He eyed her. “And she is agreeable to this.”
“Yes. Well, she knows about the fast track, but not that I am approaching you about it.” She paused. “I had thought that was a given.”
“I see. What has happened to Amber’s living situation?”
“It’s a long story, but she had to leave quickly.” Candace raised her chin. “She is currently staying with me, but once Priscilla becomes approved—she’ll have to take a class and go through an inspection—then Amber should be free to move in with her.”
She held the pen out and he eyed it, a thought striking him, nearly drawing blood. How long had Priscilla been considering this? Had she wanted to tell him? Worse—had she tried? Trust had not been Wade’s strong suit, not in a long, long while. He had made it his business to get every agreement in writing, unsure if a person’s word was enough.
Guilt wormed its way through him. He had used his past hurts as an excuse not to trust again. And where had that gotten him?
Wade looked again at the pen in Candace’s hand. He took it, signed the form giving Priscilla his highest recommendation, and handed it back to her. “You’ll let her know that I took care of this?”
Candace nodded. “Sure thing,”
Then he turned on his heels and headed toward the exit, his mind reeling.
After punching his pillow for the umpteenth time, Wade got out of bed and headed for his office down the hall. For the next two hours, he answered emails, including one from the broker handling the sale of the building he co-owned in New York, and a handful from states outside of California’s time zone. He reviewed the schedule that Laura had organized for him. And he glanced down the hall more than once, wondering if he could coax more sleep out of himself.
When the sun began lighting up his window shades, he sighed, knowing sleep was lost. At least the dreary fog that had returned to the area recently had decided to sleep in too. He sent off one last email to Laura, and hit the shower.
An hour later he strolled into the inn to meet with the chef, who was relatively new to the property. He checked his watch. Wade could only afford to give the man a half hour of his time before he had to get onto Pacific Coast Highway. He had a meeting in Santa Monica in the early afternoon and hoped tourist traffic wouldn’t clog up the highway too much.
“Wade,” Jackson called out. “Hang on a second.”
Wade shook his hand. “Will you be joining our meeting in the kitchen? It’s going to be brief.”
“No, but I’m walking that way,” Jackson said. “I’ll join you now.”
They walked on, shoulder to shoulder, Jackson unusually quiet. When the kitchen office door was in sight, Jackson turned. “I gotta ask, man. What’s going on with you and Priscilla?”
Wade frowned. “You too?”
“I care about you, man.”
“Thank you, but with all due respect, I prefer to keep my private life just that.”
“I’ve noticed.” He paused. “Though if you ask me, proposing to Sophia in full view of everyone doesn’t exactly say private.”
“So if we’re done here ...”
“The ex checked out with a metaphorical bruise under his eye.” He paused, chuckling. “One of the staff overheard her clocking him with her well-delivered words.”
When Wade didn’t answer, Jackson spat out a scoff. “She didn’t go with him, man, but I’m sure you knew that. Or could have guessed that.”
Wade stopped and pivoted on his heels. He kept his poker face on. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Of course he knew she did not go with him—she’d met him for a drink, one that hadn’t gone very well. But he wasn’t about to divulge all that to Jackson.
Jackson grinned, his eyes like arrows pointing straight at Wade. “Liar.”
“May I remind you, Jackson, that this isn’t high school.” Even as he said it, he recalled Priscilla’s joke about high school never being over and had to hide the beginnings of a smirk.
“Then stop acting like it is and go talk to her.” Jackson put a hand on Wade’s shoulder, like he was a son speaking to his father. Or maybe older brother. “Take it from someone who’s been there.”
Wade could feel the tension rising in his back, as if his spine were thickening. Time was slipping by. The chef awaited him, the deal in New York could very well be disintegrating, and he still had a long drive down Pacific Coast Highway ahead of him. He raked a hand through his hair, stopping mid-rake. Jackson was staring at him, that insidious smile on his face.
“Knock it off,” Wade said.
“You know you want to,” Jackson said.
Silence.
Jackson chuckled. “Fine. Don’t answer me, but I’m telling you, man, get her in your life and she’ll keep you sane. She’ll keep the crazy seas of your life smooth. Just when you think you can’t take another minute of this angry world, she’ll make you laugh. Then she’ll make you dinner—and you’ll want to serve it to her. Don’t screw this up.”
“You done, Romeo?”
“Only if I’ve gotten under your skin.”
She’s getting under my skin. Those words had pierced his thoughts the day he’d swam with her at the Riley’s pool party. She’d cast a spell on him that day, and every day since, if he were honest. And yet, he had done all that he could to push her away. He’d questioned her. Challenged her. Made her get up from the table the last time they were together and walk away from him even before she had finished her wine.
His jaw clicked as his wretched behavior came into view.
Maybe the way things were left was for the best. She didn’t deserve someone like him. Priscilla needed someone to live life as one big grand adventure, not a guy who lived and breathed the next deal—and brooded when life did not turn his way.
“Incidentally, did you know she and Meg met yesterday to plan a camp for the kids you’ve been teaching?”
“Incidentally?” He shut his eyes for a moment, letting that sink in. He snapped them open and shook his head. “I had not heard about that.”
“They met out there most of yesterday afternoon.” He shot a look out toward the sunny patio abutting the inn. “A whole group of them—Priscilla, Meg, Liddy—even saw Trace over there at one point. And I think Sophia popped over with designs for special camp wear.”
“That’s—that is a fascinating idea. Of course, I will make sure you are compensated, Jackson.”
Jackson’s eyes darkened slightly. “You don’t understand. The camp is a gift. Priscilla let Meg know of the need, and you know my wife—she found a way to fill it. She and Priscilla are cut from the same cloth, as they say.”
Wade stood there, dumbfounded. Jackson spoke about their idea, their gift, as if it were a simple proposition. He knew it was not. And yet, they set about doing it anyway.
“You’ve saved us, Wade. Been here for us when we needed you most,” Jackson said, his expression earnest. “Let us help you with this charity that obviously means so much to you.”
Jackson’s kind words struck him, rendering him agitated. Priscilla had urged him to tell others about the center’s needs, but his stubbornness had won out. He wanted to handle things himself. What had he been trying to prove? That he would not—could not—fail? He clenched his jaw. Unfortunately, there were no guarantees about that.
Jackson continued. “Now getting back to Priscilla, I know it was hard on you when it didn’t work out with Sophia.”
Wade flicked a glance at him. “That was for the best.”
Jackson pressed his mouth into a line and nodded. “Agreed. But this is different. Priscilla is different—she’s perfect for you.” His mouth broke into a grin. “Get out there and sweep her off her feet. She deserves it.”
“We’re speaking in clichés now, are we?”
“Whatever it takes, man. Whatever it takes.”
The cement in Wade’s spine began to chip away. The chef could wait, he supposed. And he could call Laura to reschedule his meeting on a deal in Santa Moni
ca. The money from that project suddenly paled in his mind.
Jackson gestured outside with a flick of his head. “She’s out there.”
“Where?”
Jackson pointed toward the inn’s exit. “She bought a paddle board—Meg went with her to pick one out. It’s a nice one. Saw her an hour ago, heading for the harbor launch.”
Wade swung his gaze toward the large windows in the hall. The sun was breaking through the morning’s haze, like gold. He turned to Jackson. “Have a wetsuit I can borrow?”
Chapter 16
By the time Wade grabbed a pair of swim trunks from the inn’s gift shop and borrowed Jackson’s wetsuit—the one he kept in his office but never used—Priscilla was long gone.
Jackson had given him dutiful grief. “What do you need a wetsuit for? Be a man already.”
“Just give it to me.”
He’d carried it down to the launch area, still contemplating his next move. It was still early and the channel nearly deserted. A kayaker here, a stand-up paddle boarder there. No sign of Priscilla.
He glanced at the Kayak Shack, colorful kayaks lined up on the man-made beach. He took a step, then stopped. What had Priscilla said about him? That his clothes were “impossibly starched”?
He grimaced. She might as well have called him a chicken. A rack near the hut held paddle boards in varying sizes. Priscilla had actually bought one, and now she was out there, somewhere. He glanced out to see. Sweep her off her feet, Jackson had said.
Yeah, but what if seeing him flailing around on a board ended up being his kryptonite?
“Eh, there, brotha,” the rental guy called out to him. “Help ya with something?”
He flickered a glance at the guy, his skin tan and showing slight signs of leathering. “I’d like to rent a board.”
“Cool. I’m Brett.” The guy moved toward the rack and pulled out a particularly long board. He called to Wade over his shoulder. “Ever do this before?”
“Nope.”
He nodded like he already knew that. “This one’s got an extra thick grip pad on it. Works good for beginners.” He peeled a look up at Wade. “Can you swim, daddy-o?”
Wade scowled. He wasn’t that old. “Of course.”
“Great. Follow me.” He set the board down on the sand, nose pointing toward the lapping water. Then he handed him a fanny pack.
Wade eyed him. “What’s that for?”
“To keep you from drowning.”
“I said I could swim.” He said this through gritted teeth.
Brett laughed, a surprising, high-pitched sound. “’Course, but this is a life vest you wear around your waist. Harbor Patrol requires it for SUPs.”
“Sups?”
“Stand up paddlers.”
“Ah. By the way, did you happen to see a woman paddle out recently? Red hair?”
Brett whistled. “You mean Priscilla, I take it. Yup. She took off about an hour ago. Maybe less. She’s a strong one.”
“Hm.” Wade snapped the life preserver around his waist and raised both hands. “Am I legal?”
“Yeah. I need to get your credit card first, daddy-o.”
Wade whipped out payment, but pulled it back just as Brett reached for it. “Only if you stop calling me daddy-o.”
“Okay ... pops.”
Wade narrowed his eyes.
That high-pitched laugh again. “Just messin’ with you”—He glanced at the credit card then looked back up—“Mr. Prince. And I don’t think you’re gonna want to wear that suit out there.”
“No?”
“That one’s kind of a relic, man. It’s a winter suit too. Too hot today for that.” He handed Wade a paddle. “Board shorts work great. Don’t be shy—chicks dig a guy with pecs.”
“Is that right?”
Brett laughed. “Okay, now, I set you up on the sand. Much easier than launching from those docks over there. Start on your knees, paddle out, and when you get used to the feel of that board beneath you, give standing a try.” He looked up. “You’re not thinking about going out into the waves, I hope?”
“Not today.”
Brett nodded. “Good call.”
Wade tried hard not to think about the lack of protection on the vessel he was about to climb aboard. As advised, he started on his knees, feeling perfectly ridiculous, but determined to get up on his feet before he reached the opening to the channel’s wide breadth.
He stuck the paddle into the water and pulled in a downward motion, one side to the next. With each push against the water’s resistance, he shoved away thoughts of work. Of appointments. And deals. And those calls he had planned to make on his drive down to his appointment later today—the appointment he had cancelled without so much as an explanation.
Usually, when he thought of his to-do list, adrenaline rose from somewhere deep in the pit of his gut. That adrenaline kept him moving forward, toward his target goals. As he continued to loft out into this area of the water, where birds soared and dove for breakfast, Wade began to shed those thoughts. His calendar, which had little-to-no whitespace available, began to drift away from his mind as sure as each stick of the paddle moved him farther away from shore.
And it surprised him, almost to the point of annoyance. Normally he would be angry at himself right now, incensed at his lack of focus on his business pursuits. He had not built his business, his bank accounts, by allowing his focus to become untethered and a part of him clung to his tried-and-true self.
If he were honest with himself, all he wanted to do right now was to unmoor himself from all that kept him tied to a daily schedule, like a line being unhitched from a cleat secured to a dock.
And the more his mind let go of the thoughts that often kept it bound, his body followed. He was floating out in the channel now, conscious of the intake and exit of his breath. Wade raised the paddle above his head and stretched, allowing fresh oxygen to filter through him, like a healing massage.
Slowly, he put a foot on the grip pad of his board. He felt steady, strong. Then the other foot, raising himself to a standing position, while holding the paddle out for balance. The breeze hit his chest, cooling him from the top of his head to the toes that gripped his board. A new kind of adrenaline surged within him.
He began to paddle more deliberately now, digging deeper into the water, reveling in its smoothness, in the progress he made with each stroke. He huffed a smile. Even out here, he found himself in competition with ... himself.
Get a grip, Prince.
He forced himself to look toward the wide expanse of sky and sea. Doing so helped him pull himself out of his own efforts and to focus on the divine. He released a sigh, this one saturated with gratefulness. He had lived here for years, had passed this very sea by on his daily drive, but how often had he experienced it?
Sadly, not often.
Priscilla, on the other hand, had embraced it all. Despite the despicable situation her ex-husband had impressed upon her and the new surroundings she’d found herself in, she had plunged forward, taking on new challenges and adventures. He pictured her on that first day that he’d noticed her. Why had he been so impolite to her at Sophia’s wedding? Was he so absorbed, so myopic that he could not put aside his work for one minute to be charming to a newcomer who had approached him with such openness?
What a dolt.
Wade scanned the waters ahead, searching for a sign of Priscilla. A slight chill ran through him thinking of her being out here all by herself. As magnificent as it was, anything could happen. Had she known the rules and worn a life jacket? Would she stay safe in the harbor or venture out to the open sea?
He shuddered, hoping she would read his mind and stay on calm waters. Though he was beginning to understand the draw of this sport, he wasn’t keen on having to stay balanced on the waves—or worse—be tossed off into the water.
A whir of a nearby boat caught Wade’s attention. He glanced to his left where a guy and his dog were putting along, the outboard motor creating a small w
ake. The guy lifted his hand in a brief wave as he passed by.
Now there’s an idea. Why hadn’t he rented a boat instead ...?
Wade dug his paddle into the water harder, left, right, left again, hopeful that he would find Priscilla out here somewhere. And soon. A couple of paddle boarders appeared up ahead, near the corner where he would be turning. An electric boat bounced along carrying five silver-haired women. They laughed and clinked champagne flutes that, given their bright orange color, probably held healthy pours of mimosas.
Wade reached that corner faster than he had expected, the wind carrying him along. As he did, he ushered himself into the wide main channel of the harbor where everyone had been hiding, apparently. The dense blue waters provided a playground for yachters as much as sailors, kayakers, and SUPs. He continued to slice his way through the water, though the direction of the wind had changed, offering up resistance rather than help. The closer he paddled toward the mouth of the harbor, the more tumultuous the waters became.
Nothing about this surprised him. Wade had been on boats many times, usually with clients, and had noted the traffic of all sizes on his way through the channel. For a short time, he had even owned a good-sized yacht, though he’d sold it quickly, realizing how little time he had for play. He remembered both the presence and absence of wind, seemingly fickle at times. But with this new experience, his perspective changed. He was no longer on board a seaworthy vessel with a captain at the helm, no longer felt sturdy ground beneath him. In some peculiar way, this lack of reliance appealed to Wade in a way he had not considered before.
A wolf whistle broke his thoughts. He looked to his left. Maybe “wolf” wasn’t the right term. Did cougars whistle? He could not avoid the stares of the women on the tandem kayak that paddled up next to him. Try as he did.
“Hey there, sailor!” The woman who called out to him sat in the front, barely turning her paddle. She wore her dark hair piled high on her head and silver cat-eye sunglasses on her face, like she was straight out of the 1960s. “You’re looking fine out here.”
Beneath a Billion Stars Page 17
