Windswept

by Julie Carobini

  "Sophia!"

  Jackson held the side door for her, wearing a quizzical grin. "By the look on your face, I thought you were going to barrel right through the glass."

  She slowed. "Sorry. Just a lot ... a lot on my mind, I suppose."

  "Wade's coming back tomorrow."

  Yes. She knew. Why was everyone telling her this? She inhaled. "He told me."

  "Good news?"

  "Yes, hmm. Very." She paused. "I have promised to make a call soon, but do you have a few minutes?"

  "Of course." He led them to a bench along the path. "This good?"

  She nodded. "I wanted to tell you that I've found an apartment, and I'm going to sign the lease today."

  Jackson gaped at her.

  "It's downtown," she continued, "but still close enough to walk to the beach and shops."

  "Wow, Sophia. I think that ... sounds perfect for you."

  "You do?"

  "Don't you?"

  She nodded. "Yes, I really do. I've loved my time here at the inn, but it's time I make myself a home somewhere. Are you surprised?"

  "I didn't expect you to stay here forever."

  "But I've insulted you."

  "No, no. You could never. I’m actually relieved." He gave her a crooked smile. "I wasn’t sure you would stay in California at all.”

  She tilted her head. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I would be staying either.”

  His brows lifted. “But now?”

  She looked her brother in the eyes. “You and Meg are my world. I can’t imagine ever going very far from you.”

  Tears glistened in Jackson’s eyes and he pulled her into his embrace. “I love you, Sophia. And I hope you're happy in your new home."

  "I believe I will be." She pulled away, but not before kissing his cheek. "Will you help me move?"

  Jackson laughed now. "Of course. Anything you need. You know that."

  She glanced at the iPad in his hands. "May I borrow that?"

  "It's yours." He handed it to her. "Consider it a perk of being the co-owner of one of the premier hotels for mermaid sightings on the West Coast."

  She giggled at this, unable to help herself.

  He was tired of hiding.

  With new resolve, Christian began the arduous task of removing the thick blanket of whiskers from his face, careful not to further scar his skin. The altercation, as he had come to think of it, had done plenty of that. On occasion, he winced when the scraping sound of the razor reached his ears. When he finished, Christian wiped his face with a warm, wet washcloth and gave himself an honest assessment.

  Like his father's skin before him, Christian's was soft and shiny after a shave. Unlike his father's, Christian's had the addition of a long, skinny, rambling scar that might fade in time, but would likely never disappear altogether. Kind of like certain events in his life.

  Still, the scar's presence did not bother him half as much as the first time he had examined it. Nor the hundredth time. And it occurred to him that any worry he may have had about Sophia seeing his scarred face in all its glory had disappeared.

  Armed with a copy of The Spell, Christian strode into the lobby of Sea Glass Inn. The first one to spot him was Trace.

  "Oh my word!" She came out from behind the counter. “Well, there's a sight for sore eyes if I ever did see one."

  "Hi, Trace." He glanced around. "Looks like some new things are happening around here."

  "Yeah, like mermaid watchers showing up all the time. Sheesh, Christian, you've brought all the crazies out."

  Leave it to Trace to tell him like it was.

  “I loved the story, by the way.”

  He quirked a smile at her. “Read it already?”

  “Oh, yes—in one weekend! That ending made me all swoony. Loved it!”

  He bit back a laugh. He’d taken Bette’s advice and had put his head down to write a new ending. His hero’s journey had come to a natural conclusion, and his heroine? No longer elusive.

  If only his reality was closer to his fiction.

  Trace broke into his thoughts. “Are you here to see Jackson?" She glanced at the book in his hand. "Ooh, is that a signed copy?"

  "It's a gift for Jackson and Meg, yes." Trace didn't need to know that he had something—or someone—altogether different on his mind.

  She had already picked up the phone. "I'll get them out here right away." She stopped mid-air. "Meg's got a friend in town who'll want to meet you too."

  He stood in the center of the lobby, the place he'd called home all summer and beyond, sensing the detachment that had begun two months ago. This place had never really been his home, but just another stop along the road of his life. He'd had many of those in his adult life, and as Christian took in the walls and glass and sea beyond the windows, he felt grateful. Thankful to have been given this gift of a place to find renewal.

  But he also knew that it was time to move on again, this time to a real place that wasn't filled with corporate touches and items that others believed he needed. He had decided to find a place to make a home.

  "I'm so sorry, Christian," Trace said. "Having a little trouble locating him right now."

  He laid the book on the desk. "Not a problem. I'll just leave this here with—"

  She hung up the phone. "There he is!"

  Jackson strode toward him, the clip of his designer shoes echoing with each step.

  Christian looked over his shoulder. "Hello."

  Jackson smiled, but stress lines traversed his forehead.

  Christian extended the book to him. "A gift."

  Jackson's gaze snapped toward the book in genuine surprise. He reached for it. "It's tremendous. Thank you."

  Christian nodded. "Consider it an olive branch."

  Something much like relief passed across his old friend's face. He shook his head, dropped his gaze to the floor momentarily before looking up again. "I'm sorry, man. Didn't mean for things to get so out of hand."

  Meg rushed toward them, pulling Christian into a hug. "It's so wonderful to see you!"

  Christian kissed her cheek. "Beautiful as always."

  "We've missed you, Christian."

  "I've missed you too."

  A woman joined them, her luxurious red hair cascading down one shoulder. Christian had never seen her before, or not that he recalled, but she seemed comfortable enough to make their group of three a foursome.

  Meg's face lit up and wrapped an arm around the woman. "CJ, I'd like you to meet my friend, Priscilla."

  The woman blushed, yet she was no shrinking violet. She reached out and pumped his hand. "Mr. Capra, I am a huge fan of yours and have been for some time. I have to tell you, though, that The Spell is absolutely my favorite."

  He tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Priscilla."

  Truthfully, though, he hadn't expected to hear that. In fact, this new world of releasing a book without the umbrella of a publicist, publishing company, and agent had served to further highlight the sheer contrast between writing for months to the sound of one's own muse versus the cacophony of voices that wanted to discuss that work.

  He was grateful.

  He was exhilarated.

  He was ... not ready. Because the only thing he'd thought about since releasing his novel—and every day before—was coming back here to find Sophia.

  Meg slapped Jackson on his rotator cuff.

  He shrank back. "Ow."

  She slapped him again, her eyes wide, her index finger jabbing toward the window to the path that wound around the outside of the hotel and abutted the sea. The same path Christian and Sophia had wandered along together.

  Priscilla's eyes flashed. She clapped her hands and leaned forward. "Well, I'll be ..."

  All three had turned toward the window, along with a few tourists milling about the lobby. He followed their line of vision and that's when he saw ... them.

  What's-his-name wore a suit, which he supposed was acceptable since it was nearly Christmas. Sophia ... well, s
he was beautiful. Graceful. Her hair hanging loosely about her shoulders, knee-length leather boots wrapping her legs, a chocolate-brown dress hugging her shape ....

  Then, the unthinkable. Wade took her hand and knelt to the ground, expensive suit and all.

  "He's proposing," Meg whispered.

  Priscilla sighed. "That is it, y'all. I'm moving to California."

  When it appeared that she had said yes, the lobby erupted in cheers. Meg squealed and turned to anyone who would listen. "I'm calling Liddy. She's going to be so upset that she missed this!"

  Meg hurried away from the lobby, pulling Priscilla along with her.

  Though he willed himself to keep a poker face and for his gaze to steer clear of that blasted window, he couldn't help himself. Christian watched, helplessly, as Wade pulled Sophia into a bear hug, leaving him to stare, frozen by the wayside, like an incidental forest animal. He resisted the urge to slither beneath a wide leaf.

  "I know you love her."

  Christian turned to Jackson, his old friend's voice surprisingly sympathetic.

  Jackson's eyes bore into his. "I read your interview."

  Christian swallowed. Instinct told him not to stand here and do nothing. This was the warrior's chance to show himself, to conquer his enemy, leaving him vanquished. He would be her knight and she his lady and ...

  "Despite all that, I am asking you to let her alone." A faint mixture of something played out upon his face. What was it? Anticipation? Worry?

  Jackson continued, perhaps unnerved at Christian's lack of reply. "She wants to make her life here ... she just told me this. You're too much of a wildcard, Christian. Always have been." He sighed, his voice weary. "Let her just ... be happy."

  "And how is it," he said finally, "that you don't think she'd be happy with me?"

  Jackson raked his hair with his hand. "Please."

  "Maybe you're the one who wouldn't be happy if Sophia and I ended up together. Could it be that you are protecting yourself more than your sister? That if she were to choose me, she might also follow me?"

  Jackson squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "That's enough."

  Resignation. That was the emotion Christian had tried to identify earlier, the one that had settled on Jackson's face.

  A commotion outside drew both their attentions. Meg and a small entourage had joined the happy couple, mouths moving, smiles forming. The three women embraced and took turns gawking over what, he surmised, was a ring. Probably something gaudy.

  Jackson's eyes never wavered from the window. "She looks happy to me, Christian. Don't you think?"

  Christian turned, putting his back to the scene. "I think you see what you want to see."

  "Most of her family is dead. Her sister is quite estranged." Quietly, Jackson added, "My child needs to know his or her auntie."

  Christian let that sink in. "You're pregnant."

  He cracked a small smile. "Well, Meg is. She'll be pleased that you didn't notice that she has begun to show."

  Christian stared at him for a long beat. "Am I that much of a monster to you? That you think I would keep Sophia away from her family?

  Jackson took in the view, once again, through that window. He flicked his chin toward the commotion outside. "I don't imagine that it really matters what I think anymore."

  Christian turned and watched as Sophia grasped Wade's face in both of her hands and gave him a heart-stopping kiss. He knew then, without doubt, that it was time to go home.

  Sophia felt Wade's lips on hers, his cheeks in her hands. She wanted to cry.

  Meg, on the other hand, was all smiles and suggestions. Liddy had joined them—news traveled fast. And their new friend Priscilla stood nearby, taking it all in.

  What a spectacle they must have been. Sophia feared what she might see if she were to glance toward the inn's large window, the one that offered a view of the sea—and the path they stood on now—from the lobby. Surely Wade's proposal had been witnessed by many.

  "I hope you'll be married in the inn's chapel." Meg was already in planning mode. "Do you have an idea of the date?"

  Liddy shushed her. "Of course she doesn't! She only got engaged three seconds ago."

  Meg snapped a look at Liddy. "I was only asking."

  Liddy touched Sophia's arm. "Don't mind her. She's in sales director mode." She paused. "You do you. No pressure to move too quickly here."

  Sophia noted the caution on Liddy's face, and though it may have been meant as a warning of some kind, that look gave her immeasurable comfort. All of this was moving too fast ... including her answer to Wade. She glanced around. Jackson had joined them now. He slapped Wade on the back, and then reached for her, pulling Sophia into a hug.

  Wade spoke. "Thank you for the offer of the chapel, Meg, but"— he glanced at Sophia and gave her a wink—"I think we may be looking for something a bit grander."

  The ball of tears that had formed at the base of Sophia's neck doubled in size. She had kissed him hard moments ago, but while everyone else seemed to believe she was celebrating her engagement to Wade, she was actually saying ... goodbye.

  Christian shut the entry door behind him, his footfalls the only sound in the room. He glanced around at the small guest house—a studio apartment, really—that he'd made home for the past couple of months. It had offered him a sanctuary of sorts, a place to finish what he'd started.

  And he had.

  He plopped into the well-worn recliner chair positioned in front of an ancient, non-working fireplace. A list of unread emails greeted him as he opened his phone and began to scroll.

  He sat up when one caught his eye. Grace, his VA, had forwarded him the email with the subject line: URGENT (Possibly).

  * * *

  Dear Mr. Capra:

  * * *

  I am reaching out to you today to discuss the possibility of a movie option for The Spell. I have attempted to reach your agent, Burns Golden; however, no response has been forthcoming.

  Please respond at your earliest convenience with the appropriate phone number for your representation so that we can discuss our offer.

  * * *

  Christian scowled. For some authors, this would be a welcome inquiry. But for him? It only complicated things. He stood and paced, re-reading the email. Would he ever rid himself of Burns and this notion that he, somehow, represented him? Grace had quite capably kept all Burns-related matter, claims, inquiries far from him. Except this one, of course. He made a mental note to ask her if he had received anything else from his former agent that he should be aware of. Otherwise, the term "blissfully unaware" could change to "utterly complicated."

  In a way, though, this news was a welcome interruption. Instead of licking his wounds from the spectacle that he'd just witnessed at the inn, he very well might have a new endeavor on which to focus. Not that assigning movie rights to one's novel could ever compare with losing the love of your life to another guy. He screwed up his mouth, thinking about it, a groan escaping him. How laughable he was to have thought that he could swing into that hotel like a swashbuckler ready to scoop up his fair maiden.

  He ran a hand across his face, expecting to feel the scrape of whiskers. Instead, the start of new growth greeted him, his hand raw from the sensation. He swallowed and shook his head. Keep moving forward ... just keep going.

  Christian touched open his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and finding Lisa Caldwell's cell phone number, he hit "call."

  She answered right away, her voice as gruff as ever. "Heard the news, I suspect."

  "Hello, Lisa. What news are you referring to?"

  "That at sixty-two years old, and after thirty years with the same company, I'm now a statistic. Part of the unemployment percentage along with just about every millennial in Manhattan."

  He frowned and dropped his gaze to the ground. Not the news he had expected. "I'm sorry to hear that. And no, I had no idea."

  "Then what were you calling about?"

  He had to bite back a ch
uckle. Always to the point. "I was hoping for your advice."

  "Well, given that I have all the time in the world right now, I'll see what I can do."

  He hesitated. "I'm looking for an agent who can advise me on subsidiary rights to my book."

  "Ah. And now that Burns is out of the picture, you have questions."

  One of his eyebrows rose on its own volition. "What happened to Burns?"

  She cackled. "You are kidding me, right? Boy, you must have been writing from a cave all these months."

  "Are you going to tell me or do I need to call up Google?"

  "He's out. Taken down by sexual harassment charges. Promised women book deals in exchange for, you know ..."

  Christian closed his eyes, not that anything would shock him anymore. Especially where Burns was concerned. How ironic. It was the "teeth" that Burns put into his negotiating skills that had drawn Christian—and hundreds of other writers—to him in the first place. He clenched his jaw. If he ever saw that guy again ...

  "What kind of rights are we talking about?" she said, breaking his concentration.

  Christian crossed his arms and looked up to refocus his mind. "Movie rights. I received an email from what appears to be a legit source. I have no interest in dealing with them myself, however."

  She let out a lengthy, angst-filled sigh. "Artists!"

  He smirked. "So can you recommend anyone?"

  "You're talking to her, you idiot."

  He couldn't help it this time and chuckled in response. "You're hired."

  "Fabulous. Send me what you've got. And for heaven's sake, let me in on your next 'undisclosed location,' will you? I'm not interested in chasing you all over hill and dale when I'm ready for you to sign your life away."

  He grunted a laugh. "I'm thinking of going north for a time."

  "North, huh? I don't think you're going to find too many mermaids in Alaska, my friend."

  That's what he was going for. "Montana," he said. "You'll find me on a ranch in Montana."