Crafting Love (Coastal Dreams #3)

Prologue

DEVONWOOD ACADEMY—CONNECTICUT—EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO…

Sullivan Shepherd’s liberation would come in five hours and forty-five minutes.

Then he would be free for the summer.

He knocked on the open door of Mr. Kellogg’s office. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Come in, Mr. Shepherd.”

Taking one of the seats in front of the teacher’s desk, he wondered what this summons was about.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Kellogg?”

The history teacher smiled fondly. “Not in the least, Mr. Shepherd. I wanted to tell you not to come and sit for your final examination this afternoon.”

“But…why?” he asked, puzzled by this odd request.

Kellogg chuckled. “Because it would be a waste of your time and mine. You would spend two hours composing essays, which would be perfectly outstanding. I would then take time grading something that is better than anything I could ever write. You know more world history than any student I have taught during my thirty-five years at Devonwood Academy. From the first day you entered my classroom, I knew you were special.”

He felt his cheeks grow warm. “Thank you, Mr. Kellogg. I really enjoyed your lectures. I feel I learned an awful lot.”

“I hope when the time comes, you will ask me to write one of your letters of recommendation in regard to your university applications. I guarantee it will be glowing. And I do wish that you would consider majoring in history, Mr. Shepherd. You would make for a fine professor.”

His favorite teacher’s words meant the world to him. Hearing them also crushed him.

Because becoming a teacher was the last thing Oliver and Jacqueline Shepherd would allow. No, that wasn’t right. An educator would be next to last.

Last on his parents’ list of professions would be the thing Sullivan most wanted to do—and would never be allowed to pursue.

Instead of dumping his problems on Mr. Kellogg, Sullivan merely said, “Thank you for the compliment, sir, and I appreciate knowing you will be willing to write a recommendation letter for me in the future.”

The teacher rose and offered Sullivan his hand. He rose and accepted it. “You have a fine mind, Mr. Shepherd. Whatever you decide to pursue, I am certain you will meet with rousing success.”

He left the office, mulling over what his future would hold.

His parents were obsessed with money and position in society.

His mother’s family could trace their lineage back to the Massachusetts Bay Colony.

She had been educated at the finest private schools and been given everything she ever desired before she knew she wanted it.

On the other hand, his father came from very humble beginnings, but he was smart and determined.

He’d won a scholarship to Harvard. Learned to blend in with the blueblood crowd.

Made friends with Alexander Wagner, another brilliant scholarship student from Texas.

Today, Oliver Shepherd was the number two man at Wagner Enterprises.

To put it mildly, expectations for Sullivan were high.

Beyond high. Especially because his older brother had drowned.

From what he gathered, his mother had been unable to have any more children after giving birth to Sullivan.

He became an only child, and he sometimes felt as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He was expected to have exceptional grades. Perform at the highest athletic levels.

And he definitely was destined to take his place in society while he made a ton of money.

He returned to his dorm room and sat at his desk, opening his Latin grammar book.

Most students complained that they were all studied out at this point, but Sullivan enjoyed his studies.

He also liked that he went to boarding school, so he wasn’t around his parents all that much.

Even better, Pawpaw and Memaw would pick him up this afternoon, and he would spend a glorious eight weeks with them in Baker’s Cove, a small coastal town in Maine.

Those eight weeks each summer were his favorite time of year.

His grandfather was a carpenter, and he had taught Sullivan from a young age how to craft wood, starting with whittling and then moving up to large projects.

If he had his heart’s desire, he would become a carpenter and build cabinetry and furniture just like Pawpaw.

It was all he wanted to do, but his parents would never allow that.

His father was embarrassed by his humble roots, and his snobbish mother openly loathed her in-laws, referring to them as common laborers.

Sullivan loved his paternal grandparents, though, and he believed he took after them in personality and looks.

He also ascribed to their moral beliefs, meaning he treated others kindly and didn’t worship at the altar of money.

Zane came bounding into the room, his face flushed, his T-shirt soaked.

“Been out on a run?” he asked his roommate and best friend.

Peeling off the shirt, Zane said, “Yeah. Trying to get in shape for the Fourth of July run.”

Zane referred to the annual run in Driftwood Bay, a Texas coastal town where his grandparents lived.

Every summer, Zane spent a little over a month in Driftwood Bay, his father’s small hometown.

Alexander Wagner was proud to have come from humble beginnings and encouraged his son to spend time with his parents in Texas.

The couple owned the Driftwood Diner, and Zane put in a few hours each day, working as everything from busboy to dishwasher to short-order cook.

The rest of the summer, Zane spent with his dad, traveling the world on business for Wagner Enterprises.

His friend had seen far-flung places such as Japan, Germany, and Brazil.

Sullivan couldn’t help but envy Zane a little bit.

Not just for the travel but the close bond he had with his dad.

“What’s Harris doing this summer?” he asked.

Zane snorted. “Just because he’s my brother doesn’t mean I know anything that’s going on with him.”

Harris was two years their junior and had been kicked out of four different schools. He was supposed to attend Devonwood next year, and Zane was dreading being in the same place with his brother.

“I’m grabbing a quick shower, then we can head over for the Latin exam,” Zane said, peeling away his running shorts, shoes, and socks. Grabbing a towel, he padded from the room, stark naked, heading to the communal bathroom at the end of the hall.

Sullivan looked through his Latin textbook and finally closed it. He knew his verb conjugations were spot on and felt confident he could translate any passage thrown at him during the final exam.

He opened his trunk, adding the last couple of items to it before closing the latch.

Already, he was itching to see Pawpaw and Memaw and make the drive to Baker’s Cove.

It was about four hours away, but they would stop for a bowl of clam chowder and a lobster roll on the way, an annual tradition.

Sullivan was grateful he had his grandparents in his life and wished he could see them more often.

Summer was the only time he did, however.

Other school breaks, his mother planned things for him.

Still, he wrote his grandparents once a week and received a letter from them in reply.

It would great if he could text or FaceTime them, but Devonwood’s headmaster didn’t allow cell phones on campus.

In a way, he was happy about that, knowing how people were wedded to their phones and addicted to social media.

He would leave school well-versed in the art of conversation, as well as clinging to the tradition of letter writing.

Zane appeared again, tossing off his towel and dressing hurriedly in their school uniform of dress shirt and pants, striped tie, and navy jacket. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair.

“Ready?”

Sullivan nodded, picking up a couple of pens and slipping them into his inside lapel pocket.

Blue books would be waiting for them. None of Devonwood’s staff allowed computers or tablets in classrooms, regardless of the activity, so students learned to take notes by hand, using the Cornell method, and they wrote their essays in longhand.

And cursive. Thank goodness he’d already learned cursive, a dying art, before he arrived at the Connecticut boarding school.

As they went downstairs, they said goodbye to a few boys who were already being picked up by parents.

Stepping outside their dormitory, he saw several cars awaiting students.

His grandparents wouldn’t be here until after the world history exam was over.

Even though he wasn’t sitting for it, he didn’t mind waiting for them to arrive.

In fact, he’d probably sketch a few ideas for some of the furniture he wanted to tackle with Pawpaw this summer.

Then his gut flipped over, as he spied Bates, his father’s longtime driver, leaning against a black Lincoln Town Car. The chauffeur spotted him and stood, closing the gap between them.

“What are you doing here?” Sullivan demanded, not caring that his tone sounded rude. “Pawpaw and Memaw are picking me up this afternoon.”

“There has been a change of plans, Master Sullivan.”

He hated being addressed that way, but Mother insisted that all their servants refer to him in that manner.

“What change?” he asked, tamping down his suspicions. He glanced to Zane, who merely shrugged.

“You’re to accompany me home once you finish your exams. I just spoke to the headmaster and was cleared to take you back to Manhattan.”

“But…when would I go to Maine?”

Bates looked apologetic as he said, “I am not certain as to the exact schedule for the summer, Master Sullivan.”

His gaze pinned the driver’s. “Come on, Bates. The staff knows everything. You hear and see and talk about everything among yourselves. Please. Clue me in.”