7. Rose
ROSE
The sky had been gray all morning. Heavy clouds sat low over Driftwood Cove, and the air had that thick, humid weight to it that meant rain was coming. Gloomy days like this could be good. I’d written some of my best emotional scenes to weather like this.
However, it wasn’t doing me any favors today.
The words that had been flowing yesterday were gone, and no amount of tea or staring at the ocean or the gray sky would bring them back.
They’d dried up.
By noon, I gave up and decided to go for a walk.
I didn’t go to Delilah’s Cafe this time.
Mainly because I’d already been there twice, and I didn’t want to become the sad writer who parked herself at the counter every time her brain came to a halt.
So, I headed toward Main Street with no real destination.
I just needed to move and to be somewhere other than sitting at that desk.
The town was quieter today, probably because of the weather.
A few people ducked in and out of shops, and the fishing boats at the marina were tied tight to the docks.
The wind had picked up since this morning, carrying salt and the smell of coming rain with it.
It probably would have been smart of me to bring an umbrella, but maybe the rain would hold off a little longer.
The shop with sea glass and crystal wind chimes hung in the windows I’d noticed on my way into town drew me in. I wasn’t typically a crystal or charm kind of person, but still felt pulled to step inside. The calming scent of something herbal filled my nose as I entered.
The shop was small and cozy, with shelves lined with candles, crystals, and intricate little trinkets. Everything had a handmade quality to it, like someone had put care into every piece.
A woman stood behind the counter. She was tall, with silver-streaked dark hair in a loose braid and pale gray eyes that crinkled at the corners when she looked up at me.
“Welcome,” she said. “I’m Eleanor. Looking for anything in particular?”
“I’m just browsing. Thanks.”
She nodded and went back to arranging a display, giving me space without making it awkward. I liked her immediately. She had the kind of presence that was calm without being detached.
I wandered through the shelves, running my fingers over smooth stones and reading the hand-lettered labels on candle jars.
For a few minutes, I forgot about the flat hero and manuscript problems I was having.
I forgot about the deadline I was on and all the reader expectations piling up. I forgot about Nolan.
“The wind has been whispering your name to me, child.”
The voice came from the seating area near the front window, and it nearly made me drop the piece of sea glass I’d been holding.
An elderly woman sat at a small table with a steaming cup of tea and a worn deck of tarot cards in front of her.
She was thin and short, with long, wild gray hair.
She wore a purple shawl around her shoulders and had deep brown eyes that looked straight through me in a way that made my skin prickle.
“I’m sorry?” I said.
“Sit.” She gestured to the empty chair across from her. “The cards have a message for you today, Rose.”
I blinked.
How had she known my name?
“Maribel’s readings are always insightful. Go on,” Eleanor said with a smile. “What could it hurt?”
I should have said no. After all, I didn’t believe in tarot, and I definitely didn’t believe that the wind had been whispering my name to her.
How else had she known my name, though?
The thought nudged at me, causing goose bumps to prickle across my skin.
This was why I stepped toward the chair she’d motioned to and sat down.
Maribel didn’t introduce herself further.
Instead, she shuffled her cards and then held the deck out to me.
“Cut it into three piles, then stack them back together into one.”
My hands moved before I’d fully decided to cooperate, and I followed her instructions.
Once I was finished, she took the deck back and flipped the first card onto the table. A woman stood blindfolded and surrounded by swords stuck into the ground around her. She looked trapped.
That couldn’t be good.
I leaned forward in my chair. Even though I might not fully believe in such things, I was still curious.
“The Eight of Swords,” Maribel said, her finger tracing the edge of the card.
“You believe you’re trapped, but look—the swords aren’t touching her.
The blindfold isn’t tied. She could walk out anytime.
The cage isn’t built by the one who hurt you, child.
It’s built by your fear. You’re free, but you don’t believe it yet, do you? ”
My hands went cold in my lap. I wanted to say something—argue, deflect, make a joke—but my throat wouldn’t cooperate. She’d just described the last two years of my life in a few sentences, and I hadn’t told her a single thing about me.
She flipped the second card. It was of a figure walking away from a bunch of cups.
“The Eight of Cups,” she murmured. “You’ve already left.
You’ve already walked away from what was hurting you.
All that emotional hurt and trauma you were enduring.
That took courage.” She paused, tilting her head to one side like she was listening to a voice I couldn’t hear.
“But running from and running toward are different things. Right now, you’re still running from.
The cards say it’s now time to decide what you’re running toward. ”
Running toward? Like there was supposed to be a plan beyond getting out?
I didn’t have one. I had a rental, a book deadline, and a suitcase. That wasn’t running toward anything. That was just me hiding in a prettier place.
She flipped the third card. It was of a knight on horseback, holding a golden cup.
“The Knight of Cups,” Maribel said, a smirk creeping across her face.
“Romance is approaching. Not the kind you write about, child—the real kind.” She tapped the card.
“This knight follows his heart. He leads with what he feels, not what he thinks. He doesn’t always say the right thing, but what he offers is honest.” Her eyes lifted to mine.
“The question isn’t whether he’ll show up.
He already has. The question is whether you’ll let him in. ”
My stomach flip-flopped. Nolan popped into my head, but I pushed all thoughts of him away. After all, she couldn’t be talking about him.
Could she?
She gathered the cards slowly and then took a sip of her tea. “The hardest part isn’t finding someone safe,” she said, her voice dropping low. “It’s believing you deserve safety.”
“Thank you,” I finally managed.
She nodded once and then stood to walk away.
I sat there for a moment, thinking over everything she’d said. The reading had been eerily accurate. I couldn’t deny that.
“You okay?” Eleanor asked.
“Yeah. Just soaking in what she said.” I smiled.
“Maribel does that to nearly everyone she reads for.”
I stood and headed to the shelf with the baskets of sea glass. A blue one caught my eye, and I plucked it from the basket. It was smooth, light, and fit in the palm of my hand.
“Good choice,” Eleanor said from behind the counter when I stepped to the register.
“Sea glass is special. The ocean takes something broken and turns it into something new. Sort of symbolic, don’t you think?
You’ve already survived rough waters, and now you’re becoming the you that comes after. ” She winked.
I smiled and left the shop in a daze.
Main Street looked the same as it had forty minutes ago, but I felt different. I felt like someone had reached inside my chest and rearranged things without asking. I walked past the shops without seeing them, turned down the road toward the beach, and followed the shoreline back toward the duplex.
The wind whipped my hair around my face, and the clouds had gone from gray to nearly black. The first drop of rain hit my arm, fat and cold while I thought about Maribel’s reading and the thing Eleanor had said about sea glass.
Then the sky opened up above me.
It wasn’t a drizzle. It wasn’t even regular rain. It was a wall of water that came down so fast and so hard I was soaked within seconds. I broke into a run, and my clothes became plastered to my skin. The duplex was still a good ten-minute walk away, and I was already drenched from head to toe.
A truck slowed beside me.
The passenger window rolled down, and Nolan leaned across the seat with a dopey smile on his face.
“Didn’t think to bring an umbrella?” he shouted over the rain.
I gestured at myself—soaked hair, soaked clothes, water dripping from my chin. “Clearly not.”
He laughed in a way that made it seem like he hadn’t expected me to be funny, and then nodded to the passenger seat. “Hop in.”
I hesitated. Getting into his truck felt like crossing a line I’d been carefully maintaining.
A crack of thunder vibrated the sky directly overhead, close enough to shake the ground beneath me.
“Coastal storms are no joke,” he said, his laughter gone. “Get in, Rose.”
I climbed in.
The cab was warm and dry, and I immediately felt guilty about the water pooling on his seat because of me.
“Sorry,” I said, pulling at my wet shirt. “I’m getting your truck all wet.”
He waved it off and gestured at himself. He was covered in grass clippings and dirt. “I’ve been doing yard work all day. Trust me, a little water isn’t going to hurt anything in here.”
The drive back took three minutes. By the time he pulled into the driveway, the rain was coming down so hard I couldn’t see the front door through the windshield.
“Ready?” he asked, cutting the engine on his truck.
“For what?”
“The sprint.” He grinned at me. “Three... two...”
“Wait—are we actually—”
“One. Go!”