Mariah Stewart - On Sunset Beach

“You’re welcome.” He bent down and kissed the tip of her nose. “More to come after I get a shower …”

Dinner that night was takeout—and late.

The next morning, he surprised her again.

“Get up.” He stood over the bed, fully dressed, at six thirty.

“Why?” she grumbled.

“Because we have someplace to go.” He smacked her lightly on the rump. “Come on. Get your clothes on.”

She was still grumbling when she came into the kitchen and headed for the coffee machine.

“Uh-uh,” he told her. “Not today.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

“Possibly.” He took her hand and led her out the door.

“Where are we going?”

“You are playing hooky for a while this morning. Since I walked over yesterday, you’re going to have to drive.”

“Drive where?”

“To the inn.”

“Why?” She unlocked the car and got behind the wheel.

“Because.” There was that smug look again.

“All right. But there’d better be coffee …”

There was coffee, a thermos of it, fixed the way she liked it, tucked into the picnic basket that waited for them right inside the kitchen door. Ford picked up the basket, shouted his thanks to the chef, and took Carly by the hand. He led her down to the boathouse, where he told her, “This is going to be tricky.”

He dragged a double kayak into the water and motioned for her to hand him the basket.

“Get in,” he told her.

She took off her flip-flops, waded through the shallow water, tossed in her sandals, and climbed in after them. When she was seated, he passed the basket back to her.

“Don’t peek,” he told her.

“How am I going to paddle if I’m holding the basket?” she asked.

“I’m paddling. You’re going to keep a good grip on that basket. I have it on good authority that there’s some pretty good stuff in there.”

He walked the kayak farther into the water, got on board, and paddled out into the Bay. It was quiet on the water, and she heard every stroke of the paddle against the gentle waves. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back and let the breeze blow over her. She felt free and happy and knew there was no place in the world she’d rather be at that moment.

“Sure you don’t want to trade?” she asked. “You hold the basket and I’ll paddle.”

“No thanks. I want to get there this morning.”

She laughed and dragged one hand in the water as the kayak glided along the coastline.

“Do you actually have a destination in mind, or are you just winging it?”

“Don’t you worry about where we’re going.”

“Are we close?”

“Another five minutes.”

She readjusted the basket and was tempted to open the lid and take out that thermos, but she’d wait. Wherever they were headed, he’d obviously put some thought into it.

Finally, he directed the craft toward a cove, and once he rounded the bend, he asked, “Recognize this place?”

She started to reply, no, she’d never been there before, but the word died on her lips. There was something familiar about the narrow sandy beach, the pine trees.

Loblolly pines …

“Oh my God, this looks like …! This is the place!”

“Whoa! Calm down,” he told her. “You’re going to capsize us.”

She couldn’t contain her enthusiasm.

“It’s the place from Stolen Moments.”

“Damn, maybe I should have blindfolded you when I had the chance.”

“I’m sorry.” She laughed. “I’ll sit still. It’s just that … oh, how did you ever find it?”

“It’s Sunset Beach.” He hopped out and dragged the kayak toward the sand, then helped her out. “I used to come here a lot when I was younger. It was sort of my place.”

He set the basket on the beach and opened it.

“In case you were wondering why it was so heavy.” He took a blanket out and spread it on the sand. He placed the basket on the blanket and asked, “Are you ready for breakfast? Coffee first?”

“I’m … yes, please.”

He poured the dark liquid into a mug and handed it to her.

“Ford, this is the coolest, most thoughtful, most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“I doubt that.” He tried to pass off her comment, but she could tell he was pleased by her reaction.

“No. I mean it. I can’t believe you planned this.”

“I thought it would make you happy,” he said simply. “I wanted to make you happy.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Because you make me happy. You went along with that stupid bet and you were so good-natured about losing and making me these wonderful dinners every night.” He took her hand. “I admit that I thought about saying, ‘oh, never mind,’ but then I wouldn’t have had an excuse to spend so much time with you.”

“You didn’t need an excuse. I …” She caught herself about to say, I loved every minute of it, and wondered if that was saying too much. She realized she didn’t care. “I loved every minute of it.”

“Me, too.” He cleared his throat as if surprised by his admission, then turned his attention to the basket. “I thought maybe a breakfast picnic was the way to go. You know, to show you how much I …” He appeared to be deliberating. “How much I appreciated that you were such a good sport.” He cleared his throat and added, “How much I appreciate you. Being with you.”

He opened the lid and started removing dishes. “I told the chef you liked yogurt and fruit in the morning.” He passed her a glass bowl covered with a red plastic lid. “And I thought you looked like a croissant kind of girl.”

The napkin he gave her held a flaky pastry filled with chocolate.

“Oh my God. My favorite thing in the world to eat.”

He beamed and set out the rest of their meal. Three egg-and-sausage sandwiches—two of them for him—a slice of quiche with bacon and Swiss chard, and a small container of raisins and walnuts. “For your yogurt,” he told her.

“Ford, this is just …” She was almost too touched to eat. “Thank you. I can’t think of anything else to say but thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “Now drink your coffee, ’cause we both know how crabby you get without caffeine.”

“She came here, with him. The man she loved. It doesn’t look all that different from the painting.”

She couldn’t stop chattering. She tried to tell herself to shut up, but the words kept coming. Ford leaned back on one elbow and ate, looking amused. He held up a spoon and handed her the yogurt.

“I’m talking too much.” She took the spoon and began to eat.

“You had quite a run on.” He nodded.

“I’m just excited. I wish I had my camera.”

“We can come back.” He finished one of the sandwiches and rolled up the foil it had been wrapped in. “Anytime you want.”

“Really?”

“Sure. I come here a lot. At least, I used to. It’s always been a quiet place. I’ve always been able to think here.” He unwrapped another sandwich. “When I was younger, especially. There was always so much going on at the inn, I had to find a place where I could just think things through. Like when I screwed up a ball game, or screwed up on a test.” He paused. “Or like when my dad died.”

“I had a place like that, too, near the house where I grew up. There were woods near the back of our property. There were trees so tall that they formed this huge canopy overhead, so it was always sort of dark there, and it always smelled of pine. Whenever I had to get away by myself for a while, I went there. When we moved from that house, I missed that place more than I missed the house or my friends. It was sort of a refuge. Even now, the scent of pine takes me back to that place, and it always calms me.”

“That’s how I feel when I hear the water lap onto the sand the way it’s doing now.” He nodded toward the water’s edge. “Sometimes, on a really calm day, at low tide, you can hardly hear it at all.”

They finished eating and cleaned up, putting everything back into the basket.

“We should probably be getting back,” he said. “I know you’re supposed to meet the caterer to talk over the menu for the opening.”

“I don’t meet with her until two.” She lay back on the blanket and pulled him down to kiss him.

From the water came a loud whistle as a rowboat full of kids started into the cove.

“Oh, hey, thanks, guys,” Ford called to them, and waved.

“I’m guessing this is a more popular place than we thought.”

“I guess.” He sat up, but kept his arms around her. He took his phone from his shirt pocket and scrolled through a page, then set the phone on the blanket. She rested against him, watching the waves spill onto the shore, and closed her eyes. A song began to play on the phone, and for a moment, it was just background music. Until she listened and heard the familiar voice.

Kenny Chesney. “You Had Me at Hello.”

She turned in his arms and looked up at him.

Ford nodded. “You did. From the first time I saw you in the lobby, you had me.”

She held his face in her hands, and kissed him. “You had me, too,” she told him. “Let’s go home.”

“You have that meeting …”

She stood and pulled him up. “There’s plenty of time between now and then. Hours, actually …”

DEANNA Clark had come highly recommended as the best caterer on the Eastern Shore. Carly hoped her reputation proved true—the RSVPs were already starting to arrive and some of the biggest names in the art world were planning to attend. The press release she’d had Enrico send out on Friday of the week before had done the trick. So far, no one on the VIP list had declined. Carly wanted the reception on Saturday before the gallery was opened to be simple but elegant, and to reflect the Bay.