Chapter Eleven #2
Another server glides past balancing a tray of caviar-topped tater tots with a dollop of crème fra?che.
The Wexlers always travel with their chef, a woman who can make the best grilled cheese of your life as well as a seven-course meal, and this time I can’t resist. I snag one without hesitation as Helen materializes at my side, tugging my elbow with the kind of loaded grin that means she’s about to drop a bomb.
“Lucy, I knew I’d see you here, or I would’ve called. I got the most unbelievable call today. From Graham Vale.” She pauses for effect, and I widen my eyes, mirroring her expression. “He’s offered to host the art show. At his home!”
It takes a second for the words to register, like my brain doesn’t quite understand them. “Graham Vale, the photographer? The coffee table book Graham Vale?” I ask, stunned. “But no one’s seen him here in years.”
“The very one,” Helen nods, practically vibrating. “I nearly dropped the phone. He said he wanted to do something for the art community. When we went over the artists, he mentioned knowing your work.”
I’m so stunned I hardly know how to form words.
Graham Vale has seen my paintings. They’ll be in Graham Vale’s house, the place everyone whispers about but no one has ever been to.
In the last twenty years, anyway. It sits back from the road, hidden behind clipped hedges and a large gate that remains locked.
I can’t imagine my canvases hanging on those walls.
“Why now?” I finally ask. “He’s been practically invisible for over a decade.”
Helen leans in, lowering her voice. “I don’t know.
But that’s exactly why it’s exciting. He’s been so quiet that the press will have a field day with this.
Graham Vale opening his gates again in such a public way?
It’ll be in every art publication you can think of.
Which means,” she squeezes my arm, “so will your work.”
A nervous laugh bubbles up. “I can’t believe it.”
“I have a hunch it’s more than just timing. People don’t come out of hiding for no reason.”
Her words prickle against my skin though I can’t say why.
Helen straightens, her voice bright again. “This isn’t just an island event anymore, Lucy. This is going to be the story.” She gives me one last gleeful look before melting back into the crowd.
I stand there for a moment, trying to slow the thrum in my chest. Graham Vale. Hosting us. Hosting me. And beneath all the excitement, a strange flicker of something I can’t quite place, like maybe this isn’t random at all.
In a daze I begin to wander through the crowd until I spot Dawn and Sloane sitting by the pool’s edge. I head over and sit down, the stone cool beneath me, my dress pooling around my legs. Sloane moves her clutch to the other side to make more space.
“Sitting on the ground in the middle of a party never looked so good,” I sigh.
“Oh,” Sloane says, perking up as she pulls a slim velvet pouch from her clutch. “I almost forgot!”
“Oh my God, tell me you didn’t bring your Tarot cards?”
“I didn’t bring my Tarot cards,” she deadpans as she fans them out with a flourish. “I’m still learning, but I’m pretty good at single-card readings. Shall we?”
Dawn leans forward with a serious look. “Well, since you already have them here, let’s see what the universe has to say tonight.”
Sloane grins as she holds out the deck. Dawn hovers her hand above the cards for a beat, eyes narrowed in concentration.
“Okay, be nice to me.” She draws a card and lays it down with a flourish.
“The Chariot,” Sloane says, voice dropping to a whisper. “Success, determination. Taking Control.”
Dawn’s eyes go wide. “I’ll take that.”
Sloane smiles. “You’re capable of navigating challenges and asserting your power. Never forget it, Dawny.”
“You’re such a boss,” I add.
Sloane reshuffles the cards and fans them out in front of me. I hesitate, brushing my fingers on the deck. I draw a card and place it on the stone between us. Sloane flips it.
“The Two of Cups.”
Dawn leans in, eyes darting between us. “That’s love, right?”
“Usually,” Sloane nods, her tone dipping into something reverent. “A deep bond, emotional harmony. Soulmate energy.”
The word feels like a wound. Soulmate. For a second, the laughter from across the pool fades, and my eyes zero in on Jack across the party. And somehow he’s staring at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. We were soulmates. Why wasn’t that enough? Why wasn’t I enough?
Dawn nudges me, breaking the spell. I shake my head and come back to the moment.
Sloane steadies the air with her voice. “It’s also about love and balance within ourselves.”
Something about this feels true. I feel like I’m coming back to myself on this island. Learning to trust myself and my instincts.
“I must admit, being here with you guys back in our favorite place is the balance I’ve been missing. You’re pretty good at this, Sloane,” I say, placing my card back in her deck.
We all look up as Dinah glides over, barefoot now, her sparkly dress catching the light just so. Sand clings to her ankles and there’s that unreadable smile, like she has a secret she hasn’t revealed.
“I knew I was missing the best part of the party,” she moans, sliding gracefully onto the stone beside us. “And here you all are, having your full moon goddess moment without me.”
Sloane grins, shuffling the cards. “Perfect timing, Dinah.”
Dinah eyes the deck. As Sloane begins to fan the cards, she draws her card without hesitation and turns it over.
“Knight of Cups,” Sloane reads, her voice lilting with interest.
Dinah’s brow lifts skeptically. “A drunk knight?”
“It’s the romantic. The dreamer. Someone chasing something, or someone, with their whole heart.”
I lean in. “So like, an emotional quest?”
“Exactly,” Sloane nods. “It’s about following your feelings, letting inspiration lead the way, even if it’s messy or a little risky.” She tilts her head, assessing Dinah. “It also means emotional intelligence. The ability to be graceful and diplomatic.”
“Well, Dinah has that in spades,” Dawn quips.
Dinah purses her lips, considering. “If only I could find a guy actually worth whole-heartedly pursuing,” she says dryly, but there’s a flicker of something in her expression.
Her gaze drifts out over the water, and then she nudges me gently with her shoulder. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to steal you for a minute. Come meet someone.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Who?”
She smiles, eyes dancing. “The guy I told you about. You’ll see.”
I glance at Sloane and Dawn, who are both trying not to laugh.
I rise, smoothing my dress. We move through the crowd, Dinah just ahead of me, her bare feet silent on the stone path, the curves of her dress shimmering with each step.
She doesn’t say where we’re going, just gives me one of those looks over her shoulder, all glinting eyes and knowing smile.
“He’s around here somewhere.”
Before I can respond, someone calls her name. She pauses mid-step as a tall guy steps into view, wearing a linen blazer and embroidered Stubbs & Wootton loafers.
Dinah turns to me briefly. “Give me one second.”
I nod, watching her float into a practiced greeting, kissing both his cheeks, laughing at something he whispers.
She’s a master of this world, polished, poised, and completely in her element.
I hang back, quietly observing. I don’t recognize him, but he has unmistakable energy, the kind of presence that makes everyone around him pay attention.
“Sorry,” she says in a lowered voice, turning back toward me. “Had to say hello. That’s Felix Devereux. His family owns, like, half the hotels in Europe.”
I glance back at him, and he’s talking to someone else but still watching Dinah. “Whoa.”
She grimaces. “I’m exaggerating, but it’s a lot.
Also, he’s the worst. He’s arrogant and a total playboy.
And he and Dix had some sort of run-in this past winter.
I didn’t really get the details. I don’t know what he’s doing on Harbour Island, but I didn’t want to ask and keep the conversation going any longer than necessary. ”
“Speaking of grace and diplomacy,” I laugh. “I never would have known you felt that way, watching the two of you. How is your brother, anyway?”
“Oh, you know Dix, never slowing down. But he’s good. He won’t be here this summer at all though, a positively unforgivable offense in my mother’s eyes, made worse by the fact that my father is somehow to blame.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, some work situation that Daddy signed off on and now deeply regrets,” she laughs.
We keep walking, her dress brushing mine as she steers me past the dance floor and down a quieter lush garden path lit with tiny white lights.
“Anyway,” she says, squeezing my arm conspiratorially, “back to the mission.”
We round a hedge wall and step onto a smaller terrace tucked into the side of the estate. And there’s Noah. He’s leaning against the stone railing, deep in conversation with someone I don’t recognize. But the second he sees me, his smile widens and he adjusts his posture.
“Hi Briland,” he says with an unmistakable glint in his eyes, like he’s not surprised to see me.
Beside me, Dinah lights up like she just successfully engineered a royal engagement.
“You two already know each other?!” she asks gleefully.
Noah doesn’t look away. His gaze deepens. “We’ve met.”
“Well then,” Dinah says breezily, already stepping back, “I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to rescue my mother from doing the ‘Say So’ dance. Pray for me.”
I turn back to Noah, trying to keep my expression calm even as I fidget, twisting my rings, smoothing my dress.
“I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Neither did I. I met Dinah during lunch today. She knows a friend of mine and extended an invitation.”
“Well, I’m glad she did.”
He leans back on the rail, arms loose, relaxed. “I didn’t plan on staying long,” he says. “But something told me you might be here.”
My fingers go to my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear, the same spot his hand brushed last night. His gaze dips there for half a second, pupils dilating.
“I’ve had your singing stuck in my head all day.”
I groan, rolling my head back. “God. Don’t remind me. I regret everything.”
“I don’t.” His voice is low. “I’ve thought about it more than I should.”
My breath stalls. The words hang between us, soft and weighted. He sees the way I react and steps closer.
“I meant what I said before I left,” he adds, voice rougher now.
I swallow. “Which part?”
His eyes don’t move from mine. “The part where I said I wanted to stay.”
For a split second, I imagine what staying would have meant. And then Jack is there, too, not in the memory, but in the consequence of it.
“Noah, hey man, come jam with us!” A guy with unruly hair waves from near the stage.
Noah groans, a cringing smile curving his lips. “That’s Leo,” he says. “I wrote with him once. He never quite takes no for an answer.”
I laugh. “So…run?”
He glances back at Leo and then at me, warmth in his eyes. “Tempting,” he says, “but I’ve been seen.”
I gesture at the stage. “Please. I’m dying to see this side of you.”
He pauses, flustered in a way I haven’t seen before. “Alright,” he says. “But only because you asked politely.”
He squeezes my hand then moves to the stage where they hand him a guitar.
He sits, and after a short discussion begins playing.
The music flows through his fingers like it knows the way, even if this isn’t one of his songs.
A woman’s voice drifts in over the notes, melting into the hum of the party.
Noah leans into it, completely absorbed.
Watching him, the party feels softer, more intimate.
They shift to something slower. Noah’s posture is relaxed, talking gently to the band between songs. He’s utterly at ease, like that guitar was made for him.
“He seems to know what he’s doing,” Jack says softly beside me.
I turn and look up. Surprised to see Jack standing there with a thoughtful expression, the gold flecks in his eyes sparkling in the glow of the party light.
“He does,” I say carefully.
He nods, then tips his chin toward the stage. “Think he takes requests?”
I roll my eyes playfully. “He probably shouldn’t from you. Have something in mind?”
“Of course. Something for old times’ sake.”
“Like what?”
“Whatever gets you to roll your eyes at me again.”
And I can’t help it. I do.
“There it is,” he says with a real smile this time, the kind that hits low and warm. For a second, neither of us says anything. The music fades into the hum of conversation, and I feel it, the pull of so many moments caught between us.
His gaze flicks to my mouth, just once, before he clears his throat. “It’s probably time to drag my dad out of the cigar room before mom finds him.”
“A time-honored tradition,” I laugh a little breathlessly. “Good luck. Say hi for me.”
He waves, an emotion flickering and gone before I can analyze it.
I stay a couple songs longer, watching Noah in silhouette. He’s still on stage, laughing with the band, completely absorbed, like the rest of the world’s fallen away.
He glances up just as I start to turn. Our eyes meet, barely a second, just long enough for me to lift a hand in a small wave. His smile flickers, slow and easy, before he looks back to the strings.
The music shifts as I make my way through the yard, louder now, someone tuning a guitar down on the sand for the midnight beach set.
Some guests are starting to drift that way in clusters, bare feet and silk catching the light.
I could join them, or stay and see where the night with Noah might go, but something about that conversation with Jack, those old feelings and memories, has left me off balance.
I can still hear my grandmother’s voice in my head, that soft scolding about not throwing away what still works if you’re willing to care for it.
I step off the Wexlers’ back terrace and down toward the beach to walk home.
The heat in Noah’s eyes. Jack’s unreadable smile.
It’s all too much to sort through at this hour.
I don’t want to pick sides or follow threads or untangle what’s pulling at me tonight.
I just want the sand under my feet, the hush of the waves, and the quiet permission to let it all wait until morning.