Gladys had been working with them that night, and Callie remembered her pulling Wyatt aside, without telling Olivia or Callie what she’d done. “Psst. Wyatt. Look at this,” she’d said. He’d followed her out onto the old walkway leading to the beach. It was shimmering in the moonlight. Wyatt bent down and ran his finger in the sparkles that looked very much like Gladys’s silver glitter.
“What is this?” he’d asked.
Gladys offered a big smile. “Stardust,” she said. “Whenever you’ve had a big day at the beach, you know it’s time to rest when you’ve found the stardust. There’s all kinds of magic here at the coast. You just have to know where to look…”
“Okay then,” Callie called up, returning from the memory.
“You know, it might be a good idea to get us a few sandwiches for dinner though. I’m not sure if I’ll be up for going out to get something, and we’re low on groceries. We’re down to orange sherbet popsicles and a bag of Cheetos,” Olivia said.
“That’s a good idea. I’ll pick something up for later then.” Callie wiped her hands on her shorts and headed to her car where her wallet and keys still were from her trip to the nursery to get shrubs earlier that morning.
Leaving Olivia and Wyatt at the house, Callie waved goodbye to Gladys, who was walking back across the street, and drove toward the small strip of shops that lined the beach. Sandwiched between the towns of Rodanthe and Salvo, the village of Waves, North Carolina was so small that if a person wasn’t careful driving through it, they’d miss it. It was a quiet little town, but it was known for being the home of a group of watersports giants whose offerings attracted people from all over the country. Callie and Olivia planned to reopen the bed and breakfast in Waves, hoping to capitalize on the clientele its watersports brought every summer and hoping there were still people who wanted a small-town seaside escape. She was banking on it.
Callie found a parking spot and got out of her car, her feet still sandy in her flip-flops from pulling spiny weeds all day in the front yard. She grabbed her sunglasses from the center console that held a price quote from a local landscaping company and a receipt for the six pots of thimbleweed she’d planted herself along the stone front walk and by the front picket fence this morning.
She rounded the corner and headed for a place to get a bite to eat. The shops were crawling with people, the summer months in full swing. There was a surfing competition in town, and the tourists had filled the street with a buzzy excitement.
“Excuse me, sir.” She heard a man’s loud voice from up ahead, her attention shifting toward it like it had some sort of magnetic pull. “I’d just like a statement.” A man with an iPad and a bag slung across his body—maybe a reporter of some sort—was parting the crowd hurriedly.
Callie watched for a second, wondering what he was up to. She hadn’t seen that kind of eagerness in this small town before. She quickened her pace, curiosity getting the better of her. In only a few steps, she’d caught up with the man and realized he was nearly chasing someone. She followed him into the small crowd near the shops as she continued to look for somewhere to eat. When she caught sight of the person the reporter was after, Callie recognized him just as he zeroed in directly on her.
“Oh!” he said, linking arms with her. “There you are!”
“What? I—” Callie found herself being hurried along by Luke Sullivan, the multimillionaire heir to the Sullivan fortune. She’d read about him in the local paper. His family had made their money in early real estate development along the barrier islands and expanded nationwide. With Luke’s return to the Outer Banks, heading up their latest project—Blue Water Sailing, one of those watersports giants—he’d brought with him quite a bit of press. Blue Water Sailing had taken off just like the yacht company they also owned, based in Florida. With rumors of his father’s retirement, Luke stood to take over a goldmine, being the Sullivans’ only son. Their daughter, Juliette Sullivan, was pursuing other interests, Callie had read.
Luke’s hand was gently wrapped around her bicep as he led her forward, the face of his Rolex reflecting the sun into her eyes, despite her sunglasses, as the reporter gained speed behind them.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the reporter over his shoulder. “I’m having a… lunch date. I can’t speak to you right now.”
The reporter was still behind them, but he was slowing just a bit. They kept walking briskly. Luke faced forward, his expression determined, as he swept her further down the sidewalk. She noticed that people were looking. Finally, he nearly yanked her into a shop. The door shut behind them, plunging them into the air-conditioned entrance of a small beach art gallery.
Luke let go of her arm, his attention on the door. Callie made eye contact with the salesperson, the woman clearly as surprised as Callie at their entrance.
When it seemed like the coast was clear, Luke stuck his head in Callie’s line of vision. “I’m sorry,” he said, his gaze darting back to the door once more before focusing entirely on her.
She’d seen his face in magazine photos advertising the area for tourists. But he didn’t live like those tourists. He owned what the articles referred to as a “cottage,” but it was more like a castle, a two-million-dollar home that sat on its own acreage, probably a third the size of the entire village, secluded and smack in the sand on the edge of the sea with two pools and a tennis court.
He was tall and perfectly fit, with sandy blond hair falling across his forehead, making him look younger than his age. She’d read that he was only a year older than she was, yet he had an air of experience about him that made him seem so much wiser. He was wearing long, beachy shorts and a casual T-shirt; she could tell by the stitching that they’d cost him a fortune. As he took a small step closer to her, she felt self-conscious. What must she look like right now? Her hair was yanked into a ponytail, her arms still dusted with the soil from the yard. Luke was so impeccably clean and gorgeous as he watched her with those sea-blue eyes of his.
He offered his hand. “Luke Sullivan.”
“Callie Weaver,” she said, still a little dazed.
Two
“That guy wants an interview with me, but I’m worried about the way he’ll spin what I’m saying, so I refuse to talk to him,” Luke said. “He’s been following me everywhere. You saved me.” He smiled, and Callie had to catch her breath.
She jammed her hands in the pockets of her shorts to both keep herself steady and hide the dirt that was probably still under her fingernails from gardening all day. She blinked, trying not to freak out at the fact that she was actually talking to Luke Sullivan.
He turned his wrist over, that enormous watch swinging into view. “I’ve kept you,” he said. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll get you a drink.”