Chapter 10 Footprints
Footprints
Kate kicked off her sandals and let the cool sand swallow her toes, the sensation grounding her in a way the confines of her room hadn’t.
The sky slowly slid into twilight, streaked with violet and gold that seemed to pulse with fading light, while sanderlings chased the lapping waves at the shoreline, their tiny legs a blur of motion.
She hadn’t planned to walk tonight. She needed rest—her eyes ached, her shoulders knotted with tension.
But after writing all day, the walls closed in; ideas echoed, refusing to let go, circling her mind like restless birds.
She should have gone out for dinner, or even lunch as she’d planned, but instead cooked in, mechanically eating pasta she barely tasted.
Kate paused when she spotted a tall figure standing near the water, hands in his pockets, posture rigid. For an instant, she considered turning back, her pulse quickening with uncertainty, but something—curiosity, loneliness, something unnamed—restarted her feet.
Nick turned, and even in the dimming light, she saw the moment he recognized her; the faint easing of his expression, the relaxing of his guard. Warmth bloomed, unexpected and welcome.
“Couldn’t settle?” His raspy voice sounded clipped, careful, but underneath she heard something raw.
“Something like that,” she admitted, moving toward him, her feet leaving shallow impressions in the damp sand. “You?”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “I find it difficult to unwind some evenings.”
They started walking without discussing it, falling into rhythm along the water’s edge, the water playing with their toes, still warm from the day’s sun. The salt air filled Kate’s lungs, clean and sharp, cutting through the fog that invaded her thoughts.
After a while, she said gingerly, voice swallowed by the shush of waves, “Does this place ever seem… too much?”
Nick glanced at her, his brows lifting, surprise flickering across his features. “Frequently.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the resort lights beginning to glow in the distance like earthbound stars, “but I feel like I’m visiting someone else’s life. Like I’m trespassing.”
They walked in silence for a moment, the only sounds the rhythmic crash of surf and the cry of a gull overhead, before he blew out an audible breath. “I can understand that perspective. It took me some time to reconcile the reality of what we built with the perception others have of it.”
With a tilt of her head, she peeked over at him, catching the way the dying light carved shadows beneath his cheekbones. “You mean the resort?”
Nick nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon where sea met sky in a darkening line.
“Yes. People assume I inherited it, that it was merely a matter of paperwork and signatures. But my parents destroyed—” He stopped abruptly, jaw clenching.
“They were useless socialites that flitted from one party to another. My brothers and I built it from the ground up: our idea, our plan. We constructed this place brick by brick, betting everything on it.”
Kate’s eyes widened, and her steps slowed to a halt, sand shifting beneath her weight, before she started up again. “You built all of this? But you’re so young!” The words tumbled out before she could stop them.
His mouth curved in a sardonic smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We did. Not as glamorous as it appears, I assure you. It took a lot of hard work and stubborn determination.” The last words came out tight, laden with memories.
The waves whispered over the sand as Kate struggled to process what it must have taken to build something like this—the sleepless nights, the fear of failure, the weight of responsibility that must have settled on shoulders barely out of adolescence.
She stopped. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d feel that way.”
He paused and met her gaze, eyes direct, warm despite the growing darkness. “You mean because I appear to have everything figured out?”
Heat crept across her skin, then she gave a sheepish nod.
Another wry smile curved his mouth, and he stared back out at the water, now nearly black except where moonlight caught the crests.
“I’ve always excelled at making things appear easy.
Doesn’t mean they are.” His tired tone implied he’d grown used to hiding how much it cost him, the price paid in pieces of himself.
The breeze stirred her hair against her cheek, the strands tickling her skin. She tucked it behind her ear, studying him in the softening dark, tracing the line of his profile, the tension still held in his shoulders. “You’re different from what I expected.”
“Oh?” He glanced back at her, something vulnerable flickering in his expression. “What did you expect?”
Heat crept up her neck, prickling across her collarbone, but she kept her eyes on his. “Someone… more arrogant. More entitled, perhaps. Less real.” Less human.
He huffed a quiet laugh, the sound almost lost in the wind. “Fair enough.”
They began walking again, their arms occasionally brushing, sending a tingle through Kate that traveled up her shoulder and settled somewhere near her heart, unfamiliar but not unwelcome.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked, unable to resist her curiosity, though her voice came out smaller than intended.
“Of course.” His tone softened, invitation in the simple phrase.
“What would you be doing if you hadn’t built… all this?”
Nick's hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling then releasing. “I’ve never given it much thought. Perhaps I would have opened a restaurant, or a B&B, somewhere unremarkable, where expectations are minimal. Hospitality has always drawn me.” A wistfulness colored his words, as though he described a dream glimpsed but never pursued.
She smiled a little at the idea, warmth spreading through her chest. “I can understand that.”
He studied her with an intensity that started her heart thumping, the sound loud in her ears. “And you? If you hadn’t pursued writing? If you’d been able to finish college?”
The question caught her off guard, touching a tender spot she usually kept hidden. “Maybe teaching,” she said after a moment, throat tight. “My Lit professor… he was the first person who made me feel valued, like I was good at something.”
“That’s no small thing,” he replied, with a gentleness that made her eyes prick with unexpected tears.
They walked on, the hush between them now companionable, filled with the night sounds of the ocean and the distant murmur of the resort behind them.
After a while, she swallowed, mouth dry, eyes glued to her feet moving through sand grown cool in the evening air. “I’m not… good at this.”
“At what?”
“Talking to people. Being… normal. I always think I’m about to say the wrong thing. Unless it’s about my books.” The confession exposed something soft and unprotected, like peeling back skin.
He remained silent for a beat, and panic rose—she’d said too much, revealed too much—before he spoke softly, and a little less formally. “You’re doing fine.”
Kate risked a glance at him. His expression wasn’t amused or pitying—but relaxed, open, as if he meant it, as if he truly saw her. The knot in her belly loosened a little, clenched muscles relaxing.
“Thank you,” she murmured, the words carrying more weight than they should.
“You’re welcome.” He stared out at the water stretching before them, vast and dark and endless. “If it helps, I don’t find it effortless, either.”
Surprise lightened something in her chest. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Most people say that,” he admitted, a rueful note in his voice. “It isn’t true.”
They kept walking, no need to fill the quiet. For once, it was enough just to be there, side by side, without expectations, their footprints trailing behind them in the sand, temporary marks that the tide would soon erase.