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“I’d love that,” he replied. “I’ll need you.”
“All of us will be living here?” I asked. “Like a family?”
“Yes. A family. What do you say about that?” Kevin asked.
“Forever?”
He nodded. “Forever.”
I didn’t even have time to give him any more words because I ran toward him and leaped into his arms. Grams joined us in a big group hug, and I held on to them both as tight as I could.
“Thanks, Mama,” I whispered as I hugged Kevin.
Grams and Kevin didn’t know it, but when I was in the ocean, I wished for a family again. That was how I knew that the ocean really did have powers—because my biggest wish came true.
1
Stella
Present Day
“You have gotto be kidding me,” I huffed to myself as I stood in a remarkably long line for Jerry’s Bakery.
I wasn’t a woman who enjoyed waiting in lines. Not for concert tickets, not for food, not for Black Friday deals. As a matter of fact, I went out of my way to avoid lines to the best of my ability. If more than ten people were in front of me, there was a solid chance I wasn’t sticking around to try the new popular chicken sandwich. Oh, those new sneakers I’d been dying to get? Awesome! A line with twenty-five people? I’d get them next season, thankyouverymuch.
Yet that Saturday morning, I found myself standing in an extremely long line. I needed two things and two things only from Jerry’s: one blueberry scone and a black coffee with two sugar cubes. No substitutions, no matter what. There was an issue with going to Jerry’s on a Saturday morning because the whole world seemed to show up for the fresh goods. The line was wrapped around the building by eight in the morning, and I didn’t reach the front door until 8:35.
Normally, I showed up at the bakery during the week, when rush hours died down during my break from work. No part of me ever wanted to show up at Jerry’s early on a Saturday, but I didn’t have much choice that morning.
The line inched closer moment by moment, and soon enough, all that stood between the mission and me was a very tall man dressed in designer clothing. I was so close that I could almost taste the blueberries. So close that the darkened coffee was seconds away from burning the tip of my tongue. I saw my goal in the display cabinet right in front of me: a beautiful, thick blueberry scone. The last one, too. I felt as if the universe had looked down on me and kissed my cheek with its love.
Unfortunately, the universe had a sick sense of humor because it went ahead and bitch-slapped me as the gentleman in front of me ordered the last one.
“No!” I shouted, shooting in front of him as if I were trying to stop a bomb from exploding. I blocked him and the display as if it were my own mission in life. My heart pounded wildly against my rib cage as my brown eyes bugged out of my head. The cashier and the man looked at me as if I were insane, and, well… fair assessment, but I didn’t care how crazy I appeared.
All I cared about was getting that freaking scone.
“I’m sorry, I mean no harm,” I said to the terrified-looking cashier, clearing my throat. She couldn’t have been older than seventeen. Eighteen on a heavy makeup day. I turned to look at the gentleman in front of me, and when my eyes met his, I almost passed out. He looked so much like…
No.
Focus, Stella.
I pushed out the friendliest smile I could muster up and shook off my nerves as I met the coldest blue eyes I’d ever seen. They looked like the ocean—if the ocean froze over and was unwelcoming. They also delivered an icy chill down one’s spine when they were fixated on you.
My whole body shivered as I stared into his blues. His posture remained strong and stable.
I guessed my eyes didn’t hold the same effect on him.
“I actually was going to get that blueberry scone,” I said. “I’ve been waiting in line this whole time for that.”
“That has nothing to do with me,” he grumbled. His voice was deep and smoky. Was there a little New York twang in his accent? Maybe Queens? Or Brooklyn? When I was a kid, I had an odd obsession with daydreaming that I was from New York City. I’d watched one too many episodes ofSex and The Cityand practiced the different New York accents I’d hear on YouTube.
Some kids hung out with people; others mimicked accents in their bedrooms.
The stranger held his card toward the cashier, and I smacked it out of his hand, sending it to the floor. His eyes glanced down at his card, rose to meet my stare, back to the card, then back at me. I felt a wave of nausea hit me.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
