Page 9 of Where Sea Meets Sky

“I am!” She cocked her head to one side in confusion. “How do you know?”

He chuckled. “If the magazine you dropped and your immediate reference to a lawsuit weren’t enough, your outfit would be. You look like you’re ready to take on a courtroom.”

Something passed over her eyes for a moment, and he wondered if he’d offended her somehow.

“I mean, you look great,” he assured her hastily. “It’s just that you’re wearing clothes that are very different from the usual everyday attire of Rosewood Beach.”

She laughed and held out her hand for a handshake. “Well, you’re right. I am a lawyer, and my name is Faith Talbot.”

He shook her hand warmly. “I’m Ryan McCormick. Nice to meet you, Faith.”

He was about to ask her what brought her to town, since he was eager to keep speaking with her, but at that moment his phone began to ring. He silently cursed his luck as he looked at his screen and saw that it was the project head calling him.

“I should get this,” he said apologetically. “I’d better get going.”

“Work, huh?” she guessed insightfully. “For a guy who’s here to decompress, you’re clearly struggling to meet your goal.”

He grimaced good-naturedly. “You’re right. I can’t seem to escape work even on vacation.”

“It’s okay, I’m struggling with decompressing too,” she said, offering him a smile that he found extremely pleasant. “Sometimes it’s hard to step away from the life you’re used to. I mean, I miss Boston’s museums, that’s for sure.” She laughed lightly. “It’s a learning curve we’re both navigating, right?”

As she spoke, he realized how right she was about his circumstances. He was having trouble decompressing, almost as if he had an addiction to work. He felt almost guilty about just taking time for himself, as if he’d accidentally trained himself to think that if he wasn’t working, he was being a waste of space.

“Absolutely,” he agreed, nodding. “I’m letting what’s supposed to be relaxing become rushed.” He wished he could stay and talk to her longer. He considered ignoring the project head’s phone call for a moment—but then the guy immediately called back and the phone began to ring again.

“You’re still right,” he said with a rueful grin. “But I’d better take this. I guess it’s important.”

“I understand,” she said, smiling at him with a sympathetic expression.

He waved to her briefly and stepped outside before answering the phone call, wishing he’d decided to just stay inside and keep talking with her.

CHAPTER FIVE

Alexis surveyed her pantry shelves with all the pride of a queen surveying her queendom. Now that she had the rice, beans, and lentils stowed neatly into the clear plastic organizers, she felt that her shelves were pristinely well laid out.

She hummed to herself as she left the pantry to check on the pies that were baking in the oven. Her family was coming over for dinner that night, and for the occasion Alexis had made sweet potato chicken pot pies. The smell wafting out of the oven was already incredible.

She crouched down and turned on the oven light to inspect the baking pies. They looked excellent, and clearly still had a long time to go. She stood up again, feeling strangely restless. Although she knew the pantry looked as charming and organized as she could possibly want, she still felt as though there was something more that she wanted to do.

It was so fun to reorder the pantry,she thought.Maybe I’m just missing that fun. Or is there really something else that I want to do around the house?

She turned slowly in a circle, looking around the kitchen. When she and Grayson had first moved into their charming red brick colonial house, she’d worked on the kitchen first thing. Sheloved cooking, and she’d made sure to make it a room that lifted her spirits.

She decided that there was nothing she wanted to add to the kitchen. It was already tidy, organized, and aesthetically pleasing. She smiled, pleased with her previous work, and wandered into the hallway, and then the living room, gazing around her as she went.

“Huh,” she said as soon as she stepped into the living room. She sat down on the couch and tucked her feet up, staring intently at the walls. When they’d first moved into their house, she’d wanted to paint the walls of the living room. She and Grayson had been so busy, however, that they’d never gotten a chance to do it.

She hugged her knees, beginning to feel more and more excited about the idea. She could paint it any number of colors—their couch was made of white leather, and the throw pillows were covered in a black and white patterned fabric, which meant that she could paint the walls almost anything she wanted. She squinted at the walls, picturing sunshine yellow, or mint green, or burnt orange.

She turned toward the fireplace, which was made of natural gray stone. She imagined dark red walls surrounding it, accented by antique photograph frames. She cocked her head to one side and then imagined light blue walls, lightly decorated with motivational plaques.

At that moment, the front door opened, startling her from her reverie.

“I’m home!” Grayson called out cheerfully.

“Hey, sweetheart!” She hopped off the couch and hurried over to the front door to greet her husband with a hug and a kiss. “How was the store?”

“A terrible jungle of angry customers, but I survived.” He grinned. “No, just kidding. There were like four people there andeveryone was super helpful. I asked an old lady who didn’t even work there about the green tea ice cream and she pointed me in the right direction. She said, ‘That aisle there is where the crazy people buy their food.’”

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