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In the midst of all the chaos outside, one person isn't scrambling. One man stands tall against the wind. He's looking inside through the glass of the solarium window. The wind pushes his hair up and flattens his shirt to his chest.
My heart thuds and my breath hitches.
It's him.
It's the Unstoppable Foster Dunham.
In all the pandemonium, I'd forgotten I'd invited him. And I never expected him to show, never in a million years, but there he is staring at me through the hexagonal panes of glassin the solarium. It's like he's peeking in at a fish in an aquarium while he withstands a bitter wind.
We make eye contact. His eyebrows go up and his lips quirk in a whimsical grin like he's enjoying the bedlam unfolding around him.
He looks other-wordly with his strong jaw, cocky smile, and super-human height.
Jesus, he's beautiful. I've been sleeping with his jacket on my pillow every night, trying to hold onto the memory of being on his bike.
Now he's here.
My life is in turmoil, but he's here, so I have hope. Something good exists beyond my fishbowl and that something is unshaken by the storm.
A sudden gust forces him to raise his elbow over his head and duck to avoid getting hit by a flying card table.
I scuffle down the narrow walkway next to the indoor pool, careful not to fall in while trying to rescue the people outside.
The wind blasts my hair as I open the side door to the pool area. "Come in, come in!"
Servers and busboys keep running around trying to grab flying napkins and utensils. "Come inside, please! Leave the stuff."
Donnie is right behind me. "Have them go in the kitchen. You can't have servants in here."
"Oh please, Donnie. There's a storm. They need to come inside."
Warm wind pelts my face as I run out and wave my arms, forcing them to move to the door. "Go, go." I grab a giant pink flamingo and throw it toward the pool house. It takes off into the wind.
The staff scuttles inside. Foster holds out his hand, motioning for me to precede him into the house. After I'm in, I turn to wait for him. He steps inside and closes the door, dampening the crazy noise of the wind. My brother, father, and the other guests stare at the windblown crew as Celine Dion belts out "My Heart Will Go On" in the background.
What a mess.
I run to the front of the crowd and Foster stays behind. "Please, sit down. Stay." I point to the couches in the living room but the staff looks awkward and uncomfortable.
Foster glances down at the pool and side steps away from the edge. When he lifts his head, his gaze stops on me. Again it's like time has stopped. He's the calm in the eye of the storm. His lips curl into a smirk that makes his eyes sparkle.
Gah! This is not funny! This is my life imploding!
Mrs. Sinclair comes up to me and pats my shoulder. "We have to run, Milana. Thank you for a lovely party."
"I'm so sorry. Please remember to donate." My last attempt at salvaging this benefit.
"Of course, of course," she says. I don't believe her as she hastily returns to her uber-wealthy husband and leaves through the front door.
More guests move to grab their coats, and the catering staff runs to the side door of the house where their cars are parked. My party is ruined.
My father and Donnie glare at me like this is all my fault. I told them there was a storm, but they wouldn't listen.
It's all too much. The walls are closing in on me like the storm. I need to escape!
I rush out a side door and my sandals slip on the grass hill. I don't know where I'm going. I just know I need to get out of here, away from the proof of my failure and the judging eyes of my father.
The wind steals my breath as I gasp for air. Spears of salt abrade my cheeks and push me back as I reach the shoreline.Go back to the mess up there, the wind says.Face your life and who you are.
