Page 7 of Serenity at Seagrove
"Oh, honey, in Seagrove, everybody knows everybody, and I've known that boy his whole life." She shook her head. "He's carrying around more pain than he knows what to do with, and he's never been very good at his emotions. Don't take his words personally. He's just lashing out because he's hurting."
Luna shifted in her chair. "I get that he's hurting. As a therapist, I can see the pain written all over him, but I also can't help people who don't want to be helped."
"Well, now that's where you're wrong, sugar," Dixie said, leaning forward in her chair, her bangles clinking against the metal bistro table. “Often the ones who fight the hardest against getting help are the ones who need it most, and sometimes help will come in the most unexpected ways."
Luna raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"Well, take this bookstore, for example. People come in here thinking they're just buying books, but they end up finding a lot more. Community, friendship, sometimes a listening ear. I imagine it's what bartenders and hairdressers feel like," she laughed. "Julie and I have seen more healing happen between these shelves than most people would believe."
"That's very beautiful," Luna said softly.
"And your place, Serenity, well, it's going to do the same thing. You're not just offering yoga classes and therapy sessions. You're creating a safe harbor for people who need one." She reached over and patted Luna's hand. "Even stubborn ex-golfers who think they're too tough for woo-woo stuff."
Luna couldn't help but laugh. "You seem awfully sure about that."
"Oh, I've been in this town long enough to know how things work. People like Archer, well, they just need to come to things in their own time. But you mark my words, that man's going to find his way to your door eventually."
"Maybe," Luna said, though she still wasn't convinced. "But right now, I just have to focus on getting Serenity up and running so I can help the people whodowant help. And speaking of which, I should probably look at those books you mentioned."
"Oh, of course, honey," Dixie stood and moved to a shelf behind the counter. "I pulled these aside when Julie told me about your center. I knew exactly who you were when you walked in the door."
"How did you know that?" Luna asked.
"Well, she told me you were a beautiful woman with very long black hair, and that's what stood out as soon as you walked in. I sure wish my hair would grow that long, although I'd look pretty silly at my age."
Luna chuckled. "I think anybody can be anything at any age."
Dixie nodded. "You're right. Well, anyway, there's some wonderful stuff about meditation and mindfulness, and I also pulled a couple of local books—I thought some of our history might interest you."
As Dixie showed her the books, Luna felt some of her earlier tension melt away. There was just something about Dixie's presence that made her feel like this might be manageable, like all of the pieces would eventually fall into place if she just gave them time.
"Thank you so much, Dixie," Luna said as she gathered the stack of books. "Not just for these, but for the talk. I needed it more than I realized."
"Well, that's what we do here in Seagrove," Dixie said, smiling. "We look after one another, and honey, you're one of us now, whether you realize it or not. We aren't going to leave you alone."
Luna wondered if maybe this was what it felt like to really come home—to find a community that welcomed you with open arms, even when you weren't sure you belonged. As she left the bookstore, her arms full of books, she felt a little lighter. She couldn't help but think about what Dixie had said about Archer. Maybe he would find his way to Serenity eventually, and maybe she'd be ready when he did.
* * *
Archer walked along the beach, his feet sinking into the cool sand with each step. The early morning air was thick with salt and humidity, as it often was in the South Carolina Lowcountry. He'd grown up with it, so he barely noticed it anymore. These dawn walks had become his morning routine since arriving in Seagrove a few days ago. They were a poor substitute for the hours he spent on the golf course before his injury, but he needed something to fill the endless stretch of empty days.
His shoulder always ached, a constant reminder of everything he'd lost. The doctors had told him the injury wasn't career-ending, that maybe with a long rehabilitation process, he could return to golf, but probably never at the level he was. But he knew better. He felt as if his entire being had fundamentally broken that day. His spirit was gone.
He knew there were lots of people who had it way worse than he did. People with no homes, people with no jobs, people with no food. But in those moments where you feel in despair, it's hard to compare your situation to anyone else's. He tried to be grateful for what he did have—a place to rest his head, good friends, and reasonably decent health if you took the shoulder out of the equation. But he felt blocked. He didn't have empathy for other people like he knew he should. He could only think of himself, and that fact alone made him angry.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed seeing her. Luna was sitting on a yoga mat near the water’s edge. She was obviously meditating because her eyes were closed. It was something he never understood himself, but she had the most peaceful look on her face. There had never been a time in his life when his mind felt that quiet.
The rising sun caught the loose strands of her long black hair, and despite himself, he found his steps toward her slowing. She was a beautiful woman—petite, with bronzed skin and that beautiful head of hair. He couldn't remember seeing a more beautiful head of hair in his life, to be honest. He thought about their brief encounter at the café and winced. He'd been unnecessarily harsh about her work, letting his own bitterness spill out onto somebody who was just trying to help people, including him. He knew how it felt to have people criticize what you did for a living, but even worse was when it was your passion. Dawson's words from the front porch the other night echoed in his mind.
Luna's eyes suddenly opened, and she caught him staring at her. For a moment, they just looked at each other across the sand with the sound of the waves crashing, filling the silence between them.
"Well, good morning," she called out.
Archer pretended he hadn't heard her and continued his walk. It would be easier than facing the awkwardness he had created in their last interaction.
Something, maybe Dawson's voice rolling around in his head, or maybe just plain guilt, made him stop in his tracks.
"Morning," he replied, taking a few steps closer. "You're up bright and early."
