Page 17 of Footprints in the Sand
“You’re like a siren or something.”
She laughed. “I think sirens are supposed to bring men to their death, not save dogs.”
“Right. Yeah. I always get my mythology mixed up.” He still held Cash’s make-do rope leash as though he were frightened Cash would run away again. “Maybe Cash saw you and thought he needed to meet you as soon as he could.”
Dimitra blushed and reminded herself that men liked to flatter. It wasn’t always the truth.
“I’m glad it worked out,” she said.
“Are you a tourist here?” he asked.
“Sort of. I’ll be here for a few months,” she explained. “But I really have to get going. I’m supposed to go to a reading, and I can’t very well go like this.”
She gestured to her drenched hair.
“You look spectacular,” he said. “Tell me your name.”
“It’s Dimitra,” she said, because she couldn’t see anything wrong in giving it. “And yours?”
“Harrison,” he said. “Harry for short.”
He paused for a second, confused and soft-spoken. And then he asked, “What’s this reading you’re going to? Do you mind if Cash and I come?”
Dimitra hadn’t come to Massachusetts to cause a scandal. But when she appeared outside the bookstore twenty minutes later with wet hair and a handsome sailor and golden retriever beside her, all eyes were on her, burning with curiosity. The golden retriever was still wet and frequently shaking his body, splashing droplets every which way.
“You need to stop that, Cash,” Harry told him, laughing. “They won’t let you into the bookstore if you keep it up!”
Dimitra smiled nervously and touched her hair, wondering what kind of mess of curls it had dried into. Each time she let herself think that Harry was handsome, so achingly handsome, like an American cowboy in an old movie, she reminded herself that she hadn’t come to the United States to fall in love. Shewas still devastatingly in love with Kostos and had no plans to remarry. She could carry the flame of her love forever.
And then Harry showed her that crooked grin. “It’s a romance novelist?”
Dimitra realized there was a poster out front advertising “Estelle Coleman, Harlequin Romance Novelist.” A photograph of the woman, Meghan’s sister-in-law, smiling beautifully, hung in front of what looked to be the Sound Dimitra had just swum in.
Dimitra’s cheeks were hot as she realized what she’d done: brought a handsome stranger to a romance reading. She decided to play it cool. “What’s wrong with romance?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I’ve read a few romances myself.”
“Have you? Which ones?”
“Mostly older ones,” he admitted. “Jane Eyrewas my mother’s favorite book, and she made me read it when I was younger. I read a few westerns with love stories in them. But my favorites were actions and adventures on the open seas, with plenty of beautiful heroines.”
“I imagine those heroines were incapable of doing anything, waiting around for their men to come home?” Dimitra asked.
“Never!” Harry said. “The ones I liked the most involved women who were far more capable and intelligent than the men.” He looked momentarily bashful. “But yeah, it’s just because of my mom. She raised me and taught me to think like that. I couldn’t stand anything overly misogynistic.”
“Dimitra!” A voice rang out from the gathering, those awaiting Estelle’s reading, and Dimitra turned to find Meghan hurrying over to them. Her brow was furrowed with worry and confusion. Behind her was a woman Dimitra had never seen before, a woman with features very similar to Meghan’s. “Why are you all wet?” Meghan asked with a laugh.
Dimitra threw her head back. She had too much attention, too many eyes on her. “It’s a long story.”
“She saved my dog’s life,” Harry interjected. “You should have seen her.”
Meghan bent down to sweep her fingers through Cash’s damp coat. “Can he not swim?”
“He can. He’s just overeager and got himself in a bad spot,” Harry said.
Meghan smiled and straightened up. “I recognize you. Do we know each other?”
Harry shrugged. “I’m usually here in the summertime. We might have seen each other.”
