Page 5 of Stony Point Summer
Those two sharp raps beg to differ with Celia’s recent words mailed to that one particular lobsterman. Her letter asking him not to think much of things. That there’s too much salt air between them—miles and hours of it—for a relationship to ever stand a chance.
Oh, another camera would have to capture her reaction shot when she hears that sharp knock. Because as she walks barefoot into her living room and sees that letter lying on the floor—sees Shane Bradford’s handwriting on the envelope—the whole trajectory of the movie pivots.
Especially when the cameraman might film her silently opening that envelope and reading Shane’s penned note.
Celia,
Don’t think much of things? You’re all I’ve been thinking of.
–Shane
The camera would then pan out as she runs to the front door, opensthattoo, and stops still. But only for a second. Just long enough to take in the sight of that one—yes, tenacious—lobsterman standing on the other side of the screen door.
And his cross-armed, leaning-on-the-porch-rail stance? It challenges every lame word of farewell she’d written in her return letter to him.
The Nowhere Affair?
Not yet, thank you very much. Not as Celia opens that screen door and catapults herself right into Shane Bradford’s waiting arms.
* * *
His prayer is answered.
Celia pushes her screen door open as though she can’t get to him fast enough.
Even sweeter, Shane’s every doubt is dispelled with the way she’s laughing and crying at once—all while running straight at him. As he lifts Celia off her feet now and nearly loses his own balance doing so, he can’t help but smile. And kiss her, once. Then again.
Embracing the force that is Celia like that, it’s as if Shane’s back on the open waters meeting a rogue wave, head-on. That’s Celia today, rushing out her screen door to the porch and into his quickly opened arms—a rogue wave coming straight at him.
The type of wave that quiets you with awe once it’s passed.
Which is what he is, minutes later—quieted with awe at this beautiful woman sitting beside him on the porch rockers. Celia’s barefoot, wearing a lace-trimmed black camisole with faded denim cutoffs. The thinnest silver chain is around her neck. And she’s downright breathtaking.
After they catch up, after Celia asks why he’s back at Stony Point—and after he tells her that before he left last week, Elsa invited him to the inn’s grand opening—something changes. Their talk turns. It grows cautious. Hopeful, maybe? It starts when Celia tips her head and softly reminds him the event isn’t until tomorrow night. When Shane hesitates, touching a wisp of her side braid and letting his fingers slide to her neck, their words ask more intimate questions: quiet ones, personal ones, whispered ones.
Hers:So is everything okay?
His:Now it is.I got here as soon as I could, once I received your letter this morning?
Hers:But why?
His:My letter back to you said it all, Celia. Did you read it?
Hers:I’m all you’ve been thinking of?
His:And I’m here a day early, to see only you. It’s our secret, okay?
Celia’s nod then is slight. But her eyes, oh how they’re smiling. When she brings him inside for something to drink, their talk continues in her kitchen nook. Four blue-painted wood chairs surround her white table. An easy-breezy beach feel is captured in the woven rag rug beneath it all. Atop the table, there’s a basket lined with glass bottles, with a white daisy propped in each one. Beside the table, a white-paneled wall is covered with a mismatched collection of old framed seascapes. There are scenes of waves breaking over boulders; of a tall ship on the high seas; of seagulls soaring over a calm inlet.
Meanwhile, their voices don’t stop. As Celia spoons a teabag out of her cup, Shane tells her how he rented that same little beach bungalow for a few days. “A short stay this time,” he says. “Captain’s expecting me on the boat Tuesday, right after Labor Day.”
To which Celia says that she just got back from Addison, where she left Aria with her father. “For the grand opening, you know?” she asks, sitting and sipping her tea. “Her grandpop loves to babysit.”
“Good idea. You’ll be so busy,” Shane agrees, pouring himself iced lemonade from a pitcher on the table. “Nice to have family close by.”
Celia leans over and squeezes his hand. “Listen. It’s dinnertime. Do you want to go out? You must be famished.”
“Actually? I’m not really feeling the whole restaurant thing. After the long drive here, well, I’m a little beat.”
