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“I’m sure. I won’t be going anywhere.” I have a date with a chaise lounge, lots of blankets, and a view of the angry ocean.
“Do you have luggage?”
“In the trunk.” I pop it open, and he retrieves my suitcase.
“It’s light,” he comments.
I pull myself out of the car, the wind whipping my dress behind me. “Honeymoon luggage. Lingerie and bathing suits don’t weigh much.” Bitterness laces my tone.
The man stops mid-stride and stares at me for a brief moment, his eyes blinking slowly. His obvious sympathy is too much for me to handle.
“What about the car?” I ask, a hitch in my voice.
“Leave it. I’ll push it to the parking lot.”
I toss him the keys and he catches them in one hand. I’m more than happy to leave it all to him.
“Lead the way.” I have a knight in shining armor who saved me and took care of everything in one fell swoop. Too bad I’m not in the market for a handsome knight. He rather fits the bill.
I follow him on the sandy wooden pathway leading to the front steps of the meticulously renovated Victorian bed-and-breakfast. I hope the inside matches the outside.
Iamthe young lady who has been told by her doctor to go to the seaside and recover. I have the house to match the time period. I turn and look out at the ocean while the wind continues to rip at me.
I’ve never felt so alone. So devastated. So distraught.
It’s just me and the seaside and a broken heart. I don’t care much for this combo. A juicy cheeseburger, french fries, and a milkshake—there’s a combo I can get behind.
Instead, my life is irrevocably changed. Yet the waves still continue to crash on the surf, and the earth is still turning on its axis. The sun is still desperately trying to peek through the clouds. The world moves on. Everything remains in working order.
Except me. I’m broken. In recovery mode. In a reboot cycle. Desperately trying to restart.
chapter five
ITURN AROUNDand find the man holding the door open for me, his eyes watchful. I must be a pathetic sight.
“Sorry.” I didn’t mean to make him wait.
“It’s a common reaction. Mesmerizing, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” I’ll just pretend I wasn’t overcome by how big the world is and how small I am.
“Welcome to Sheridan House,” he says, his eyes inviting me into his world.
A new world. A new life. This day marks big changes for me.
I step inside, ready to be out of the crazy wind. Between the car ride in a convertible and winds unlike anything related to a pleasant ocean breeze, I’m done with the elements. The door closes and my ears stop roaring. The silence is a relief.
The foyer is charming, smelling of cinnamon. A fire burns in the large sitting room to my right, beckoning guests to curl up and stay awhile. A fire feels out of place for a summer vacation, but the crazy wind outside screams it belongs right where it is. The décor is a modernized version of a step back in time, clean and crisp. Trendy area rugs adorn the hardwood floors. Old-fashioned loveseats and chairs with contemporary upholstery sit atop the rugs. Toward the far end, elegant dining tables dot the obviously renovated dining area. No walls dare to divide the open concept.
I can see the opening to a grand staircase from where I stand. The desire to explore washes over me. It gets ignored, as do the faceless people lounging by the fire.
The man takes his place behind the check-in counter, stealing my attention.
“Name?”
“Marin James.”
He holds out his hand. “Slade Sheridan.”
