Chapter 11 Hunter
HUNTER
I’d found the spot a few weeks after arriving in Willet Cove.
A small cove below the headlands, accessible by a path down the cliff face that most people walked past without noticing.
The beach was maybe fifty yards of coarse sand, sheltered on three sides by rock, open to the Pacific on the fourth.
I’d thought—what a romantic a spot for a date and had felt very sorry for myself.
Now I had someone I wanted to take there.
Seraphina had agreed to an afternoon date, even though it meant hours away from her work. She teased me about being a bad influence, but had seemed delighted by the idea of a picnic on a sunny spring day.
I’d packed the basket that morning with a loaf of Margaret’s sourdough, good cheese and salami from the market, and a carton of strawberries that didn’t look nearly as good as the ones from Lila’s garden.
I picked Seraphina up at noon. She came bounding out of her house wearing a white sundress paired with white sneakers, her hair in a high ponytail. I held open the passenger side door of my truck and helped her climb in, then stole a quick kiss.
“You smell amazing,” I said. “And look amazing.”
Her gaze slid down the length of my body. “You look pretty good yourself.”
I suddenly wished we were headed indoors. But I kept my wits about me, and told her to put her seatbelt on.
“Where are we going?” Seraphina asked as I pulled out of the driveway.
“I found a little cove on a run one day and always wanted to go back there.”
“And today we’re doing it.” She let out a happy sounding sigh. “It feels good to be dressed and out of the house instead of tied to my desk.”
“Did you write this morning?”
“I did. Got a decent chapter.”
We chatted about her latest book as we headed to our destination.
I was fascinated to hear how she thought of a premise and characters.
It was both like songwriting and not at all like songwriting.
She told me about the chapter she’d written that morning before pilates.
“The scene went in a different direction than I’d planned, which is really fun. Keeps me from getting bored.”
When we reached the parking lot above the beach, I grabbed the basket and Georgia from the back. The night before, I’d been seized with an idea for a new song. They were coming fast and furious the last few days. I’d played it for Ivy before I left, and she’d cried.
“You have to play it for Seraphina,” Ivy said. “You’ll wreck her.”
So, I’d made sure to bring Georgia on our date. Hopefully Seraphina wouldn’t mind that I’d brought another woman.
The path down was narrow enough that I went first with the basket and Georgia, turning back every few steps to make sure she had good footing on the loose rock. She didn’t need the help. She navigated the path like a local.
However, she took my hand anyway when I offered it at the steeper section and didn’t let go until we reached the sand.
We spread the blanket in the shelter of the largest rock, out of the wind, the sun coming in at the angle that meant it would stay on us for another two hours before the cliff shadow reached us.
The ocean was calm and a beautiful shade of blue.
Temperatures were in the mid-seventies. A pretty near perfect day if there ever was one.
Seraphina took off her shoes and sat cross-legged, leaning against the back of a log. She tipped her face up to the sun with her eyes closed. In the bright light, her freckles were more visible. I wanted to kiss every one of them.
Instead, I kicked off my shoes and buried my toes in the sand.
We ate without hurrying, pairing the bread, meat and cheese to make mini-sandwiches.
The strawberries from the store were actually quite good, juicy and sweet.
Margaret had slipped a cold bottle of pinot gris into the basket, so we had something to wash it all down with.
The ocean ebbed and flowed. Pelicans came to watch our picnic, hoping for a crumb or two.
“Enough sun for me,” she said, tugging a sunhat from her bag. “I burn too easily, but it feels so good on my skin.”
“An example of something that feels so good but is so bad, right?”
“Kind of like this wine.” She held out her glass for a refill.
I poured her more, then set it back in the cooler. “I have a new song.”
She sat up straighter. “Are you going to play it for me?”
“If you want.” I shrugged like it was no big deal.
“I very much want.”
I reached for my case, pulling Georgia onto my lap, sitting cross-legged on the blanket with the sun on my shoulders and the ocean behind me. I found the opening chord and started to play.
I sang the first verse. I could tell by her face that she understood exactly what the song was about.
By the time I reached Delphine’s verse—because her baby girl needs to get to soccer practice—her eyes filled.
I kept playing.
Her verse came last.
They tell her being both mama and daddy ain’t for the weak
And she says watch me.
I didn’t look at her during her verse, but I could feel her reaction anyway. By the end of it she was dabbing under her eyes with a napkin.
Then the chorus. Then the bridge.
I looked up for the bridge.
I wonder sometimes
What it would have changed
If she’d stayed that morning
Instead of leaving me her name
Seraphina was looking at me as if I’d hung the moon. I loved it.
But I watch you every day
Choose the harder thing
And I finally understand
What a mother’s love can mean
I sang the final chorus.
Let me see you. We’ll carry it all.
The last chord dissolved into the sound of the ocean. Seraphina was wiping tears from her eyes. “Hunter, that’s … I don’t even know what to say. How did you capture all of us so well? Those are our stories.”
“I’ve watched and listened. It’s not that hard to really see people if you pay attention. I wanted to let you know that I see you. All of you.”
Her eyes filled again. “We’ve felt invisible.
At times anyway. But never when we are together.
Maybe that’s what bonds us like sisters.
No matter what’s happening, we always have one another.
” She dabbed at her cheeks. “Thank you for seeing us and acknowledging what we do every day. I can’t tell you how much that means to me. The others will feel the same.”
“Thank you.”
We were quiet for a moment, looking out to sea. A pelican drew closer, watching us with his beady eye.
“When I think about the little boy you once were—having to maneuver through your mother leaving and your dad at work all the time—breaks my heart.”
“I had Margaret and Wes,” I said. “Without them, I don’t know where I’d be. Or who I’d be.”
“Thank God they were there for you.”
“The first time my dad dropped me off at their house, Margaret made up the guest room bed for me. Read me a chapter of Tuck Everlasting before kissing the top of my head and turning out the light. But I figured they wouldn’t want me for long.
So I slept on top of the covers with my boots still on.
Just in case they asked me to leave first thing in the morning, I wanted to be ready.
Because I couldn’t risk looking like a fool once they decided I was too much trouble.
” I looked down at my feet, bare in the sand.
“Of course they didn’t ask me to leave. Margaret made pancakes instead.
With blueberries. I’ve thought a lot about my ten-year-old self—how I tried to keep from getting hurt by assuming they would tell me to go.
Or leave. I’ve been doing that ever since.
” I paused for a moment, finding a shell in the sand with my big toe.
“I don’t want to be like that anymore. I want to believe you’ll want to stay and that I won’t leave because I’m afraid you will. ”
“I understand,” she said softly. “You’ve been keeping your boots on, just in case.”
I wriggled my toes in the sand. “Not today.”
“And I’m not leaving.” She leaned forward and kissed me. “I’m not even going to put my boots on.”
I put Georgia back in her case and pulled Seraphina onto my lap, pulled her pony tail loose and kissed her neck, happier than I’d been in a very long time.
The next morning, I was on the porch with coffee and Georgia, playing with a song idea when I got a text from Ivy.
Ivy
Just saw this. Try not to freak out.
I pulled up the link she sent to a gossip site.
A photo of Seraphina and me yesterday on the beach filled the screen.
I don’t know where or how the photo had been taken but it was surprisingly clear considering we had no idea it was being taken.
Seraphina, in her white sun dress, her hair loose where I'd pulled it from the ponytail. My head was bent toward Seraphina and she was looking at me with the expression that made it hard to breathe. Then another photo. This time we were kissing. If only we’d known about the photo session, we could have smiled for the camera.
Romance Author Seraphina Sinclair's Real-Life Love Story: Getting Cozy With Dana King's Ex
I read the article quickly, hoping speed would somehow reduce the impact.
It didn't. Dana was mentioned in the first sentence.
Her memoir in the second. Hunter Sloan, the Nashville songwriter whose estranged wife recently alleged emotional neglect and an inappropriate relationship with country star Ivy James …
They referenced Seraphina’s books, the Netflix movie and they named her publisher.
I cursed under my breath. I’d thought this was going to be a good day.
I set my phone aside, sliding it away from me as if it had germs. I got up and walked over to Margaret’s herb garden, sparkling from morning dew.
I drew in a deep breath, hoping for fortification from the scent of lavender and thyme, but the pit in my stomach remained.
A hummingbird appeared at the salvia along the cottage wall, hovered for a moment and then was gone.