“And, what happened? Clearly, there was a shift somewhere.”
“Well”—she let out a winded sigh, played with a lock of hair—“after college, I did end up landing a job with a small local paper, yet never snagged an investigative assignment. Instead, I was handed the task of discovering feel-good, pull-at your-heartstrings reports about people living in the community. Without realizing it, I found myself drawn to seeking out stories about residents who serendipitously met and fell in love.”
Dylan leaned back, ignoring the sound of rain slapping against the windows, encouraging her to continue on, eager to learn more.
Chloe sat yoga-style, grabbed a small throw pillow, and set it on her lap. “A few years into it, I was feeling bored, unfulfilled. So I quit and went on a month-long trip with my mom to Sag Harbor—my mom is a travel agent and with that comes a few perks. Anyway, the investigative reporter in me gathered a ton of info, particularly about the owners of the quaint bed and breakfast we stayed at. I journaled every single detail and ended up writing a manuscript based on how they met and fell in love, right there in Sag Harbor.”
“Lovestruck in Sag Harbor?” Dylan picked up his glass, took a sip of wine.
Chloe smiled. “Not at first. I queried a ton of agents, editors, only to be turned down. Then, about a year later, Walter introduced me to his best friend’s wife, who happened to be an editor for a publishing company seeking new authors. Libby—she’s my editor—fell in love with my manuscript and when she submitted it, JBM—my publisher—wanted a three-book series.”
“Three books?”
“Yep. Unfortunately, I only had the one. When I explained my background in journalism and how the Sag Harbor story came to be, they began sending me to small coastal towns. And, after twelve months, I had two more beautifully written manuscripts submitted.”
It was engrossing to him, learning about how she got her start as this successful writer. He could see, by the glitter, the elation in her eyes, writing was a thrill ride—driven by everyday, ordinary people who found love.
“Lovestruck. Who came up with the series name?”
Chloe tucked her hair behind her ears, smiled with her eyes. “My mom. She was describing how it felt when she met my dad. And when I heard her say lovestruck, I knew it was an excellent fit for my series. Subsequently, Lovestruck in Sag Harbor, Lovestruck in Spring Lake, Lovestruck in Bar Harbor, also known as the first three books in the series, were born.”
Lovestruck. It was a word he’d seldom heard, but one that could easily be used to define the feelings swirling, churning, building inside him as he looked at her.
“Enough about me. Tell me about you. Your love of photography.”
It was a tender subject for Dylan, like a bruise left unhealed. “I loved it. As in past tense.” He picked up his glass, took the last sip, placed it back down.“I’m looking for a new hobby.” He served a head-tilt-smirky-mouth duo. “Thinking about taking up painting.”
Chloe reached over and placed her hand on his knee, the subtle touch sending an electric current through his body. “Tell me how you started taking pictures?”
The inquiry took him back many, many years. Memories of good times that drew up a bemused expression across his face. “I was about eight years old when my parents bought me my first camera for Christmas. God, how I was crazy about that thing, strap draped around my neck like 1990s bling, taking it everywhere I went, snapping pics of everything imaginable. A caterpillar clinging to a leaf, water flowing in a brook, neighborhood pets, collectable cars, the moon and stars contrasted by the midnight-blue sky.”
Chloe lifted her glass, its rim barely brushing her lips. “Your whole face ignited as you spoke about your first camera.”
Dylan shrugged, dipped his head. “Yeah, well it was a great time in my life. That camera brought me a flurry of emotion; I was fascinated by the ability to capture something during a single moment in time. It seems they gave me a new camera every year for Christmas after that. I practiced, took tons of photos, sharpened my skills. In high school, snapped pictures for the school newspaper, for the yearbook, and in college, studied photography as an art, honing my talent, my craft, that much more.”
Lightning flashed; its zigzag bolts could be seen through the opening of the window blinds. Thunder followed, the rolling boom shocking their atmosphere.
Chloe straightened, as she looked toward the window before shifting her gaze to Dylan. “Maybe we should turn in. I’d love time to get a few words in before the night is over.”
“Sure.” He shot up from the couch, retrieved her glass, then his. “Just let me put these away first.”
After leading the way up the stairs, Dylan escorted Chloe to her room, saddened the evening they were sharing was coming to an end.Damn storm. But it was the storm that brought them there together, the storm that enabled that almost-kiss.
Stopping at her door, Chloe stood, back against it, staring up at Dylan, long lashes fluttering with every blink. “Thanks for dinner, it was amazing. And thanks for the conversation. I always enjoy—”
He kissed her.
Lips pressed against lips, his thumb caressing her cheek, warmth spreading throughout his entire body. Breathless. Dreamy. Worth the wait.
A kiss that made his burned-out notions about love, flicker to life.
