I came to the island looking for serenity, a new beginning to heal from my past. Instead, I discovered HIM—charming, attentive, and everything I hadn’t realized I needed. But just as I began to trust in new beginnings, a single moment shattered everything.
Despite the fact that I had lived there for decades, my living room felt unfamiliar. At 55, I stared at the open suitcase, wondering how my life had come to this.
After two years of work, my novel was inside. It wasn’t finished, but it was mine, proving I wasn’t completely lost.
Then Lana’s email arrived:
“Creative retreat. Warm island. Fresh start. Wine.”
The island greeted me with a nice wind and the rhythmic sound of ocean waves breaking on the shore. For a moment, I closed my eyes and took a big breath, allowing the salty air to fill my lungs.
This is exactly what I needed.
For illustrative purposes only.
But the tranquility did not last. As I approached the retreat, loud music, and laughter replaced the island’s peacefulness. People largely in their twenties and thirties lounged on brightly colored beanbags, clutching cocktails that appeared to be more umbrella than liquid.
Before I could hide in the shadows, Lana emerged, her sunhat angled at a jaunty angle and a margarita in hand.
“Thea!” she shouted, as though we hadn’t emailed just yesterday. “You made it!”
“You need to meet people and soak in the energy! Speaking of which,” she grabbed my arm, “I have someone you must meet.”
Before I could object, she dragged me through the crowd. I felt like a frumpy mother at a high school party, trying not to step on abandoned flip-flops.
We stopped in front of a man who resembled a GQ cover model, believe it or not. Sun-kissed skin, a comfortable smile, and a white linen shirt unbuttoned just enough to be provocative without being sleazy.
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