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Blair pulled her sunglasses over her eyes and followed her friend. This summer had disaster written all over it.
Two
One Month Later
Maggie
The late afternoon sun beat on Maggie’s shoulders as she lowered herself down the seawall onto the smattering of sandy beach below. She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. Whew! It was hot. As she glanced across the sound toward the faraway beacon that was Cape Lookout Lighthouse, she longed for any bit of breeze she could find. But there was none.
It was too hot. She was tired of the heat, and tired of Blair’s complaining. And she hated to admit it, but she was even getting a little bored. After a month on the island, the long, hot summer days were beginning to meld together, and she sometimes found herself counting the days until fall.
She continued to walk down the narrow beach that the low tide had graciously left. That was another thing. The beaches on this island weren’t necessarily luxurious, sandy, or even large. It was mostly marshy and only at times like this, extremely low tide, did one get to sink her toes into the sand. Being on the island was definitely a first for her. She grew up near the lakes around Charlotte and loved the water, but something about the salt changed the whole experience.
Maggie sighed. She would never admit to Blair that even she, the eternal optimist, was getting a bit stir crazy. Maybe her dad’s summer offer to work in the marketing department at Z Power Boats wasn’t such a bad idea. There were perks to being the boss’s daughter, and her portfolio would have grown three-fold. Whether she was Denny Zeal’s daughter or not, she couldn’t accept the handout. She was out of college and determined to set her own course. That meant finding a way to salvage the rest of the summer.
At least Blair had focus. She was spending her time on the island preparing for her career in Dallas. Maggie observed her friend writing news stories she found online. It was all part of keeping her writing sharp, Blair explained. She could be overly dramatic at times, but at least she had something to think about. Blair was never lacking in drive.
As for Maggie, she was excited about her new job in Charleston, but deep down, she was a little sad that her four years at Carolina had ended without having a serious relationship. She was twenty-two, and she had never truly fallen in love. Of course, there had been boyfriends. None of them had lasted long. Lately, she had begun to wonder if her standards were too high.
She felt a warm splash of water. The tide was coming in. She had this need to dive into the water, but had a feeling it would offer no relief from this sweltering heat.
Unsure of where she was going, but intrigued by the sea life, she continued to walk down the shoreline. Broken oyster shells and scallop shells lined the beach area. She could hear the high-pitched squawking of the gulls as she looked out across the horizon.
She almost tripped on a large rock filled with sharp barnacles before she caught herself. When she looked up, she saw him.
The first thing Maggie spotted was a beautiful, tanned back where the muscles seemed to dance in the sunlight. S
he could almost count them. He was bending down in a white wooden boat just right of the shoreline. The faint sounds of the Embers’ music filled the air. She listened as he quietly sang with a somewhat off-key voice. She thought she recognized the words of I Love Beach Music.
Maggie smiled as he stood once again. She ducked behind one of the large gray rocks on the beach so she could continue to watch him without being noticed. He turned and she could see his profile as he whistled to the music. His tan was deep and even. It covered his massive shoulders. His dark, somewhat unruly hair was damp with sweat and in a state of disarray. She watched with interest as he ran a hand through it so he could brush an errant strand off his forehead. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, but his lips were full and stretched into a concentrated line as he worked.
Maggie sighed. The heat must be getting to me. Did I conjure this perfect image from my dreams? This tall, dark stranger was like a mirage.
The sound of sandpaper scratching against wood broke her reverie. She watched as he skillfully smoothed the wooden boat. A Harkers Island boat.
She had heard and read about the Harkers Island boat builders. They were talented craftsmen.
This tall, tan boat builder appeared to be almost finished with his masterpiece. Soon, he would add the engine, powered to go fast across the open waters.
He looked up, and Maggie crouched farther behind the protection of the rock. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want him to see her. She liked watching and being an observer of his world. There was something about the way his large hands worked so delicately with the wood. If he saw her now, it would break the spell.
She felt water hit her ankles and she let out a small yelp. The tide was coming in quickly now, and soon, there would be no beach left. She had to escape before the water completely engulfed her.
She cast one more look in his direction—reassured that he was wholly taken by his sanding—turned, and hurried back in the direction she had come. Back to the east end of the island, back to the house, and back to Blair. Oh, did she have a story for her friend.
Three
Reid
Reid looked up from his handiwork and watched with curiosity as a petite brunette ran along the thin strip of beach away from him. He thought he had seen something by the rocks a few minutes ago. Could it have been her? It was rare to see someone wandering near the sound on this end of the island. The tide took care of that. The timing had to be just right. Most people enjoyed the island’s largest sandy beach near the bridge. She must be a tourist.
Nevertheless, there was no time to think about how she washed up down here. Mr. Yeoman expected this boat by the end of the week. It was a present for his son, who was turning sixteen on Sunday. A boy’s first boat—Randy would be excited.
Reid remembered his first boat ten years ago. He remembered the feeling of complete freedom when he navigated the small wooden skiff across the open waters toward the lighthouse for the first time that early spring morning. Just knowing that the powerful vessel bouncing over the swells had been crafted by his hands gave him a sense of accomplishment and purpose. He and his dad had spent the winter working on his boat whenever they had a spare minute not devoted to the family boat-making business, or Reid’s school and sports demands.
For Reid, the only thing that felt better than being on the water in one of his family’s boats was being in the water. An all-state swimmer in high school, he had broken several eastern North Carolina high school records. He considered walking on to a swim team in college, but this island boy couldn’t imagine living somewhere without a view of the water, even if it was only a couple hours away and for four years.
So, he joined the Coast Guard, which was more than happy to take a recruit with such a stellar swimming background. The former all-star packed his bags, headed off to coastlines unknown, and channeled his love for salt water. It didn’t hurt that he had a killer freestyle.
