Persuaded (8 page)

“And
energetic, and bubbly, and
young
. And kind of . . . empty.”

“Empty?”
Derick grinned, nibbling on a slice of crisp bacon. “You’re going to have to
build on that, sis.”

“You
know how most of an iceberg is below the surface of the water? I feel like with
Ella, there’s nothing below the surface. Like she’s stuffed with cotton or
something equally weightless.”

“First
she’s empty, now she’s a stuffed animal?”

“Like
Raggedy
Ann
,” Sophie clarified.

Even
though Derick didn’t like the criticism, he couldn’t help chuckling at his
sister’s analogy.

“Anyway,”
Sophie said, waving the spatula in the air before stirring the eggs, “I think
you should hold out for someone . . . more.”

Derick
grabbed another piece of bacon and bit off the end. “We’re just friends, Soph.”

“Derick
Wentworth, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to
lie
with your mouth full?”

Derick
almost choked on said mouthful. Chasing it down with the last of his milk, he
said, “I’m not lying. Nothing has happened between us. She’s just . . . an
exercise buddy.”

Adam,
answering the call of sizzling bacon, came into the kitchen. His sense of smell
might have been devoted to the food, but his hearing was just fine. “Come on,
dude. No guy in his right mind would think of Ella Musgrove as a buddy.” Piling
a plate with eggs and bacon for himself, Adam sat down next to Derick, completely
oblivious to the look his wife was giving him.

After
a couple bites he looked up. “What?”

Sophie
raised an eyebrow.

“Aw,
come on, honey—I meant a single guy!”

Sophie
removed two slices of bacon from her husband’s plate. “Save some for Benny,”
she told him saucily. “Speaking of which, why don’t you go get him up?”

Adam
bowed his head in submission and went to do as he was told.

“He’s
right, though,” Sophie said. “So don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re
friends. Friends don’t wear hoochie shorts, Derick.”

Derick
bristled. “She takes care of herself. Is that a bad thing?”

“Look,
she’s great. I just think you need to be careful. I don’t see you with someone
like Ella.”

“Who
do you see me with, Sophie?” He might as well humor her. His sister never rested
until her sentiments were made known.

“I
don’t know . . . what about . . . Hanna, maybe?”

Suddenly
Derick wanted to be somewhere else—anywhere else. Of course, Sophie wasn’t
privy to his history with her person of choice. Sophie had been a young bride herself
at the time, and though she was aware that there was
someone
, she didn’t
know who. The proposal had been so impulsive, the subsequent rejection so
swift, that Derick didn’t have time to tell Sophie about it.
Almost like it
never happened,
he thought.
There and gone, like a deceptively sweet
dream.

“Thanks
for breakfast, sis,” he told Sophie, gathering his things and trying not to
sprint back to his room and through the back door. “See you later.”

“Say
no to hoochie shorts!” Sophie called after him.

He
responded by letting the screen door slam shut behind him.

Though
he absolutely detested the thought, he was going to have to clue Sophie in
about Hanna. Otherwise he would never hear the end of it. It was funny, but he
didn’t remember his sister being quite the Olympic nagger she had become.
Perhaps marriage did that to women. He shuddered at the thought.

As he
neared the back door of Uppercross, the sound of a familiar song floated out to
meet him—one of those tunes that was overplayed on the radio. When the house
came into view he saw Hanna there, her back to him as she leaned over a large
notepad on her lap. On the little table next to her was an I-pod with portable
speakers that blared the melody he’d just remembered the name of: “Someone Like
You” by Adele. Derick wasn’t big on angst-ridden ballads, but he knew the gist
of this one—some heartbroken wretch was pining for the love of her life, who
had moved on.

Appropriate.

Derick
considered going around to the front of the house and ringing the doorbell
instead—at least that way he wouldn’t have to walk past Hanna to get inside.
The thought was preposterous, calling up Derick’s first-grade year when he had
taken the roundabout path to school to avoid the vicious dog on his normal
route. He squared his shoulders, planning on walking right past her without a
glance, without a word, without so much as a thought.

But
then her head listed to the side as she held up the notepad, giving Derick an
unobstructed view. On closer inspection he saw that it was a sketchpad. Her
eyes kept darting up to the view before settling back on the picture she was
drawing: the Lymelight. Where had she learned to draw? How long had she been
doing it? He didn’t remember its being among her talents all those years ago.
The thought made him feel somehow resentful.

Hanna’s
ashy blond hair was piled on top of her head, and sunlight bathed her in gold.
An image of a Greek goddess came to mind, but Derick batted it away. Then she
started singing along to the music, and he found that he couldn’t move.

Her
voice was soft and clear, with just a hint of vibrato. He didn’t remember her
singing before, either. What else did he not know about her? He found himself
shoving his hands in his pockets, leaning up against the side of the house, and
listening.

“Hey!”
came a bubbly shout a couple minutes later—Ella coming out the back door.

Hanna
pivoted with a partial smile, assuming that Ella addressed her—and froze when
she found Derick watching her. She turned back to her sketch, her shoulders
hunching over as if she was trying to roll herself into a ball. Though Derick
could only see the side of her face, he noted the furious red flush spreading
over her skin.

At
least one thing hadn’t changed.

“When
did you get here?” Ella asked, sidling up to him.

“Not
long,” he answered, tearing his eyes from Hanna and focusing on the reason he’d
come in the first place.

“You
ready?”

“As
I’ll ever be,” Derick replied, rewarded by Ella’s beaming at him. The weight
that had settled on his shoulders this morning during Sophie’s pep talk
suddenly lifted, taking flight and evaporating into the atmosphere as they made
their way downtown. Rag doll or not, Derick couldn’t imagine anyone else he’d
rather be with at the moment.

TEN

KITES
and CONES

“He saw you then
at Lyme, and liked you so well as to be exceedingly pleased to meet with you
again . . .”

—Mrs. Smith,
Persuasion

It
took Hanna a good while to recover from the shock and mortification of finding
Derick listening to her sing. She didn’t know how much of the song he’d
caught—she couldn’t tell from his expression or his posture if he’d just
arrived, or if he’d been a silent audience for most of it.

The
broken chords of “Someone Like You” had snagged Hanna’s attention right off.
Admittedly, she often thought of Derick whenever she heard the song—now more
than ever because the words were a perfect fit. She hoped with all her heart
that Derick hadn’t seen any personal meaning in the song. It would not do for
him to believe she was still mourning him after all this time.

Because
she wasn’t. At all.

Upon
learning of Derick and Ella’s plans that morning, Charles and Mary decided to
go out for breakfast downtown—presumably hoping to run into them. So Hanna
offered to keep the boys. She couldn’t help but wonder if Charles and Mary
weren’t a bit starstruck with Derick. Being the avid sports fan that her
brother-in-law was, he had obviously recognized Derick right off, but aside
from being generally in awe of his very existence, Charles hadn’t mentioned his
knowledge of Derick’s identity.

Needing
a distraction, Hanna asked the boys if they wanted to walk down and see the
Lymelight—the lighthouse that guarded the entrance to Old Lyme Harbor. CJ
agreed, only on condition that they could take their kite and find a good windy
spot to fly it. After greasing the boys with SPF 80 sunscreen and donning a hat
herself, Hanna set off down the beach with her nephews in tow.

The
trek to the breakwater was uneventful; CJ filled Walter’s head with all sorts
of piratesque adventures they might have in the lighthouse. More than once
Hanna had to explain that no one was actually allowed inside the structure,
that it had been closed to the public for years. And as the Lymelight sat at
the end of an arm of stone that arced into the treacherous sea, reaching it—at
least with a six- and two-year-old in tow—would be a bad idea, if nearly
impossible.

It was
a good thing they’d brought the kite. An object so far out of reach as the
Lymelight could hardly keep the attention of her nephews for long. But on
opening the kite and attempting to assemble it, Hanna found herself vastly
underqualified for the task. The kite in question wasn’t the average
two-sticks-on-the-back creation, but seemed to have a network of supports that
had to be carefully assembled to make it work. Hanna had been struggling with
it for a good twenty minutes when a bystander approached her.

“Excuse
me,” he said with a tentative smile, “I couldn’t help but notice you’re having
trouble with your kite. Would you mind if I take a look?”

The
first thing Hanna noticed was his ready smile, the second was his dark, curly
hair and the exactly matching shade of his eyes. He had an expensive-looking
camera around his neck, but he was barefoot and wore faded jeans and a T-shirt.

Blinking
out of her stupor, Hanna said, “Yes, thank you,” and handed him the
instructions.

Taking
them from her, he studied them for a minute and then nodded sagely. “This model
was actually recalled a while ago . . . the instructions are faulty, as I think
you’ve discovered.”

While
the accommodating newcomer deftly assembled the kite, relocating several of the
sticks, Hanna gave CJ a look as if to say,
See? It wasn’t my fault!

“Here
you go!” the stranger said, holding the kite up for inspection. The boys
whooped, and CJ lost no time in running off and trying to launch it.

Hanna
turned to her savior. “That was impressive. Are you a kite expert or
something?”

He lifted
a shoulder. “I worked at a hobby shop all through high school and college—we
saw our fair share of kites.”

“I
see,” Hanna said, distracted by his straight white teeth, tanned skin, and
friendly manner. She felt herself blush at her unspoken musings. “Are you a
photographer?” she asked, nodding to the camera.

“Guilty,”
he said with another charming smile. “I’m doing a piece on New England
harbors.”

Hanna
would’ve loved to hear more about it, but her nephews were getting beyond
impatient for the kite’s maiden voyage and were having no luck on their own.
The helpful outsider chuckled jovially at the boys and then said, “I’d better
let you go. Hope the kite works out for you.”

“Thanks
so much for your help,” Hanna answered before turning her attention to the task
at hand. The photographer withdrew a little and busied himself with snapping
pictures of the harbor.

The
kite had been a great backup plan, but the wind certainly wasn’t in much of an
obliging mood. They tried to get the poor thing aloft for the better part of
half an hour before CJ finally growled in frustration.

“This
kite doesn’t work, Banana!”

“There’s
not enough wind,” she corrected. She thought quickly, trying to salvage the
outing. “How about we walk down to the harbor and look around? I bet we could
find some ice cream.”

CJ
brightened on the spot. “Yeah! Let’s go see the
Laconia
!”

Ugh.
Why hadn’t she seen this coming? Of course Derick’s sailboat was moored at Old
Lyme Harbor, but the thought hadn’t even occurred to her.

“Pleeeeaaaase,
Banana? Derick won’t mind.”

“Dick!”
Walter echoed.

Hanna
cringed, but was too caught up in her own thoughts to correct Walter. Chances
were that they wouldn’t be able to locate Derick’s boat anyway, since there
were so many. And a walk would certainly do the job of exhausting her nephews.

“Okay,”
she finally relented with a sigh. “Let’s reel in the string first.”

“Yes!”
CJ hollered, running off to do as he was told.

“No
luck then?” came an inquiry from the photographer.

“Not enough
wind,” Hanna answered with a smile. “Murphy’s law.”

“That
Murphy is always up to no good, isn’t he?”

Hanna
blushed just a bit. This good-looking stranger was flirting with her. Flirting.
With her. Though she couldn’t account for it, she liked the idea. She couldn’t
remember the last time anyone had looked twice at her.