Antonio’s is vaguely Italian and seems to serve as a spot for tourists as well as locals celebrating birthdays and anniversaries. It’s nice: decent wine list, cloth napkins, quiet music, but still more comfortable than fancy. I liked it immediately.
Too many of the restaurants in L.A. are more focused on appearance than on the food. Don’t get me wrong, I like to go out somewhere worthy of a nice dress and heels every now and again, but any place that will serve a single olive drizzled with white chocolate sauce as an appetizer is probably too trendy for me. Yes, I’ve been to a place that served a single olive drizzled with chocolate sauce. The bill for two of us came to more than I would have made in a week at the office job I held right after college and I had to raid the fridge when I got home because I was starving. Lame.
A hostess sat us at a candlelit table and handed us menus.
“I don’t know, William. The candles don’t seem too neighborly.” I know; I was flirting. It just happened. I didn’t mean anything by it.
He shook his head in mock disappointment. “And I was certain to mention that I needed a neighborly table. I suppose we must complain to the management.”
I laughed. “Have you eaten here before?”
“No.” He blushed. “I really haven’t been on the island very long and I’m not—that is to say I do not generally—I don’t tend to be very—I try to be friendly, but I—I”
I had to put the man out of his misery. “You haven’t had any friendly neighbors yet?” I gave him my best I don’t bite smile and watched while his shoulders dropped. He had calmed down so much while we had been sharing lunch earlier that day that I had forgotten just how wound up and anxious he sometimes seemed. I tried to figure out why my question had sent him into a spiral of stuttering, but couldn’t think of anything that made sense. William was a bit of mystery.
He nodded and slowed his breathing before answering. “I haven’t. The cottage that you are now using has actually been empty for the past two weeks and the couple that was using it when I arrived…they seemed friendly enough I suppose, but rather more interested in each other than in, well, me. Not that I would expect them to be. I—” He shrugged and looked down at the table.
I had to chew on my lip to keep from giggling. I really didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I went for a distraction and opened my menu to take a look at the options. “Wow, so many things look good.” I looked up to give William an encouraging smile, but he was still watching the table. “Do you know what you want, William?”
His eyes widened and he looked up at me quickly. “Pardon?”
“To eat. Do you know what you would like to have for dinner?”
“Oh, I…” He finally opened his menu. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. Twice. “I have always liked Alfredo, perhaps that.” His voice still sounded a little strained, but he wasn’t stuttering so I figured we were back on the right track.
“Ooh, that does sound good. Maybe I’ll go with the Eggplant Parmesan.” I didn’t mention that I never ate either of those things regularly since I would then feel the need to do a double shift at the gym the next day to make up for it. I was on vacation. Vacation means I can eat carbs or cheese or whatever. Besides, all the ugliness with my ex had left me nauseas for weeks; I was about five pounds lighter than normal.
The waitress came over a moment later and I happily ordered a meal that included fried and breaded eggplant smothered in fresh mozzarella and a side of pasta. Yum. My stomach growled just thinking about it.
“Shall I get us a bottle of wine, or would you prefer something else?”
“Wine sounds nice.”
After only a little more discussion, William ordered us a bottle of the Australian Shiraz suggested by the waitress. She quickly headed towards the kitchen.
William adjusted the silverware on his napkin for a few seconds before looking up and smiling shyly. “What brings you to Camponesset Island?”
I laughed. “Bad topic.”
He paled. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You didn’t know.” I reached across the table and patted his hand. “Why don’t you tell me a little something about you? Joyce mentioned that you’re a writer.”
He nodded.
“What sort of stuff do you write? Anything I might have read?”
He laughed. “I doubt it.” He tilted his head to side and looked at me. “Have you ever gone into a little shop for tourists and seen one of those local histories for sale?”
I nodded. I couldn’t really remember ever picking one up, but I knew what he was talking about. “Sure.”
“I write those. Not all of them, obviously, but I write about the local histories of places like this.”
“And that’s why you’re here?”
“Yes. I generally live in the town while I am researching and writing. It’s somewhat more practical, since I often spend a great deal of time interviewing local persons and digging through archives and I like to get a feel for the place, it’s…intricacies.” He shook his head. “There really isn’t much of a market for them outside of tourist shops and local historical societies, but…”
“You enjoy it.”
“Oh yes.” He smiled and, I noted happily, lost the anxious tone and stutter. “There are stories everywhere. Every place that I go, I learn about people who lived extraordinary lives. Every place has soldiers who fought to protect their families and women who persevered despite all odds. There are always tales of true love and deep betrayal. There are all of these quiet places in the world where it seems as though the people live such simple and uneventful lives, but really there is no such thing. There is always a story.”
I couldn’t help but smile as he spoke. His face lit up and he began to gesture with his hands excitedly. William clearly loved his work. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder how he made a living at it. I had to assume that he was correct in his assertion that there wasn’t much of a market for local histories of small towns. Certainly a place like Camponesset Island would stock some in their gift shops and I was sure a handful of tourists would pick them up while gathering souvenirs, a few would probably even grab one to read while sitting on the beach, but still. “That sounds wonderful.”
He laughed. “You are being polite.”
“I try, but I’m serious. You’re right. Everyone has a story. I like to think of you out there gathering up all those untold tales.”
He looked surprised by my interest and I wondered what sort of response he usually got. Usually, when people hear I am a writer they are either excited to meet an almost celebrity or disappointed to hear that I “only” write romances. Romance is not the most respected genre, but it is one of the most popular. Don’t believe me? Take a look at the book selection at your local grocery store. I’ll bet half of them are romances. People like happy endings. It’s probably because life offers so few. He laughed. “Only my mother ever makes it sound as heroic as all that. Generally, I have to find a little spin to please the publisher.”
“Like secrets and scandals?” I wriggled my eyebrows at him and was rewarded with another taste of his delightfully sexy laugh. I wondered for a moment whether his laugh would be enough to seal the deal for me so to speak. The butterflies in my stomach told me that if I would just close my eyes and focus on the sound it would take me to a very Happy-Buffy place. I reminded my butterflies that they were not the boss of me and that I was not in the market for a man.
“Sometimes. I prefer to focus on local legends and myths. I spent some time in Vermont last year. There are hundreds of people who claim to have seen a creature in Lake Champlain.”
“A creature?” I didn’t hold back my skepticism. “You mean like the Loch Ness Monster?”
“Quite, although this story goes back even further. There are Abenaki legends dating back hundreds of years.”
The waitress brought a basket of bread to the table and I decided that one of the great things about not being on a date was that I didn’t have to pretend to have a delicate appetite. I selected a warm roll and buttered it.
“So you wrote a book about a lake…monster?”
He laughed. “No, not exactly, although that would sell a lot more copies; I just used it to frame the story of that town. It is one very powerful thing that brings them together. You cannot grow up there and not hear the stories. Whichever side you come down on, you live in the shadow of the tale.”
“Ooh, nice phrase. So are most of the locals believers?”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “No, well, maybe, but they are too practical to admit that to strangers. I would say that they are mostly hopeful. There are no stories featuring a violent or dangerous creature. Even the nonbelievers look upon him with affection. If they have a lake monster, he appears to be…well, rather charmingly shy. I think they would all miss him should it ever be proven that he doesn’t exist.” He laughed. “Not that enough evidence could ever exist to dissuade the true believers.”
“And are you a believer?”
“I would have to say that I’m skeptical, but perhaps if you catch me in particularly honest moment I would admit that I’d rather like to be a believer.” His eyes widened slightly and I suspected that he had surprised himself by sharing that detail.
“It would be a great story.”
He seemed to relax at that. “Exactly.”
The waitress returned with our salads and I took several bites before asking “And what’s the story here?”
“Well, there are many stories of course. There was a short lived but dedicated campaign to outlaw rock and roll on the island back in sixties and a devastating ferry accident in 1987, but I think the best story is about a local girl named Abigail.”
I paused before plopping a cherry tomato in my mouth. “Will you give me a preview or do I have to wait and buy the book?” I noticed him watching my mouth and realized that I should have cut the tomato in half. I probably looked like a chipmunk. I tried to chew and swallow quickly.
He blinked a couple times and then looked away for a moment as though he was very interested in the painting hanging nearby. His voice was strained when he started speaking and I worried that I had grossed him out.
“Of course, I mean, yes. That is I would be happy to…”
I held back my giggle. “Abigail?”
“Oh, right. Miss Abigail Winthrop, the island’s witch.”
I grinned. “Of course. Did she eat children and have a candy house?”
“No. Not at all. In fact, all the records and stories I’ve found seem to indicate that Miss Abigail was very popular despite the rumors. It seems that Miss Abigail was both beautiful and kind hearted; there are dozens of stories about how she helped local woman deliver their babies, nursed injured animals back to health and even cured the town drunk. Her parents were wealthy and well respected and it seems as though everyone was plenty willing to pretend not to notice any of Miss Abigail’s quirks.”
The waitress returned for our salad plates and I handed mine up before leaning on to the table. “Such as?”
“Oh the stories there vary greatly. Some say that she was simply gifted with healing talents, others claim that she made all sorts of potions and danced naked in the light of the full moon. I have even come across a few claims that she could control the weather.” He’d stumbled slightly over the word naked and I had pretended not to notice.
“Nice. So she’s pretty, popular and powerful, what brings her down?”
He laughed. “How did you know?”
I shrugged. “It wouldn’t really be a story otherwise. Can I guess?”
He grinned. “Please do.”
“It was a man, right? Everything was going great and then a man got involved in the story.”
His eyes widened and then he frowned. “Will you lose all respect for me if I admit that your apparent hatred of all men frightens me just a touch?”
I laughed. “I’m scary?” I pouted. I may have twirled a lock of hair around my finger. “Me?”
“Yes.”
“Fine, but am I right?”
The waitress finally brought my yummy, melty cheese entrée and William used her arrival as an excuse to keep me in suspense for several more minutes.
Finally, he grinned and said, “You’re right. There was a man, but it might not be how you think.”
I twirled some pasta on to my fork.”You mean it isn’t a case of him loving her and then destroying her when she didn’t return his love or maybe some kind of twisted love triangle?”
“You are not entirely wrong.”
“I knew it.” I nodded and gave him an exaggerated smug look.
He laughed. “When Abigail was sixteen, she apparently met and fell in love with a young man who’s father did business on the island. He was reportedly quite dashing: handsome, wealthy…” William shrugged as though all of this was obvious. “He lived in Plymouth. I am still trying to get a feel for the extent of their relationship. Certainly they saw each other a number of times over the next few years, as he accompanied his father when he traveled here and then eventually took over that responsibility himself. There are reports that he escorted her to a dance or two. What I don’t know is whether any promises were ever made. I suppose it doesn’t really matter either way.”
I frowned and tried to figure out what happened next. “Because?”
“He married another, a girl from Plymouth and brought her here to celebrate their union. Abigail was, as you would expect, heartbroken. Here is where the tale becomes harder to document. Abigail apparently tried to call upon the power of a goddess to right the wrong she felt had been done to her. She was certain that the girl, his new bride, had somehow tricked or connived the young man into marrying her. She performed a spell to get him back, only the words she used were not suited to her purpose. Abigail demanded that her true love be given back to her. She threatened to curse the island. This angered the goddess, the very source of her powers. The goddess appeared before Abigail and cursed her for being so ungrateful of the gifts she had bestowed upon her. She also told her the truth; the man that Abigail was so determined to have back had never really loved her at all.”
I shook my head, scowled and thought about how much men suck.
William saw my expression and smiled. “But the story isn’t done yet.” He tilted his head to the side and watched me through narrowed eyes. “Did you want to try guessing again?”
I shook my head; I was way too into the story to interrupt it. “Tell me.”
“Abigail’s spell spoke of true love; she demanded that her true love be returned. The goddess called her a foolish girl and told her that she had always been well-loved, but that she had been too blind to see it.”
“Another man?”
He nodded. “Another man: less dashing perhaps, but always there. Abigail saw him as a friend. She never gave him the chance to be more. And for that blindness, the goddess cursed Abigail with the ability to see love, but only for others. Abigail would spend eternity on the island watching over and guiding the people here towards their true loves. She would only be seen when acting upon that task. She could have no life and no love of her own.”
I stared at him open-mouthed. “That’s so sad.”
He nodded solemnly and then smiled. “But there’s a final twist.”
I leaned in so much that I was lucky not to get red sauce on my dress.
“I said that her friend, the love that she didn’t see, was always there. That night was no different. Hearing about her heartbreak, he had come to offer comfort. He was there, unnoticed, when the goddess appeared and he heard the harsh punishment given his beloved. His grief and fury were so great, his bellowing so loud, that the goddess returned. He argued that surely Abigail’s many good acts outweighed her actions on that one night. He begged that she be given another chance, that he be given another chance, for surely he said it was his own fault as well for being too cowardly.”
“What happened?”
“The goddess took pity on him and granted a slight reprieve to the curse; she would give him one night to say goodbye. Abigail was returned. She finally saw the man for who he was and for the love that he had always offered. They made love and she wept, not for her own loss but for the pain she had brought him. In the morning, when the goddess returned, Abigail begged her to take care of the man, to give him another love and a chance at happiness. The goddess was moved by her pleas and decided that the girl deserved a chance to win back her love. Abigail was still cursed. But, it is said that if she helps one hundred souls find their love then she will be reunited with her own.”
I couldn’t even speak. I just stared at him in shock.
“Buffy?”
“Wow. That is quite a story.” My mind reeled as I imagined how I would tell it if it were my story.
He nodded.
“He’s just waiting.”
“That is the story.” William smiled at me again and I could tell that he was happy that I had enjoyed his storytelling.
“This is my honeymoon.” I don’t why or when exactly I decided to tell him. I watched his eyes widen and saw him glance down at my hands. “I mean it was going to be. I bought two plane tickets.”
He leaned in slightly but didn’t say anything. He just waited. I’d had to tell the story a lot of times to a lot of different people. William was the first one, the only one, who didn’t push for more information right away.
“I was supposed to get married a few days ago, but it was just a con. The whole thing was just…my fiancée, Parker, was a con man. He was never in love with me. It was all a trick, but it felt real. To me, it felt real. Then the FBI got involved and the whole thing started to feel more like a made for TV movie than my actual life.”
It was William’s turn to look stunned. He stared at me with a horrified expression.
“I mean I’m lucky that I found out before I married him.”
“I don’t imagine that to be of much comfort. I…I do not know what to say. I am so…repulsed by his behavior.”
He looked it. William’s face held equal measures of bewilderment and disgust. I smiled. “Yeah, me too.”
“Is there anything I can do?” His voice was deep and I could tell he was sincere. It actually made me feel like crying, but I blinked away the burning sensation and focused on the good. I was having a much better time at Camponesset Island than I had ever expected to.
“You already have; tonight is the most fun I’ve had since it all happened. I came here to be alone. I thought that I need that to,” I shrugged, “process everything. But I think maybe I really just needed a new friend.”
I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought that I might have seen a flicker of disappointment in his eyes at the word friend. Still, I figured it was for the best. I knew that I had probably sent a few mixed signals, but I was being clear about my intentions so that no one ended up hurt.
He gave that cute, shy smile of his. “I am glad to be of service. I hope…I hope that, as friends, we can repeat this evening at some point.”
“Me too.”
His head tilted slightly to side and he frowned. “May I ask you a question?”
I nodded and tried to squash the anxious feeling in my stomach.
“Why do you think he chose you?” He paled. “I simply mean that you are beautiful and clever. I would expect a con man to select a more obvious victim. You must have plenty of suitors. Why would he risk the competition?”
He surprised me. With all the blushing and the anxious stuttering, it was easy not to notice that William was also shrewd. “You mean the stereotypical middle-aged woman with a dozen cats that she dresses in doll clothes?”
“Something in that order.”
“I guess I was just more accessible, easier to research and such.” At his confused look, I realized that he had no idea what I did for a living. I grinned. “I’m a writer too. Romances. I’m no Nora Roberts, but in certain circles, I’m pretty recognizable. The FBI agent said he had probably spotted me at a signing.”
William gaped at me. “You have signings?”
“When my agent makes me.” I grinned at my own little joke.
“I…I did not, that is…I had no idea...I...”
“Relax, William. I don’t expect everyone to recognize me. You are hardly my key demographic anyway.”
His mouth twitched. “Romances?”
“Yup.” I smiled broadly. “What can I say? Bosoms heave and bodices were meant to be ripped.”
William still looked a little dazed, but he laughed. “Duly noted.”
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Thanks to Pixiecorn for the super cute story art. :)
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Thanks to Pixiecorn for the super cute story art. :)Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks for all the support on this one-I love hearing what people are thinking as we go along. Thanks to Jhuntnifer for the read through. You are made of win, sweetie. :)