Luke shook his head, a slight annoyance visible in his eyes. “Nope. He was working. He said he couldn’t get away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She gazed out the window a minute, realizing how little people really knew about this family. The road stretched ahead of them—single lanes, sandy from the dunes that sat right at the edge of the road, the ocean crashing behind them.
He pulled to a stop at a red light. “I’m glad, though. It would’ve put a lot of pressure on my mom. She feels the need to be peacekeeper between me and my father.”
“You aren’t close with him?”
He took in a breath and let it out, his grip on the wheel never loosening. “Well, he’s my dad. But he and I haven’t always seen eye to eye on things when it comes to our family business. I tried to do the right thing, show him how I can run it like he does, and I’m good at it, but he never trusts me.” The light turned green and Luke accelerated.
“That’s too bad.” Callie thought about her own father, wondering if things would’ve been similar.
“It is,” he agreed. “Let’s not talk about my family,” he said, clicking on the radio. “I don’t want to bore you with all the details.” He reached around behind his seat, rummaging in a grocery bag. He pulled out a smaller bag and held it up. “Popcorn?” Then he flashed that smile and she was so happy to see it again.
Fifteen
The road just came to an end.
After all that driving, they’d made it to the town of Corolla and where the road stopped, the beach began. Luke pulled to the side and asked Callie to stay there. They couldn’t just park at the end of the road, could they?
He went around the car, bending down on each side, and then he got back in. “I just had to let some air out of the tires,” he said. “We’re nearly there.” Then, to her surprise, he put the SUV in four-wheel drive and started driving on the sand. There weren’t a lot of people on the beach as he drove along the track made by other vehicles. A few trucks were parked, their tailgates open, beach chairs set out beside them. He maneuvered around a man throwing a Frisbee to his dog, the large, yellow lab springing into the air to catch it.
“I’ve never been here before,” she told him. Callie leaned her elbow out the open window, taking in the wide shoreline and the smattering of cottages along the dunes. “How do they get here?” she asked, pointing to one of the cottages.
“By beach,” he said, grinning over at her, clearly happy that he could show her something that interested her. “This is the main road.”
“The beach?”
“Yep. The only way to get out here is by truck. These cottages are quite expensive to make because all the materials have to be brought across the sand.”
“Wow.”
“I like it,” he said. “I like how secluded it is.” He held the wheel tightly as they bumped along the shore. They continued down the beach until the people dwindled and theirs was the only vehicle she could see. “But you know what I like best about it?”
She watched him as he drove.
“That.” He pointed down the shore and Callie gasped. Running toward her at full speed were two chocolate brown wild horses, their manes flapping in the wind, their strong leg muscles flexing as their hooves pushed against the sand.
“They’re gorgeous,” she said, her eyes glued to them. Callie had heard about the wild horses of the Outer Banks, but she’d never seen one before.
“They’re believed to be descendants of Spanish mustangs left by explorers,” he said. “Been here over five hundred years.”
“Look!” She pointed to the dune where a foal was eating next to its mother. “They’re so beautiful.”
Luke turned the SUV toward the ocean and put it in park. “My mom used to bring me here when I was a kid. Back then, hardly anyone knew this was out here. It was so remote.” He opened the door and got out. “I’m glad you like it,” he said as she exited on her side.
He opened the back hatch and drew out a blue-and-white beach umbrella, anchoring it in the sand by the vehicle. Another horse walked around them, giving them a large distance, unfazed by the humans in its way. On either side of the umbrella pole, Luke set up two chairs facing the sea and placed a cooler in the center. Callie and Luke were completely secluded—just them and the horses. Callie didn’t sit. Instead, she looked out at the ocean, the breeze on her face.
Luke stepped into her view slowly. “Before we surf, I’d like to make something for you,” he said, and she noticed an uncertainty in his eyes. He deliberated a second before continuing. “You’ve done more for me than anyone else has, and I don’t think you know you’re doing it, but it makes me want to spend time with you… do nice things for you.”
“What did I do?” she asked, at a loss for what could have made him feel so utterly comfortable with her.
Callie thought back to all those snapshots she’d seen in the press—him on boats, photos of him holding doors open at elite restaurants for beautiful women, his model-like stance as he leaned against a wall at an airport awaiting the arrival of one of his famous friends. This person in front of her now was not that face. He was a real, live, breathing soul; he was sharing even more of himself with her, and she couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say.
“You didn’t want anything from me.”
“What?”
“When I tried to kiss you when we first met, you didn’t let me.”
“Nope.”
“You were right. You were the first girl who hasn’t let me. Most of the girls I’ve dated wanted something—a trip somewhere, a nice meal, something. I always thought I had to give it to them. But you make me feel like you want to be with me. Just me.”
“I’m so sorry I let those articles affect my thinking,” she said.
“It’s what they want people to think. That’s what sells.”
He walked around and reached into the back of the SUV, pulling out a small easel and a canvas. He set it up in the sand, pressing the easel down to secure it from getting blown away and clipping the back of the canvas to it. He had a small caddy with paints of every color, an assortment of brushes, and a jug of water for rinsing the brushes.
“I want to paint something for you now. But first!” he said, with a dramatic flair that made her giggle. “Have a seat. Relax.”
Another horse walked by as Luke opened the cooler and pulled out a plastic champagne glass. Then he uncorked a bottle and poured some into the flute, along with some orange juice, the liquids fizzing and popping. He handed it to her as she took a seat.
Two horses were now standing at the break in the waves, the spray shooting up around their hooves. “Paint that,” she said, pointing to it, the thrill of the moment causing her to forget everything else. She took a drink of her mimosa.