Chapter 25
Calista
“Sometimes, you just have to let down your guard and trust that everything will turn out all right.”
—Eloisa Hobby
Calista squinted, searching for the ninth green. While they’d been talking, and she’d been staring into Reid’s gorgeous blue eyes, a rolling sea of gray fog crept over the golf course, the flag and fairway evaporating into the mist.
“Uh, Reid? Did we somehow stumble onto a horror movie set?”
He jumped and glanced around. “Whoa, it came in fast. Huh. Well, this is . . .”
“The word you’re looking for is ‘apocalyptic.’ Or ‘Stephen King–esque.’ Take your pick.”
“I was gonna say ‘suboptimal,’ but your version is much more descriptive, if a tad dramatic.”
“Wow, flexing your vlogger vocabulary. They teach you the art of understatement in journalism school?”
He rolled his eyes but grinned. Ridiculous how one tiny quirk still made her stomach flip. Her internal organs needed a stern talking-to about questionable responses to ex-boyfriends turned bosom buddies.
Unnerved, Calista shifted her gaze to her feet, which were now invisible, as if someone left a haunted house fog machine pumping on high. “This island has the wackiest weather patterns.”
“All part of the magic.” He mimicked Eloisa’s speaking style and sent his voice up a couple of octaves.
Calista giggled. “Well, if we don’t move, we might find ourselves sucked into a time-traveling portal and wind up in the Scottish Highlands in 1707.”
“If I could time-travel, I would go back in time and change the way I treated you,” he said, all levity leaving his face as mist curled around his jaw.
“We can discuss that later.”
The fog kept rolling in, billowing clouds swallowing the landscape whole. Visibility dropped from “some squinting required” to “legally blind” in the span of a heartbeat. Yikes!
“It feels as if we’re inside a giant cotton ball.”
“Let’s hump it.” He reached for her hand.
They set off in the direction of what she hoped was the golf cart. The fog was so thick now Reid was little more than a shadow beside her. Every part of her was damp: her socks, her clothes, her hair.
“We’re headed away from the cliffs, right?” she asked.
“Um, I think so, but don’t hold me to it. I’m sightless as a mole.”
Calista snorted. “We’re in slasher film territory.”
Reid’s laugh cut through the shroud, warm and rich as sunlight. “That’s my Calico, always the optimist. Inspiring, in a twisted way.”
“It’s a gift,” she said.
He tightened his grip, understanding that she needed that extra reassurance, and she exhaled a relieved sigh.
“Whose brilliant idea was this adventure?” he asked. “Because I have a bone to pick about their decision-making skills.”
“You need a mirror? Although, I suppose that’s useless in this miasma.”
“Um, if I’m not mistaken, you agreed to this quest.”
“Remind me never to listen to Past Calista again. The woman is an idiot with delusions of grandeur and a questionable grasp on meteorology.”
“I don’t agree . . .” His voice took on a provocative quality. “I kind of like the woman.”
A dark shape loomed from the mist.
Alarmed, she let out a yelp, dropped his hand, slapped her palm across her mouth, and stumbled back. She crashed into Reid’s solid chest, and his arms wrapped around her waist.
“It’s okay,” he murmured against her ear. “Just a jacaranda tree. No worries. I got you.”
“Right, of course, I was just testing your Johnny-on-the-spot reflexes. Gold star for you, Thornton. Your knight-in-shining-armor skills are top-notch.”
“Sure, Cal. Whatever helps you sleep at night. You can admit your fear. No judgment. I won’t laugh, and I promise your reputation for unflappable coolness is safe with me. Vault lock. Cone of silence. I won’t tell a single soul the fearless Calista Dempsey trembled in the face of . . . shrubbery.”
“Not scared, startled. Major difference.”
“Uh-huh, and the difference is a few letters and a lot of stubborn pride.”
She opened her mouth to retort, to deny, but something in his tone gave her pause. His voice held a gentleness, a touching undercurrent of affection. She gulped, grateful for the fog hiding her expression. “Should we keep moving?”
“Absolutely.”
They set off again, holding hands once more. Calista told herself the hand-holding was for navigation purposes and had nothing to do with how each touch skittered sparks across her skin or how his familiar palo santo scent urged her to bury her face against his neck and inhale for days.
After what felt like an eternity of plodding through the gray pea soup, Reid halted.
“Another tree?” she asked.
“No, I think I spy . . . Yes! The golf cart!”
“Oh, thank heavens, salvation!”
They edged nearer, and Reid helped her onto the passenger side before bumping his way to the driver’s seat. “A blindfold would improve my vision at this point.”
“Is it safe to drive?”
“Safe is not the word I’d use. I’ll take it slow. Ready for the world’s slowest, most terrifying joyride?”
“Teleport us out of here, Thornton, and I’ll be forever grateful.”
“How grateful?” Although his face lay shadowed in mystery, she swore he quirked a cocky eyebrow.
“We’ll talk about it later.” She hedged to cover up her galloping pulse.
Since that day in the bell tower, she’d longed to take him to bed, but he insisted she needed time to trust him fully.
“Let’s go to your place. It’s miles closer than Crafters’ Corner, and we’re far less likely to maim anyone on the way. ”
“Your wish is my command, Princess.”
The electric motor whirred to life, and they inched into the murk. Grunting, Reid leaned forward as if, by sheer willpower, he might part the fog.
Holding her breath, Calista strained to see the path ahead. She couldn’t visualize it, but the tires bumped across the cobblestones. At least they were still on the road. They crawled along at a snail’s pace, the silence broken only by their tense breathing.
A shape loomed from the gloom, and he jerked to a stop. Calista’s stomach vaulted into her throat, visions of trees or boulders or cartoon-style TNT crates flashing through her mind.
“It’s just a bench,” he said. “We must be near the ninth tee box.”
“Terrific, so we know where we are, but no idea where we’re going.”
“My house is down the road about half a mile.”
“Lead on, Columbus.”
They set off again, this time with Calista leaning out, scanning for any sign of his lodgings.
The mist thickened as they dipped down the incline.
Had they somehow driven off the end of the world and floated in some weird golf cart purgatory?
After an interminable amount of time, she spotted something.
“Hey, it’s the fig tree.” The fig her mother planted and nurtured so long ago. It stood as a marker for Calista, her touchstone. Thanks, Mamá.
Reid’s cottage was where her mother lived when she first moved to Hobby Island after the divorce. Calista’s stomach tightened, and she blinked back tears. Not that Reid would have noticed. Moisture soaked her face, and she could barely see him anyway.
More details emerged as they drove closer—a porch, windows, the vague outline of a roof. Relief flooded Calista’s body as Reid pulled up close to the cottage and killed the engine. For a moment, they sat without speaking, the magnitude of their narrow escape settling over them.
With a sharp exhale, he flopped back, winded from the ordeal. “Well, that wasn’t quite as harrowing as the Mermaid Cove storm, but it was close.”
“Wow. That was scary.” She pressed her palm to her forehead.
“C’mon, I’m soggy as a wet cracker. Let’s get inside.”
He got out and waited for her to scoot across the seat to join him.
He took her arm, guided her up the steps to the front door, keyed the lock, and the door creaked open like an intro to a B-grade horror movie, which, given their fog-drenched adventure, felt appropriate.
In the foyer, they shook water from their hair and clothes.
“Thank you for getting us here safely.” She met his gaze.
His eyes softened as he took her in. “I can’t take credit. My instincts kicked in, and my brain shifted to autopilot. I guess all those years caddying for Gavin paid off.”
“Speaking of Gavin, how is he? I remember how kind he always was to me.”
The light in Reid’s eyes dimmed, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable. Instead of answering, he said, “Would you like to shower after our cloud walk? I can loan you a change of clothes, and we’ll pop your things into the dryer.”
Why did he avoid her question? Did he and Gavin have a falling-out? She’d tried bringing up Gavin before, and he’d cut her off then too. Okay, if it was a touchy subject, she’d back off, but would it cause a problem when Gavin arrived for the tournament?
Not your problem, Dempsey. You have enough baggage of your own to tote.
“Sure, a shower sounds blissful, but what about you?” she asked.
“There’s two bathrooms. Hang on. I’ll get you something to wear.” He disappeared down the hall, and before Calista had time to feel weird about being there, he returned with a T-shirt and drawstring sweatpants.
“My hero,” she said, only half joking as she took the clothes and squished down the hallway, leaving a trail of damp footprints behind her.
In the bathroom, she turned on the shower and let the water heat while she undressed.
A sudden image of Reid in the other bathroom, stripping down just as she was, popped into her mind.
She pushed that thought aside, along with the flutter in her stomach.
Steam filled the small space, and she stepped under the spray, the hot water absolute heaven on her chilled skin.
Lathering up with the new bar of soap she found on the counter, she battled not to think about Reid lathering up on the other side of the cottage. The fog was thick outside, and Crafters’ Corner was miles away. Too dangerous to drive that far in this inclement weather. What if she spent the night?