Chapter 3
Nick checked his phone when it vibrated, expecting to see a reply tweet from Merry Sunjoy. He thought she would have responded by now, but she’d remained silent as deep space. Instead, he read a disjointed text from his agent, Phoebe. It featured a lot of exclamation points, implored him to check the weather reports, and asserted her lack of knowledge regarding the presence of Merry Sunjoy at the Casa Blanca resort. She begged him to continue the social media feud which was inexplicably fueling sales for both Pirates and Faeries.
Ms. Sunjoy is on board 100%! Her agent told me so! Stop worrying! Keep up the verbal sparring! Now get back to work!
Merry Sunjoy hadn’t sounded “on board” at the beach. Annoyed was more like it. Nick wished he could ask her straight up, tell her he was the bully she’d complained about and have an adult conversation, but he couldn’t, not without breaking his contract.
Nick slipped his phone into the pocket of his khakis and left the villa, bound for Junonia and what he hoped would be a terrific dinner. He’d eaten at the restaurant on previous visits, and Chef Ian Browning had never failed to impress. Nick expected no less this evening.
He took his time, meandering along the paver-stone pathways, in no rush to get to the restaurant. He’d worked on the newest Pirates book all afternoon, and his muscles needed the movement, especially since he’d foregone the gym in favor of the beach this morning.
He paused to watch a green lizard sitting on a rock, looking like it thought it was king of the world. The creature stood motionless except for the rhythmic pulsing of the pink dewlap beneath its jaw. A moment later, the reptile leapt from the rock and darted beneath a bush loaded with red flowers. Nick watched the tail disappear into the foliage, and he breathed in the myriad scents of the tropical paradise—the spicy flora, the salty Gulf waters, and—warm vanilla?
He looked up to see Merry Sunjoy barreling toward him. She gasped and tried to bring herself to a halt, but her momentum was too strong. She slammed into him with an “oomph!”
Nick staggered back a step and caught her by the shoulders in an effort to steady both of them. He noted the surprise in her morning-glory blues and the embarrassment in her cheeks, now blooming red as the flowers on the bush he’d admired a moment earlier. And he inhaled more of the soft vanilla scent that he would now forever associate with her.
“Oh, my goodness!” she said, staring into his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I only glanced down for a second, and when I looked up again—”
“I wasn’t paying attention either.” Nick released her and breathed in again. God, she smelled good. “We collided pretty hard. You aren’t hurt, are you?”
“Just my pride.” Her adorable dimple appeared. “I told you I’m a klutz.”
“You’re in a real hurry. Everything okay?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” She stepped back and looked up at him, smiling. “I was in my room working all afternoon—I write children’s books—and I’m sore from so much sitting. People don’t realize how hard it is to sit for hours on end.”
“I understand,” he said. “I’m on my way to an early dinner at Junonia. Would you care to join me?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he told himself spending time with her was a good idea, the better to ensure she had no clue he was Scurvy Rickets.
“I’d love to, but”—she spread her arms and looked down at her denim cutoffs, baggy tee-shirt, and flip-flops—“as you can see, I’m more dressed for the Mini Mart.”
“A rain check, then?”
“Unfortunately, something personal has come up, and I have to leave tomorrow. I won’t be back until Monday.”
“Wow, you’re really making me work for this,” Nick said, and laughed when she began to protest. “Tell you what, Miss Merry Sunjoy. I’m staying at one of the villas, and as it happens, there’s a huge container of jerked chicken and rice brought to me by Poppy Washington who, if you don’t know, is one of the housekeepers here. She’s Jamaican, so I promise you the food is authentic. What do you say? I might even be able to scrounge up a salad.”
“Well, I—”
“Please say yes.”
Merry’s eyes darkened as she struggled with apparent indecision.
Nick tucked his hands in his pockets and waited, wondering if she hesitated because she knew he was Scurvy Rickets, or because she didn’t really know him at all.
***
Green and gold both, with a little cinnamon color thrown in for good measure, Merry thought, staring into Nick’s eyes. Oh, my goodness. Beautiful.
She swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe. The man was too good looking. There had to be something wrong with him, didn’t there? Of course there did. But she’d never discover what it was if she left Casa Blanca without getting to know him better. And, dear Lord, it had been a long time since she’d allowed herself to enjoy the company of a man. Even if he turned out to be a jerk, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be a nice dinner.
“Yes. I’d love to share the jerked chicken with you,” Merry said, and cursed the heat that flooded her cheeks the moment his smile bloomed. “I’ve never met Poppy personally, but I may have seen her. Earlier I saw a woman with a Jamaican accent arguing with an elderly gentleman about which of them prepares a better lasagna.”
Nick grinned. “Yep, that’s Poppy, probably feuding with Nino. They have a longstanding battle over which of them is more skilled in the kitchen.”
Nick offered his arm for Merry to hold and led her down the path, turning off on the one that ran parallel to the water.
Thunder rolled, and they paused to look at the bruised horizon beyond the wide expanse of choppy Gulf waters. The distant grayness lit with a flash of lighting, but overhead the sky shone blue, and the waning sun cast its rays through a canvas of pink-and-orange-smeared clouds.
“I’m always amazed how the storms roll in here,” Nick said as they resumed their stroll, Merry’s arm still tucked into his. “Most of the time they last all of twenty minutes and then the sun shines again. But for that twenty minutes, it pours like hell.”
“Life is like that. The rain comes, but there’s always a rainbow somewhere, always something positive if we don’t mind waiting or searching for it,” Merry said, thinking about her decision to visit Holly for the weekend.
Nick paused their walk and faced her. “It isn’t simply a platform for you, is it? You really believe the things you write about. That there’s always a silver lining, I mean. That there’s good inside the bad.”
“You know my work?” she asked, surprised. He inclined his head, and she said, “Of course I believe it. I’d go crazy if I didn’t. Don’t you?”
“No, honestly, I don’t,” he admitted and drew her forward to continue their walk.
“Well, I’m sorry for you, then,” she said. “I don’t think I could go through life lost in the bad stuff. It’s why I write the stories I do. Bad things happen, but kids need to know that there are safe places.”
“Is that realistic, though? I mean—take me, for instance. I grew up in a house with two alcoholic parents. Stories that only showed the sunny side of life weren’t books I could relate to because nothing about my life was sunny.”
“My childhood wasn’t sunny either,” Merry said. “My dad left us when I was a toddler, and my mother battled addiction her whole life. Happy books were places I could go to forget all that. When life is already bad, why choose books that don’t take you away from it?”
Nick stopped at a wrought iron gate and put his hand on the small of Merry’s back to guide her through to the villa. They took the terra cotta steps to the front door, and Merry waited while he unlocked the door. She wondered how sensible it was to go into the villa of a man she had just met, but there was something familiar about him that put her at ease. There weren’t many people Merry opened up to, but in the short space of their walk she had already shared one of her most intimate family secrets. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
“Wow. This is gorgeous,” she said, stepping into the spacious villa and looking around.
“Wait until you see the view.” Nick led Merry across the hardwood floors, through the living area and past a plush leather sofa. French doors opened to a stone patio and private, caged pool. To the west lay the beach and the sparkling waters of the Gulf.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding. This view is amazing. I thought about renting a villa, but even the one-bedrooms are pretty big. I was afraid I’d be spooked staying by myself.” She chuckled and looked at her host with a wry smile. “Now that I see what I missed, I wish I had gone for it. I’ve got a room in the hotel, and it’s lovely, but this is—wow.”
“How about a glass of wine? We can sit at the patio table.”
“Sure,” Merry said, smiling. “That’d be great.”
She watched Nick walk away, noting again his broad shoulders and sun-kissed hair. And his eyes—they seemed to change color depending on whether he was laughing or serious, and she wondered if it was possible to gauge his mood simply from the color of his eyes.
Merry stared at the Gulf, the waters choppy from the threatening storm. She turned in a slow circle to take in the full patio view. Flowering trees and bushes provided some privacy, and to Merry the area looked like a secluded spot discovered by castaways on a tropical island paradise.
Moonflower’s wings fluttered with excitement. “A secret glen!”
Sunbloom nodded, awestruck. “This must be the magical place we heard about where the water is made of mermaids’ happy tears.”
Merry turned to watch Nick come through the sliding door carrying two glasses of wine. He smiled when their gazes met, and warmth infused her, waking the nervous butterflies in her belly.
Skyblossom pointed to a creature approaching from the forest. “Look,” she whispered to her sisters. “He has eyes that change color. Have you ever seen such a thing?”
“Never,” Moonflower and Sunbloom said together.
Skyblossom’s heart beat faster. “He’s so beautiful. Do you think he’s dangerous?”
Merry turned off the voices in her head, replaced them with the thought “fresh start,” and murmured her thanks when Nick handed her the wineglass. She nodded with appreciation upon sipping the chardonnay. She wasn’t a wine connoisseur by any means, but it was certainly better than the cheap stuff she bought for herself at the grocery store on the two-for-one shelf.
“When Poppy brought the jerked chicken and rice, she made me promise not to nuke it. She said the microwave would dry out the chicken, so it’s in the oven. Should be hot enough to eat in about twenty minutes.”
“Sounds good,” Merry said, and sat down in one of the wicker chairs that Nick drew out from the table for her. “I’m curious,” she said after he sat beside her. “I write books for young kids. How is it you’re familiar with my work? I’m not exactly famous.”
Nick stared at Merry for a drawn out moment before shifting his gaze to the pool. It took him so long to answer that a tingle of apprehension ran its fingers down her spine. Her ex used to do that right before he told a whopper.
“I’m a sports columnist,” he said when he looked at her again. “I don’t think I ever completely introduced myself. Nick Brubaker. I—”
“Oh, my goodness, yes. I know who you are. Of course.” Merry’s trepidation bloomed into immediate relief. He didn’t lie, didn’t need to. He had perhaps hesitated because he was used to fangirls swooning. “I feel like an idiot. I should have recognized you from the picture that runs with your syndicated column and—”
“It’s an old photo.”
Merry laughed. “Maybe, but I’ve also seen you on ESPN. Now that you said your name, I recognize you. I’m surprised I didn’t before, though I knew you looked familiar.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a sports fan.”
“Well, I’m not, unless you’re writing or talking about the New England Patriots. Then I pay attention. I went to college in Boston, so I’m predisposed to root for the Pats.”
“I’ll be careful about dissing Tom Brady, then,” Nick said, grinning.
Merry sat back into the chair and sipped her wine, all of her earlier fears now erased. Nick Brubaker. How could she not have recognized him?
She relaxed, free to enjoy the conversation and accompanying meal without niggling concerns at the back of her mind. Aside from his occasional TV gigs, Nick was a writer, too, with a weekly syndicated column. That opened up a whole new avenue of topics for discussion, even though there was no commonality to what they wrote.
“You said earlier that you don’t think my books show kids reality, that you wouldn’t have enjoyed them when you were a boy. So what kind of books did you read?” she asked.
“Comic books,” he said, and shrugged when she gave him a look. “Seriously. The superheroes are all tragic in some way. They’re flawed, damaged, but they use that personal pain to help others, to fight evil. The thing is, even when they win, they don’t really. Batman might always vanquish the Joker, but he still goes home to the Bat Cave all alone.”
“He has Robin and Alfred.”
“Hardly the same thing. Point is, as a kid, I could relate to being flawed, different. When my old man got drunk and raised a fist, it wasn’t to some faerie glen that I imagined traveling to, Merry. It was the Bat Cave.”
“Okay, sure. I understand. There was power for you there.”
“I don’t know about that, but it was a place I could go because it symbolized eventual retribution for the person who deserved it.”
Merry’s heart squeezed, imagining the scared little boy he must have been. “And was there ever retribution, Nick?”
“No, not really. Not the way I wanted. What about you? You said your mother fought addiction.”
“She did. I coped by looking for silver linings. There always is one, you know. And I can see from the look on your face that you think I’m naïve, but I’m not. It’s only that—well, there is good to be found, even in the worst of circumstances.”
“I know plenty of people who would disagree with you.”
“Most prefer to focus on the negative. I’d rather look for the positive. My mom died last year—nothing positive in that, right? But people were kind, so very kind. Their kindness was the silver lining I needed. It didn’t stop the pain, but it gave me something to be grateful for during a time when such things were hard to find.”
“Don’t you ever get angry?” Nick pressed.
Merry nodded. “Of course. I’m human, after all. My ex-husband, Tom, was a pathological liar. He lied about everything, and I do mean everything—even things that were meaningless. He made stuff up all the time.” She took a sip of her wine and minimized her comments with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, the point is, even during the worst time of our marriage and during the divorce I focused on the good things.”
“Like what?” Nick asked, leaning forward, his eyes riveted on hers.
“Like how fortunate I was to have the support of my sister and friends, the solid relationship I maintained with Tom’s family—they’re really good people—and the fact that I got out of the relationship before we had kids. And during that time is when I wrote some of my best Foundling Faeries stories. They were my escape. So, yes, I do believe there are silver linings.
“Right now there’s a guy online being a real meany-head and—hey, don’t laugh, that’s a real word,” she said, but he was laughing, and she laughed with him. “Listen, I visit a lot of elementary and middle schools, so I’m careful with my language. It’s easier to make it a habit than to try and avoid it circumstantially. Anyway, it’s this other author. He writes kidlit, too, but quite different from mine. Somehow we’ve ended up in this horrible social media battle. It’s malicious and nasty, and I don’t like it. And he’s—he’s mean.”
Nick’s laughter sobered, and he regarded her with quiet intensity. “Maybe he’s not trying to be mean,” he said. “Maybe he was playing to the crowd and things got out of hand. Maybe he thinks you have given some sort of approval to the banter.”
“No, I would never do that. Trust me, he’s a bully. He’s insulted me and my books, and he’s done it all online and anonymously, because he writes under a pen name.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
Merry smiled. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re not the one who insulted me.”
Nick opened his mouth and closed it again, turned his attention back to view. “Okay. So, you’re angry at the bully. I don’t blame you. He sounds like an asshole.”
“But that doesn’t mean I’m demanding Batman justice. I’ll admit, I’ve fantasized about him walking the plank or succumbing to scurvy,” she said, laughing. “But honestly, all I want is for him to stop being mean. There’s room for both of us in the kids’ market. It doesn’t have to be one or the other of us. We each fulfill a different need for some child out there—which is something I didn’t truly understand until tonight, thanks to you. It sounds naïve and simplistic, but I want harmony in my life and everyone else’s. I know it isn’t possible because life happens, but there’s nothing wrong with hoping for the best, is there? That’s what I wanted when I was a kid. It’s still what I want. I don’t always achieve it, but that’s my goal.”
“And what does happiness look like to Merry Sunjoy, creator and soul sister of Moonflower, Sunbloom, and Skyblossom?”
It looks like a man with chameleon eyes, sun-kissed hair, and a smile that makes my insides twirl, she thought, but said instead, “Right now it looks like another glass of wine and maybe a walk on the beach after dinner.”
Nick held her gaze a moment longer, and she watched his mercurial hazel eyes shift from gray to green to gold. “Okay, I’ll give you a pass for now. But sooner or later I’ll expect a real answer to that question.”
“Sooner or later,” she said, “I might be able to give you one.”