is slower than a Jane Austen read."

  "I happen to like Jane Austen!"

  He guffawed before reading the next one. "I'm going to sell this book on eBay, but I already feel sorry for the sucker who buys it from me."

  "Ha ... I hope these aren't reviews of one of your books."

  He raised one eyebrow.

  "Oh, Chris! I'm sorry ... wow, those are bad."

  He set down his phone. "Then there are the ones accusing me of having an agenda, or of writing like an eight-year-old. One guy even said his dog could write a better story."

  "That's terrible. How can people be so cruel?"

  Christian shrugged. He wore a rueful smile and she suspected that the reviews he carried around with him hurt more than he let on. "I didn't read those to you to shock you—well, maybe a little. But I didn't do it to trivialize what you're going through right now. I wanted to show you that life goes on. People have their opinions, and some can be unkind, but in the end, it's just one person's opinion. For every blogger who decides they don't like something, there are hundreds more who decide they do. "

  She drew in sea air and started to feel silly. Why had she allowed that blogger to get to her? Surely she could overcome one person's words. If that was the case, then why had she allowed her stepfather's letter to affect her for so long?

  "Do you believe me?"

  She nodded. "I do, of course, I do. I just wish I were not so fragile."

  "Is that what's bothering you?"

  "It scares me. How can I be a good businesswoman if I fall apart over every harsh word?"

  "The fact that you care so much is refreshing. That's one of the things I first noticed about you, actually."

  "When you first noticed me? Do you mean in the airport? When you approached me all stalker-ish?"

  "I don't believe stalker-ish is a real word."

  "But it conveys my meaning."

  He grinned. "One hundred percent it does. But that's my point. Even though I had given you every reason to believe I was a deranged maniac, you apologized to me for mistaking me for—"

  "A deranged maniac?"

  His laugh came through deep and hearty. She sneaked a look at him. With that beard cut close to his skin like that, and his touchable wheat-colored hair, he could be a model for a designer ad campaign. The scar gave him an edge, in her opinion. Made him slightly less pretty. Dangerous, even.

  His eyes held hers and she looked away.

  "Do you still think I'm deranged?" A tease laced his voice.

  "I do remember apologizing to you. You didn't look like a stalker to me."

  "What does a stalker look like, exactly?"

  She smiled. "Thankfully, I've never met one, so I can tell you that I was tired after my long flight. Plus, moving brought on so many new emotions. I wasn't sure if I had made the right decision to come here." She turned up her palms and gave him a small shrug. "Can I ask you a question?"

  "Anything."

  "How did you get the scar?"

  His smile faded. She had taken him off-guard. A first for her, for sure. "I'm sorry. Maybe that was too personal."

  "There you go apologizing to me again."

  She broke the tension with a slight laugh. "I really need to work on my manners, don't I?"

  "I'm the one who said you could ask me anything."

  "Yes, but it's obvious you'd prefer not to talk about it." She didn't dare tell him that his scar had begun to turn that familiar red, its intensity only serving to pique her curiosity more. "Let's change the subject."

  "Not necessary, darlin'." He was smiling at her. "If talking about my past foibles helps to take the focus off of your blogger from the dark side, then I'm a willing sacrifice."

  Sophia could not remove the smile from her face. How could he have this effect on her? Her phone rang and she gave it a glance. "I better take this." She flicked a glance at Christian, who peered over her in an apparent attempt to shield her from the sun's glare.

  She swung her legs over her lounge chair and sat up. "Hi, Wade." She sensed Christian pulling away and held up a hand to stop him. He was already on his feet, one hand in a pocket, but he slowed his retreat. "How are you?"

  "The question is—how are you?" Wade said.

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm fine. Really."

  "I know you, Sophia. Don't let this slow you down, all right? Listen, I have some strategies to discuss with you."

  "What kind of strategies?"

  "We're going to nip this now. Let's call on other bloggers to bury that review. Do a whole blitz. Do you still have the other photos? Have they been edited and optimized?"

  "Not yet."

  "Okay. I'll contact Liddy and ask her to get them to me ASAP. Can you meet to discuss?"

  She slid a glance at Christian who had edged perilously close to his own balcony.

  "Sophia? Did you hear me? Let's meet to discuss all of this—I want to help you."

  "Th-thank you. I know you do. I can't meet right now, though." She searched her mind for a time that she could stomach hashing through this incident. "But I can see you for breakfast in the mor
ning. Will that work?"

  He hesitated and she thought maybe he would decline. Instead, he said, "Sure. See you at eight in the hotel's cafe."

  She hung up and stashed her phone on the glass table. "You weren't going to leave without saying goodbye, I hope."

  Christian turned, hair flopping forward. She fought back the urge to reach up and smooth it back.

  "I've kept you long enough."

  Her heart grew heavy in her chest. "I suppose you have a lot of writing to do."

  He licked his lips and gave her a brief nod. Yet he did not make any move to hop back over that railing.

  Sophia lowered herself back to her lounge chair. "Before you go, will you read more of your rotten reviews?"

  He chuckled and whipped out his phone. "It would be my pleasure."

  As he began scrolling, Sophia relaxed against her cushioned lounger. She slipped the eye mask back on, and as Christian's husky voice began to speak, she couldn't deny the emergence of a smile on her face ... nor the lift to her heart.

  Chapter 10

  Christian had begun to think he really was deranged. Why else would he drag himself here before he'd had his coffee just to see her with him?

  Deranged maniac.

  Glutton for punishment.

  Loser.

  All three monikers described him at this moment as he kept his distance from where Wade and Sophia had been seated.

  At the restaurant's bar, Christian downed his second cup, trying to ignore the animated way in which Wade spoke to Sophia over their omelets. Not to mention that he'd worn another high-priced suit to the inn—didn't that guy know they were at the beach?

  Christian's mind burned slowly. He'd been up since early in the morning pounding out words, thankful for the rush of story that had ignited within him again. The mystical being had surfaced around 4 a.m., and from his deck he'd watched her frolicking, her playfulness helping him to conjure the scenes he'd pour out onto every page.

  A server named Jenny spun by. "Can I get you anything else? Will you be ordering breakfast?"

  He shook his head. Though he'd had a productive night, hunger eluded him. That's when he heard angry words cutting through the restaurant's morning din.

  "How could you let me be so stupid!"

  "Did you see them together or something?"

  "They were talking up on her deck!"

  "Oh my gosh—no!"

  Christian frowned. He leaned toward the end of the bar, his empty stomach sinking further. A spattering of tables clustered right around the corner from where he sat perched on this stool. Were Jackson and Meg here? And were they talking about ... him?

  "It's not funny."

  Meg was laughing. "Kidding."

  "You should've seen this coming!" Jackson was saying. "He's a guy, Meg, a guy!"

  "He's your friend. How could I possibly see anything coming?"

  Christian bit back the harsh words that tap danced on his tongue. Couldn't believe it. Hadn't he already told Jackson he had only the best intentions where his sister was concerned? That he would not pursue anything beyond friendship? Did he really think he hadn't learned a thing from his public screw up?

  "I'm sorry," Jackson said, presumably to his long-suffering wife. "This isn't your fault—I didn't mean that. I should've thought this through, should've considered that Christian's been a brooding guy for a while and that maybe giving him a room next to my sister ... Well, maybe that wasn't the best idea."

  "Honestly, I think you're worrying over nothing."

  Sweet Meg to the rescue. Christian barely held his sarcasm at bay.

  She continued. "You've told me from the beginning that you think Christian got a bad rap, that he's a good guy that let his emotions get the best of him. If you really had any serious thought of him being trouble, it would've come to your mind when you were booking Sophia's room."

  Christian's nerves had gone cold. He slid off his stool and turned the corner where Jackson and Meg were sitting together in a booth.

  Jackson looked up but kept his expression in check. He neither smiled nor frowned. "You're here early."

  "Been up all night," Christian said. "Writing."

  "Of course."

  Meg gave him a tentative smile. "Sit with us."

  He shook his head. "No need for that. I just wanted to let you know that I'd be checking out as soon as I can pull my things together. Shouldn't be long."

  Meg's expression fell.

  "Hey, guys!" Liddy pulled up alongside Christian with Beau Junior on her hip. "Did my invitation get lost in the mail or something? Never mind. I forgive you all for having breakfast together without me." She laughed happily at her own joke.

  Meg slid over in the booth and reached for the baby. "Let me take him."

  Liddy's sigh dripped with drama as she handed over her child to Meg. "Please do. He weighs a ton!" She touched Christian's shoulder. "You doing okay? You seem a little stressed."

  No sense in dragging Liddy into this mess. Christian turned toward her as she took a seat in the booth. "Was just letting my friends here know I'd be leaving the inn soon."

  "What?" Liddy said. "No way. Where're you going?"

  "Haven't decided yet."

  "Then stay." She swung her chin energetically from Jackson to Meg who was bouncing Beau Junior on her lap. "Convince him for me, will you?"

  Jackson gave her a pointed look. "Do you two have something up your sleeves?"

  Christian cut in with a snort.

  Liddy rolled her eyes at Jackson. "Christian, you have no idea how much you helped Sophia yesterday. Or maybe you do, but honestly, I need you to stick around until her ad campaign is done."

  Jackson kept his eyes focused on Liddy. "What exactly did Christian do that helped my sister?"

  "He made her laugh. I could barely coax a word out of her yesterday, but then all of a sudden she called me last night with this great attitude. Said Christian was responsible."

  Jackson looked him over. "Really."

  "Oh shoot. I just realized the time." Liddy scooted out of the booth and reached for her son. "I'm supposed to meet Wade and Sophia to talk about our next steps."

  "Let me keep him while you meet with them," Meg said.

  Liddy eyed her curiously. "You sure? I know he loves his Auntie Megsy, but he might need a diaper change soon."

  She hugged him close. "No worries. I bet his poop smells like flowers."

  Liddy cracked up. "You've lost it, girl, but whatever. I'm not going to try to change your mind about that one. I'll come for him in a half hour, okay?"

  Meg followed her out of the booth, the baby on her hip as if he were her own. She leaned in to give Liddy a hug, her voice raising in pitch as she spoke in tandem to both Liddy and her baby. "Sure thing. You'll find us in my office, won't she? Yes, yes, won't she find us playing in there, Beau-Beau?"

  Jackson watched after them, his expression comical until he swung back toward Christian. "Have a seat."

  "Gotta go."

  He growled. "C'mon, I know you heard us talking about you. Sit down."

  This move to the inn was quickly devolving into a reality show, and did he want any part of that? Did he really care what the man had to say? Then again, maybe he needed to say his piece, to state clearly his defense.

  Christian dropped into the booth like a stone. Jenny stopped by with a fresh mug. He watched in silence as she filled it to the rim, dropped two half-and-half capsules onto the table, and took off for the next customer.

  "How'd you do it, exactly? Make her laugh, I mean."

  "I read her my reviews."

  "What does that mean, you read her your reviews?"

  "That's what I said. I read her some of the worst reviews my books have ever received."

  Both of Jackson's brows rose. "And that made her laugh? Man, you play dangerously."

  "Those ugly words were good for something. Happy they made her forget about her problems, even if it came at my expense." He knew Jackson had been alluding to
more with that "dangerously" comment, but he didn't care to bite.

  "That's all it was."

  Jackson gave him a succinct nod. "I'm sure. After all, you promised you'd never want for anything more."

  "Never said want."

  "Semantics."

  "Right. Well, if we're done here, I need to get going ..."

  "Don't leave."

  Christian set his jaw. "Why?"

  "Because you apparently make her laugh."

  "Apparently."

  "I never suggested you can't be her friend."

  "I don't get you, man. Two minutes ago you were questioning everything about my presence here at your home away from home."

  Jackson looked away, his eyes downcast. "Well, it's been a rough couple of years." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter anyway. Wade and she have been hitting it off. He's a good guy—"

  "Right. So conversation over."

  "Is your book finished?"

  "Working on it."

  "So that's a no."

  A thought struck him like a fish tail slapping the water. If he were to leave Sea Glass Inn, would his muse follow? He could not, of course, tell anyone else of his concern—they'd think him nuts. But he had found his groove here at the inn, was joyfully close to finishing his first independent novel. Now his residence rested on precarious footing.

  Worse, he didn't want to go.

  And it had nothing at all to do with his book.

  "You know, I thank the good Lord every day for Meg," Jackson said, breaking into Christian's thoughts. "Couldn't have managed all the stress without her."

  "She definitely married beneath herself."

  Jackson let out a rumbling laugh that reverberated through the dining room.

  "Don't check out."

  "Why not? Like you said, it doesn't matter anyway. Sophia's ... " He couldn't bring himself to say the words: Sophia's with Wade anyway—or soon to be, by the look of things.

  "It's more than that," Jackson said. "If you leave because of my outburst, Meg'll kill me. Or worse. She thinks I'm gruff when I'm tense."

  "You are."

  Jackson gave him a pointed look, eyes glaring. "Help me prove her wrong. Think of it as research for your next book about a hero that works as a marriage counselor by day and saves the underworld by night."