Page 41 of Surfside Sisters

She was also glad that in the coming winter months she wouldn’t have much work to do for Clean Sweep.

Which meant she could seriously concentrate on writing her novel.

—

On a blustery late December morning, Keely drove out to Surfside to walk on the beach. The wind tossed the waves about like a child splashing in a tub. Huge ruffles of white towered and collapsed on the shore, hissing as they were pulled back into the sea. Keely was dressed for the wind. She wore a down jacket and a wool knit hat that fit tight to her head so the wind couldn’t blow it off.

She loved being here, and wished she had come more often. The ocean was so expansive, so full of relentless, reckless energy. She felt she was breathing in that energy with every step she took. She ambled along at the edge of the waves until she knew her face was almost frozen from the cold. She turned around and began to walk back.

In the distance, coming toward her, was a man. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his figure was familiar. Keely’s heart leapt in her throat before she had even said his name.

He came closer, his blond hair mashed beneath a wool cap, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

When they were face-to-face, he said, “Keely.”

“Sebastian.”

They smiled. And for a moment, they only gazed at each other, smiling, warming one another with the affection in their eyes.

“What are you doing here? I thought you’d be in Sweden or New York with your family.”

“I came home to check on a few things.”

Her love for this man bloomed all over her body. It was two years since she’d seen him. He was older, more adult, still the most gorgeous thing she’d ever seen.

She felt like a flower opening to the sun.

Don’t be an idiot,Keely told herself, and asked, “How’s Ebba?”

“She’s good. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks. I’m working for Clean Sweep and doing odd jobs, and when I have time, I’m trying to write.”

They had turned and were walking side by side now, with the wind buffeting them and the ocean roaring and tumbling next to them.

“You’re still serious about writing.”

“I am. Writing every spare moment I can find.”

“You sound like Isabelle.”

“Really.”

“Yeah, she’s just been accepted to some writers’ group out in the Berkshires. She’s going to live there for two or three years and do nothing but write.”

Keely’s heart stopped.

“She got accepted by the Berkshire Writers’ Colony?”

“That’s it. That’s the name.” He grinned. “You two girls were always writing when you were kids. Books or stories or newspapers.”

“Yes,” Keely said softly, “I remember when you drew a bee for me and didn’t tell anyone you’d done it.”

And as she spoke, she sank to her knees by the edge of the surging waves and buried her face in her hands.

“Keely. Are you okay?”

Her words were muffled by her gloves. “Fine. I’m fine. Just…memories.” Let him think she was crying because of her childhood friendship with Isabelle. She was crying, helplessly, because Isabelle had been accepted by the writers’ colony, and Keely hadn’t even heard from them.

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