Chapter 14 - The Harbor at Dusk
The exhibition reception spilled out onto the brick courtyard behind the publishing house as evening settled over Charleston. The harbor was a sheet of dark glass, reflecting the twinkling lights of sailboats anchored near the wharf and the distant, glowing span of the Cooper River bridge.
I stood near the stone balustrade, resting my hands on the cool marble while the low murmur of conversation drifted from the illuminated patio behind us.
Footsteps crunched softly on the gravel path.
"You were incredible in there," Daniel’s voice murmured as he stepped up beside me, holding two crystal flutes filled with sparkling cider. He handed one to me, his fingers brushing against mine.
"Thank you," I said, taking a sip and letting the cool fizz settle on my tongue. "I was terrified I’d trip over my own tongue."
"You were magnificent," Margaret corrected, appearing smoothly out of the shadows with a glass of champagne in her hand. She took a sip, her sharp green eyes scanning the harbor before turning back to us with a knowing smile. "Well, it official. The Charleston gossips are officially out of material. You’ve successfully become the most respected archivist in the tri-state area, Victoria."
"Only because you threatened to fire anyone who looked at me funny," I laughed.
"Strictly standard management protocol," Margaret deadpanned, before offering a rare, genuine smile. "I have a dinner reservation at the wharf in twenty minutes, and I expect both of you to be present. I’m celebrating the fact that my family finally has some actual spine in it."
With that, Margaret turned on her heel, her silk dress rustling against the gravel as she walked back toward the lively patio, leaving Daniel and me alone by the water.
The wind picked up slightly, carrying the crisp, salty scent of the Atlantic. Daniel turned toward me, leaning his hip against the stone balustrade.
"So," Daniel said softly, his eyes reflecting the city lights across the water. "What happens next?"
May you like
I looked down at my hands, then up at the man who had walked away from a lifetime of expectations to find something real. The fear that had once gripped my heart—the terror of being too much, of being a burden, of being hidden away—was completely gone.
"I think," I smiled, letting my fingers brush against his hand, "we start writing our own history."
