Continue reading Before Sand & Sea
A glimpse inside Kate and Luke’s story
This page continues the opening scene introduced on the Welcome page.
A glimpse inside Kate and Luke’s story
This page continues the opening scene introduced on the Welcome page.
Previously, in Before Sand & Sea...
The rogue olive was on a mission. It wasn’t world domination, just a determined escape from the confines of Kate’s salad plate. It bobbed across the ceramic landscape, a miniature emerald torpedo leaving a trail of vinaigrette in its wake, and landed with a satisfying plop on the checkered tablecloth.
Hey, that’s not fair, she thought, spearing a lone cherry tomato. You get to escape.
Barry, the well-meaning but utterly bland friend Cousin Jimmhad set her up with, sat across the table from her at the waterside bistro. He politely ignored the olive but prattled on about investment strategies, a glint of anticipation in his eyes. “It’s all about diversification.”
Kate tried to appear interested but stifled a yawn. Her gaze wandered to the window and a sleek sailboat leaving the marina. Its sails were billowing like silver wings against the endless blue sky. A tightness pulled at the corners of her mouth. To be carefree like that, she thought. To hang out in the sun...without a care in the world.
Her fingers tightened on her fork as an old memory bubbled up. The kind she wanted to forget since the divorce. She closed her eyes for a moment--Barry wouldn’t notice—picturing herself with Jon on their catamaran, wind whipping through their hair, spray off the Sound on their faces. But the vision was fleeting, replaced by a sharp ache in her chest, a reminder of broken promises and shattered dreams.
“So, about those hedge funds...” Barry said, oblivious to the storm brewing in Kate’s metaphorical teacup.
Barry’s voice droned on, weaving a tale of spreadsheets that rivaled any lullaby in its sleep-inducing potential. Kate, fighting back a yawn, stole a glance at her phone. Perhaps, she thought, the rogue olive on her plate wasn’t just a culinary mishap, but a cosmic nudge.
She pulled out her mobile along with an apologetic smile. “My realtor texted me. Home-selling crisis. So sorry, Barry. I need to cut this short.”
With a wink that was more strained than playful, she slipped a twenty on the table to cover her share and practically skipped out of the bistro.
The crisp tap-tap of her boots on the sidewalk was a welcome change from Barry’s monologue. Traffic on the Boston Post Road grumbled in the distance, and its low murmur was replaced by a refreshing whoosh. An early April breeze, bold and alive, whipped around her face, carrying the invigorating scent of salt air. The taste of freedom, the smell of the sea—it all hit her at once, a heady mix that sent a wave of lightness crashing over her.
When she reached her 1950s Cape Cod, she fumbled with the realtor’s lockbox, the cold metal biting into her fingers. Inside, the flagstone tiles in the entry welcomed to Kate’s stockinged feet. She padded across the living room to the light-dappled alcove. Curled in the window seat, she snagged a chocolate chip cookie from the box she had left there in a minor act of defiance against the constant perfection dictated by her realtor.
Kate peered through the window, watching a snowball war erupting across the street. The children’s shrieks reminded her of simpler times when the biggest decision was which cousin got the last chocolate cannoli.
“This is my life now,” Kate whispered, as the cookie she chewed leaked crumbs down her sweater.
Hey, that’s not fair, she thought, spearing a lone cherry tomato. You get to escape.
Barry, the well-meaning but utterly bland friend Cousin Jimmhad set her up with, sat across the table from her at the waterside bistro. He politely ignored the olive but prattled on about investment strategies, a glint of anticipation in his eyes. “It’s all about diversification.”
Kate tried to appear interested but stifled a yawn. Her gaze wandered to the window and a sleek sailboat leaving the marina. Its sails were billowing like silver wings against the endless blue sky. A tightness pulled at the corners of her mouth. To be carefree like that, she thought. To hang out in the sun...without a care in the world.
Her fingers tightened on her fork as an old memory bubbled up. The kind she wanted to forget since the divorce. She closed her eyes for a moment--Barry wouldn’t notice—picturing herself with Jon on their catamaran, wind whipping through their hair, spray off the Sound on their faces. But the vision was fleeting, replaced by a sharp ache in her chest, a reminder of broken promises and shattered dreams.
“So, about those hedge funds...” Barry said, oblivious to the storm brewing in Kate’s metaphorical teacup.
Barry’s voice droned on, weaving a tale of spreadsheets that rivaled any lullaby in its sleep-inducing potential. Kate, fighting back a yawn, stole a glance at her phone. Perhaps, she thought, the rogue olive on her plate wasn’t just a culinary mishap, but a cosmic nudge.
She pulled out her mobile along with an apologetic smile. “My realtor texted me. Home-selling crisis. So sorry, Barry. I need to cut this short.”
With a wink that was more strained than playful, she slipped a twenty on the table to cover her share and practically skipped out of the bistro.
The crisp tap-tap of her boots on the sidewalk was a welcome change from Barry’s monologue. Traffic on the Boston Post Road grumbled in the distance, and its low murmur was replaced by a refreshing whoosh. An early April breeze, bold and alive, whipped around her face, carrying the invigorating scent of salt air. The taste of freedom, the smell of the sea—it all hit her at once, a heady mix that sent a wave of lightness crashing over her.
When she reached her 1950s Cape Cod, she fumbled with the realtor’s lockbox, the cold metal biting into her fingers. Inside, the flagstone tiles in the entry welcomed to Kate’s stockinged feet. She padded across the living room to the light-dappled alcove. Curled in the window seat, she snagged a chocolate chip cookie from the box she had left there in a minor act of defiance against the constant perfection dictated by her realtor.
Kate peered through the window, watching a snowball war erupting across the street. The children’s shrieks reminded her of simpler times when the biggest decision was which cousin got the last chocolate cannoli.
“This is my life now,” Kate whispered, as the cookie she chewed leaked crumbs down her sweater.
Excerpt: Before Sand & Sea
©2024 by Catherine Michaels, all rights reserved
©2024 by Catherine Michaels, all rights reserved
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