“That’s the place,” he agreed.
He was pleasant and easy, charming, in fact. She wondered how she would have felt about him if they’d met on different footing. If she’d just come in with Katie somewhere and it had been, oh, Vanessa, you’ve met my brother, Sean, right? No, after all these years, imagine. Well, anyway, then, Sean, this is Vanessa, Vanessa, Sean.
She had chosen their meeting. Katie had offered to introduce him. She hadn’t wanted friendship to be a part of it. Maybe she had made a mistake. What did it matter? She was getting what she had set out for—another chance to discover what had happened. At the very least, a chance to feel that she had done everything in her power.
“So, seriously, how did it go?” she asked.
“Brilliantly. Better. I don’t know if I would have thought of having an intro with Marty if I hadn’t wanted to see what Jay could do. And Marty was wonderful. He’s a natural before the camera, and he absolutely loves his history, so it was all great. Jay is editing now.”
“He brought all his equipment?”
“No, he’s at my house.”
She was silently impressed—with Jay. She was surprised that Sean would trust a stranger with his work system, and she said so.
“You left him—at your house—alone.”
“Yes.”
“You’re a trusting soul.”
“Hardly.”
“But?”
She started to sink in the sand while taking a step. He took her hand. The feel was a jolt. A nice one. She liked the scent of him, too. Ocean and…him. Clean and fresh.
She didn’t want to feel so attracted.
She didn’t want to break free from his hand.
She walked casually, thanking him.
“I looked around at costumes today. This is really one of the best places to purchase. A lot of the retailers have researched the period thoroughly. They have great poet’s shirts, vests, jackets, hats, corsets, blouses, skirts—you name it. Oh! I bought a piece today. A replica of one worn by Dona Isabella,” she said.
He nodded and continued walking.
The vendors had covered up their wares; some were still around, chatting, eating sandwiches and keeping a firm eye on their goods, while others were off, trusting in hired security.
“I drove down here. Let’s get to my car,” Sean said.
They hurried along, Sean still holding her hand. He unlocked the car and opened the passenger-side door for her.
It was a car she might have expected for him, and she liked it. A Jeep. New enough, but not brand-new, a car that could go just about anywhere. It fit Sean very well, down-to-earth, utilitarian, and somehow, though anyone could buy the car, it seemed rugged and sensual and masculine.
She really had to stop her mind from wandering in that direction.
It was difficult. A St. Nicholas medallion hung from the rearview mirror, and she wasn’t surprised to see that he honored the patron saint of the sea. An O’Hara’s sticker was on the front windshield, low, on the passenger side. The rear of the Jeep was filled with a stack of neatly piled clothing, as if he had just been to the laundry, though she wasn’t sure why he would go out since she was certain that the house—which had actually been bought by Katie—had a washer and dryer.
He saw her looking at the stack of clothing. He winced. “I suck at it so I take it to the Laundromat to get it done for me. I’ve had too many white and beige things wind up an ultrafeminine shade of pink.”
Vanessa laughed. Good God, she found even that endearing.
“Let me see your piece,” he told her.
She dug in her tote and took out the box that carried the mermaid pendant.
He took it and stared at it, and then at her.
“What?” she demanded. Something about the way he looked at her made her shiver.
“I just saw this same piece,” he told her.
“Oh? Did you go by the vendors?” she asked. Her voice seemed faint. And hopeful.
He shook his head slowly. She thought she knew his answer before he spoke, and she was oddly afraid without knowing why.
“This is the piece you found at the shipwreck site the other day. Where the Santa Geneva went down. It’s—it’s the exact piece,” he said at last.
They were at O’Hara’s, where they had run into Katie and David. Sean had gotten Vanessa the promised Irish coffee. It was delicious. At O’Hara’s, there were equal parts Irish whiskey and Drambuie in with the coffee, along with a generous dollop of real whipped cream. The night was pleasantly cool with a southwesterly breeze, making the hot drink perfect.
She was still in her bathing suit, and the damp and the salt and the sand were irritating, and she was certain that her hair looked like windblown spiderwebs. If they were all about to take part in filming on boats and at sea, she supposed, they should all get accustomed to one another in wet and scraggly mode.
“Well, if it’s the original, eighteen or twenty-four karat, with rubies and sapphires, it’s worth a mint,” David said.
“I imagine,” Sean agreed.