I opened the front door and followed Hunter out to the porch. The sky was deep and clear, the stars enormous and the air scented with fresh grass and sweet peas and the sea.
“The smell of spring. I wasn’t sure it would ever come after the winter we had,” I said.
At the top of the stairs, he halted, looking into the night. “I was thinking they should make a perfume that smells like Willet Cove in the spring because there’s nothing quite like it.”
“Oh yes, that would be lovely,” I said. “What would we name it?”
“Seraphina?”
I laughed to hide my embarrassment. “It has a nice ring to it.”
He watched me for a moment, as if I were the most fascinating person in the world. “Thank you for … the conversation tonight. It was refreshing to talk to another artist.”
“Someone as intense as you?” I regretted it the moment I said it. Would he think I was referencing Tyler’s idea that we needed partners who shared intensity? And would he be completely opposed to the idea?
But, if he thought so, he didn’t say anything. “You’ve got quite a boy. I’m sure you’re proud.”
“More than I could ever say. I’ve been blessed.”
“His father was a fool,” Hunter said.
“He was, but I’m not sorry he bailed. We weren’t meant to be. But I was meant to be Tyler’s mom.”
He looked at me for a moment longer than was necessary and then away, out at the stars. “I can hear the ocean. It must be soothing to hear the waves crash to shore.”
I smiled. “Yes, it is.”
“Thanks again for tonight.”
“My pleasure,” I said.
He crossed the porch and headed toward his truck, guitar case in hand. I stood in the doorway, noting his long, purposeful stride. At his truck, her turned to give me a wave and then slipped inside, turning on the engine, flooding my yard with light. For a moment, I was blinded by the intensity of the headlights but then stepped back inside and shut the door. I stood with my back against it, my heart beating hard against my ribs. What had just happened?
I thought about Ray Sloan’s name in the liner notes and all the nights I’d sat with my dad, listening to those records—while his son, alone in an empty apartment, waited for him to come home. It was sad but beautiful too. We’d been in each other’s worlds without knowing it. Was there more at work here than I could see or explain? Our fathers working together in heaven to make sure we found each other?
I dismissed it as fanciful, yet there was a small part of me that was beginning to think all the coincidences weren’t happenstance at all, but rather fate.
4
HUNTER
The morning after the dinner with Seraphina and Tyler, I ran south along the beach, sand hard-packed and dark at the waterline. Fog encased the coast, making the air feel as if I were making my way through a fine mist.
I was off work today, which, unfortunately, I’d found difficult of late. All those hours to fill without any purpose made me listless and unfocused.
Today, though, I’d wakened at five a.m. and sat straight up, fully alert. My mind already working before my body caught up, itching to create. This was the way I used to feel all the time. Before I met Dana. Before I’d allowed myself to fall for her and become obsessed with trying to be what she wanted.
As I ran, I thought about the previous evening. I couldn’t remember a time I’d enjoyed more since I’ve come to Willet Cove. Being in Seraphina’s home, getting to know her son, had been strangely easy. Almost familiar.
Tyler putting together the playlist of my hits had touched my heart. It would have taken some research to find them all. I wasn’t sure exactly why he’d done it, but it was sweet no matter the motive.
As I ran, I thought about what Seraphina had said about the first time she heard “Already Gone.” She’d had to pull to the side of the road she was so moved by my song and Ivy’s spectacular interpretation of it. It didn’t get much better as an artist to hear something like that. However, knowing that she’d related to it from a place of deep hurt and betrayal made me sad.
You’re not too much, Mom. That guy wasn’t enough.
My feet found their rhythm on the wet sand. Most of the time I ran to music, but today I’d decided to see what might pop into my head with only the waves and gulls competing for my attention. What did I hear over and over? Seraphina’s voice saying,Or something like that anyway.
I ran another half mile, and by the time I turned back the nagging had become a pulling sensation behind my sternum that I hadn’t felt in over a year. The dormant muses seemed to have awakened from their long, dreamless sleep. More fragments came as I ran.She left a note.My mother’s note on the kitchen table. Seven words that changed everything. Then Dana’s note, the cruel echo of history repeating itself. Making me sure I understood. You are the problem. You are the one who held on too tightly.
