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Just past nine thirty on her first full day on Mackinac Island, Elise found herself on the street corner in the center of town with her eyes glued to Wayne’s. Her heart was somewhere in her throat, and her stomach fluttered with butterflies. What was it he had just said?
“It’s a funny thing, you being here by yourself.”
Oh.
“Why’s that?” She crossed and uncrossed her arms, praying that the women at the boutique had been right about the green dress. Was it really everything it needed to be? Did it suit her? Did Wayne like it?
“It’s just that most people come to Mackinac Island to do the kind of thing we witnessed last night,” Wayne said.
“Make a huge mistake?” Elise said.
“Ha. You don’t mean that,” Wayne said, cocking an eyebrow at her.
“No. I don’t. You’re right.” Elise cursed herself for her outward cynicism. At her core, she was a soft romantic. Externally, she’d been hardened by the cruel reality of divorce papers. “But you’re right. This is one of the most romantic places I’ve ever been to. And here I am, all alone.” She gave a little shrug and stuck out her bottom lip, giving him a feigned pout.
“Ha. Not so sad about it?”
Elise gave a slight shrug. “I’m sort of on a mission. I don’t have time to think about it.” This, of course, was a partial lie. “What are you doing for the rest of the night?”
Had she really asked him that? What kind of woman was she?
“I might grab a drink, actually,” Wayne said, his eyes sparkling.
“Oh. A drink.” Elise arched her brow with curiosity.
“Yes. And I would love to invite you to have one with me, especially since my curiosity is piqued with tales of this mission. It’s a rare thing to hear of a woman on a quest.”
“Do you think that only men are allowed to have quests?” Elise asked.
“Not at all. I guess most people are just a little too lazy to search for anything,” he said. He then swept his fingers through his dark hair and delivered one of those GQ-worthy smiles. “Come on. Have just one drink with me. I’ll take you to the best bar in town.”
Elise couldn’t resist.
They walked toward the far end of Main Street where they had gotten off the ferry to a little bar called the Pink Pony. As they opened the door, three different people hollered Wayne’s name. Elise gave him a bug-eyed look. Wayne shrugged. “What? I’m something of a celebrity around here.”
“Uh-huh,” Elise said, faking sarcasm. “I should have had you sign my bandage earlier.”
Wayne ordered two of Pink Pony’s specialty drinks, bright pink monsters called Rum Runners. When they arrived back at the table, Elise gave him another look of shock.
“I don’t drink these every time,” he confessed. “But you always have to with a newbie. I want you to have the full Pink Pony experience.”
“I see. Well, bottoms up then,” Elise said, lifting the pink drink and clinking the glass with his before downing it.
There was something about this strange drink and this strange night. The Rum Runner gave her even more liquid courage than she was accustomed to. She leaned over the table and peered at him as the first of the drink skated over her tongue.
“This place is weird.” Those were the words she finally decided upon.
Immediately, she half-regretted them. But only half.
“Why do you say that?” Wayne asked.
“I don’t know. There’s something in the air. I can’t even put words to it yet, and I’m supposed to be a writer.”
“Really. What kind of writer?”
Why had she already told him that?
“I’m, um, a screenwriter, apparently,” she said.
“Why do you sound so embarrassed about it?” Wayne asked.
“I don’t know. I guess I’m not. I guess I’m almost proud of what I do,” she returned.
“But only almost.”
“Are you proud of your job?” Elise asked.
“The fact that I opened a coffee shop on Mack and built it from the ground up? Damn right, I’m proud,” Wayne said. “We’re the number one ranked on Trip Advisor in the area.”
“That confidence. Can I buy it online?” Elise asked.
Wayne chuckled. “No, but seriously. I don’t know why you wouldn’t be proud of that. That’s a really cool gig. I take it you’re from California?”
“Yes. Born and raised,” Elise offered. “And you?”
“I was born in Mackinaw City and spent all my summers here on the island,” Wayne said. He stretched his hands outward and gestured around him. “These people you see around you? They’re my family. Or practically family. They’re both seasonal workers and people who live on the island year-round. They’re the best people I know in the world.”
Elise glanced around the packed bar. Everyone seemed either on the verge of telling a joke, in the middle of telling one, or just in the midst of uproarious laughter. The televisions that hung on the walls illuminated various sports teams. On tall bar tables and across the bar itself, fried foods soaked on platters, half-eaten and usually forgotten for the sake of conversation. There was a warmth to the place that California lacked.
“What part of California are you from?” he asked.
“Los Angeles. Calabasas, if you know it,” Elise said.
“Not really,” Wayne said. “Although I’m sure it’s beautiful. I went to California exactly once when I was twenty. We drove down Highway 1.”
“A classic drive,” Elise said. “I did it only once as well, with my girlfriends the summer after my freshman year of college. I remember how it felt. Like everything was so open and free.”
“See. You are a writer,” Wayne said with a nod. “I can feel it in what you say.”
“Thank you.” Elise blushed again. “I guess I always wanted to be one. Maybe that’s enough.”
They finished their first drinks, which allowed them to switch off to what they “normally” drank—taking a break from the head-punch of the Rum Runner. Elise ordered a glass of white wine, while Wayne ordered a beer. They cheered glasses once again, and Wayne laughed at how relieved she looked.
“It’s not like I didn’t like it,” Elise said. “It’s just that I know it’s a hangover in a glass.”
“Now that, my friend, is true,” Wayne said.
Were they already friends? Elise furrowed her brow for a split second, just as the bar roared with joy at some baseball player who hit a ball. Suffice it to say, Elise had never been particularly mesmerized with sports. She had tolerated them on her television when Sean had been around. Now that she was divorced, her TV was a constant rotation of whatever-the-hell-she-wanted, thank-you-very-much.
“Did I lose you there for a second?” Wayne asked.
Oh, but she would watch sports with Wayne if he wanted that.
What? No! She couldn’t think this way. He was just a stranger.
“No. Sorry. Just thinking.” She smiled.
“It’s especially wild here tonight,” Wayne said. “I think because it’s the end of the summer season. In just a few weeks, everything will be much different. The tourists go back to their normal lives in various pockets of the Midwest, and we stay here and watch the leaves change and enjoy the waters. It’s totally different. It slows to a crawl, but I love it.” He tilted his head. “Did you say when you’re leaving?”
Elise shook her head. “I made almost no plans.”
She had literally told her daughter a week. Still, she hadn’t booked any flights.
There was the rental car to consider.
But right then, she didn’t care at all.
“That’s beautiful. You must be here for a reason, though. What is it? Are you researching your next film?” Wayne asked.
“Kind of,” Elise said.
“You said you were on a mission. Don’t think you can get out of telling me.”
Elise tilted her wineglass, beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. “I’m not sure if I’m there yet.”
“You need another drink before you can explain yourself?”
“Maaaybe...” Elise said mischievously.
“You’re a monster,” Wayne said. Seconds later, he beckoned toward the bartender, a short, stout, and bright-cheeked woman he introduced as Marcy. “This is Elise,” he told Marcy. “I’m in the middle of trying to convince her to stay for the start of autumn.”
“Oh, you must,” Marcy said. She said it as though this was the most important thing she’d ever said, like it was life or death. “Seriously. I’m not from the island. I’m from out West. But I’ve never seen an autumn like the one they pull out here. When autumn hit that first year, I knew that I had to stay for the rest of my life. That and I was pregnant,” she said with a wink.
Elise laughed as Marcy sauntered away.
“Wait! Marcy! We need two more drinks,” Wayne called after her.
“Already on it, honey,” Marcy called back.
The minute Marcy snapped the glass of wine and pint of beer on the table, Wayne was at her again.
“You have to tell me,” he said. “Your mission.”
Elise heaved a sigh. “Well, before I tell you, I have to assure you, I know how stupid it sounds. I haven’t told anyone. Not even my daughter nor my friends. Zero people.”
“Got it. So I’m your secret keeper,” Wayne said.
“Something like that.”
“I promise to take it with me to the grave.”
“Okay.” Elise drew a breath. “My parents met here in 1979. At least, I’m around ninety-nine percent sure right now that that’s true. I haven’t had a paternity test or anything. I grew up with my mother, and she never got around to telling me who my father was. She died a few weeks ago—”
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Wayne furrowed his brow.
Again, Elise was overwhelmed by the amount of care and compassion he gave her, even after knowing her for no more than a few hours in total.
“Thank you. It’s, um, it’s been hard,” Elise said. “But it’s also opened up a lot of questions, like how much did I actually know about her? And why didn’t she tell me that she worked here for Jane Seymour during the filming of Somewhere in Time?”
Wayne’s eyes flashed wide. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“We love that movie. We screen it every summer,” he told her.
“I guess that makes sense. It’s also really good. I just watched it for the first time.”
“A heart-stopper,” Wayne affirmed.
“So you like chick flicks?” Elise asked with a laugh.
“What’s not to like about a good chick flick? I’m not heartless,” Wayne said.
Sean had hated chick flicks. Even one of her ex-screenwriting colleagues, Matt—the guy who continued to text her every few days to see if she wanted to “hang”—said that chick flicks were generally banal and stupid.
“So. Your mother worked for Jane Seymour here in 1979. I’m assuming she met your father here?”
“During the filming,” Elise continued. “He worked for the staging company. I keep reading these journal entries, where she talks about falling in love with him. They’re frankly overwhelming.”
“So. You think he’s still around here?” Wayne asked.
Elise shrugged. “I don’t know. I only have a name.”
“What is it? Maybe I know him.”
“You’re making fun of me,” Elise said, rolling her eyes. “I know it’s unlikely that he’s even still around anymore. It was a long time ago. I get that.”
“Come on. Just say his name aloud. Maybe something magical will happen,” Wayne said.
Maybe he wasn’t teasing her after all.
It was really difficult to tell.
“Fine. My father’s name is Dean. Dean Swartz. Happy now?”
At that moment, Marcy stood at the table beside them with a rag in her hand. She paused and blinked at Elise. She looked like a deer in the headlights.
“What did you say about Dean Swartz?”
Elise arched her brow in confusion. “Um...”
“You said your father’s name is Dean Swartz?” Marcy asked.
“I, um, I’m not really sure. I just know that...”
“Don’t worry about it, Marcy. Keep wiping down that table,” Wayne said, teasing her. “You’ve got more customers in here than you know what to do with. Don’t worry about some gossip you can’t handle.”
Marcy cackled and rolled her eyes. “Thanks for keeping me in line, Wayne.”
But the whole interaction left a strange feeling in the pit of Elise’s stomach. She blinked down at her half-drank glass of wine. A small voice in the back of her skull demanded, What the heck was that?
She acted strangely until she and Wayne finished their drinks and cut back onto the street. Now, it was nearly midnight, and Elise felt rattled. This wasn’t exactly her idea of bedtime. Silence fell between them. She glanced up toward Wayne and again felt mesmerized by his handsome features, especially when the moonlight struck his cheeks and caught the bright blue of his eyes.
“Listen,” Wayne said. “Thank you for telling me your secret. But you’re right. You really should keep that news to yourself.”
Elise arched her brow. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just that not everyone will like it,” he said.
“Not everyone will like it?” Elise could hardly fathom the meaning behind his words. “I’m sorry. I’m so confused.”
“It doesn’t matter. Just—hmm. How should I say this? I don’t know. Enjoy Mackinac Island. Do as much as you can while you’re here. And... I don’t know. Just keep this news to yourself, for now, okay? I’ll think about what you should do. Leave it up to me.”
Elise chuckled. “You know you’re being insanely vague, right?”
“Just. Google him, I guess,” Wayne said.
“I was a little too afraid to do it earlier,” Elise said. “I didn’t want to discover that he was dead or something. I wanted the magic to stay alive.”
“He’s alive, all right,” Wayne replied. “I just don’t know if you’ll like what you see.”
Elise and Wayne stood before the Willow Grove Guesthouse. Elise’s thoughts ran amok. At moments, she was fearful, sad, erratic—after all, she had discovered the potential name of her father and, at the same time, learned that he might not be who she wanted him to be. On the other side of the spectrum, her lips ached for Wayne to kiss her. She had never wanted anyone on the planet to kiss her more than she wanted this.
But he took a step back.
The step back felt like a punch to the gut.
Are Midwestern guys harder to read?
“Good night, Elise,” Wayne said. “I hope I’ll see you soon.”
“I hope so, too,” Elise said.
Elise stood at the steps to her B&B and watched as Wayne turned back toward the other end of Main Street and disappeared into the night. Where was he off to? What was he hiding? And why had their night soured, all as a result of the name Dean Swartz?