“Coffee, if you have it,” he said. “Black is fine.”
They moved the parlor, where the carafe on the sidebar was still warm. She poured for both of them, set the cups on the low table, and motioned for him to take a seat. He chose the window-facing armchair, crossing his legs and resting his ankle on his knee.
Emily sat opposite, hands curled around her cup, trying to discern what he was really here for.
“How are you?” he asked, relaxing across from her. “You sounded a little frazzled when I last called.”
Emily didn’t break down with Roman the way she had with Amy. Instead, she simply shrugged. “Well, my dad’s still sick, but we’re taking it day by day. And wemightbuy a lighthouse.”
Roman raised his eyebrows at her last words. “That’s very Emily of you. What in the world would you do with a lighthouse?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Any ideas?” Emily asked slyly.
The trademark Westbrook smile flashed again. “Hide from the press.” He looked at his mug, and then back to her. “Is now a bad time to talk?”
She startled a little, surprised he was just going to come out with whatever was on his mind. “Not at all. What’s up?”
“Chantelle and the summer program. Have you thought more on it? She’s good, and you know I don’t say it lightly. Boston’s a big opportunity.”
The words were soft, almost neutral, but Emily felt the latent weight of them. She forced herself to keep her posture open, but her fingers had begun to tap, staccato, against the rim of her cup.
“She’s nervous,” Emily said. “About leaving. About all of it.”
“That’s normal.” Roman’s tone was both reassuring and oddly personal. “Chantelle has raw talent, but that’s like having wings before you know how to fly. You can flap all day and not get off the ground.” He paused.
“One of my foster mothers used to say,” he went on, “that talent is a gift, but what you do with it is your responsibility. She was a realist. If she wanted something, she either figured out how to get it, or she learned to live with not having it.”
Her heart ached for him when he saidfoster. It was a fact she’d known, but it still hit her hard every time he mentioned it casually.
“Doyouthink we should push her?” Emily asked, not entirely meaning to voice it aloud.
Roman paused, thoughtful. “If you don’t, she might not get to the stage professionally. I mean, she did great with me at the local event you planned. But nobody goes pro by accident. But… it’s not about forcing it. You can’t want it for her. She has to want it for herself.”
Emily sat back. She thought of the times she’d hovered outside Chantelle’s door, listening for the faint trace of scales or the start-stop of her daughter’s voice as she tested new lyrics. “We’re going to let her choose. I never want it to be something we’ve chosen for her. It has to come from her own heart.”
“She’s lucky to have you and Daniel as her parents,” Roman said, looking down into his cup.
They sat in silence again, but it felt lighter this time.
From Emily’s office just past the reception desk, where Emily had set Charlotte down for her midmorning nap in the travel playpen, Charlotte’s voice rang out—first a babble, then a wobbly crescendo that ended in a just-woken-up shriek. Roman’s smile returned, this time with genuine amusement. “That your youngest?”
Emily nodded. “She’s finding her voice.”
Roman tilted his head, as if listening for harmony. “Hitting the high notes. It runs in the family.” He glanced at his watch—delicate and expensive, the kind a celebrity wore but probably never actually checked for the time. “I should probably go. I’m supposed to get that guitar by noon.”
She stood as he did, and the difference in height was more pronounced than she’d remembered.
“Thank you for the coffee,” he said. “And the conversation.”
“You’re welcome,” Emily replied, then added, “I’ll let you know about Chantelle. Though you might have me trying to sneak into her luggage if she went.”
Roman laughed, low and easy. She walked him to the door, then lingered in the foyer, hands jammed deep in her pockets. The house was silent after the door closed. Emily walked to one of the windows at the side of the door and watched Roman drive off in a sleek sportscar, the engine purring as he navigated down the driveway. She felt a sudden pang of sympathy for him—despite his fame and success, he must feel pretty lonely on the road all the time.
She had so many loved ones around her—so many to lean on. And Roman must feel that the inn, and Sunset Harbor, was something special for him, too. As famous as he was, he kept returning. It warmed Emily’s heart that something in the successful singer felt at home here, just like she did.
Despite the ups and downs, the fights with each other, the money troubles, this place was a refuge where everyone was family. A place where they figured things out together, supporting each other through thick and thin. It helped ease Emily’s anxiety over the fight with Daniel. She knew, deep down, that he was just worried about her. Loved her. Wanted her to be healthy—and the baby.
The sound of Charlotte calling for her broke Emily’s reverie, her baby girl's sweet voice pulling her back to the present.
