Surfacing - Book One in the Swans Landing Series

Chapter 4

“Water scene?” I asked.

“Yeah, Lake makes these pictures from the shells and sea glass,” Dylan said. “He’s really very talented. Here, look at this.” He stooped to pick up a tattered and water-stained box. He sat it on the table, then reached in and pulled out a Christmas tree, created entirely from shells. Tiny shells made up the branches of the tree all the way from base to tip, with little pieces of sea glass as ornaments.

“Wow.” The word slipped from my lips in a gasp. It was beautifully made, obviously something that he had toiled over with the utmost care and skill. My fingers trailed over the edges, feeling the textures of the sand and sea turned into something entirely different.

“You should see all the things he’s made,” Dylan said, his voice soft in my ear.

“Do you know him well?” I asked, keeping my focus locked on the small seashell Christmas tree.

“I’ve known him all my life,” Dylan said. “He’s a good person.”

“Maybe.” I dropped my hand from the tree.

“You’ll see,” Dylan said confidently. “He’s taught me everything about working with shells, even though I’m nowhere near as good as he is. His best work was this picture of the beach, with foam on the water and a boat on the horizon. It’s made entirely out of shells and glass. It’s really cool.”

Mom had never told me that Lake was an artist. My fingers tightened around the camera that still hung from my neck, hugging it protectively against me. “Can I see it?” I asked, unable to resist the curiosity.

Dylan put the shell tree back into the box. “Oh, he gave it away long ago. I...I don’t even remember who got it.”

It was clear from the way he fidgeted and avoided my gaze that he wasn’t telling the truth. But why would he lie about some old picture made of beach junk?

Dylan cleared his throat, then reached into the box again. “These are what I make.”

He pulled out a handful of shell necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. They were nice, but they didn’t have the delicate craftsmanship that Lake’s tree did.

“Those are cute,” I said.

Dylan’s cheeks reddened a bit and he ducked his head, letting his hair fall over his face. “Thanks. What’s your favorite color?”

“Green,” I told him.

Dylan studied the jewelry in his hand, and then picked out a bracelet made of green and cream colored shells. He held it toward me, smiling. “Here. Free gift.”

“I can’t take that,” I said.

Dylan smiled at me, his almost clear eyes catching the lamplight and making them sparkle like diamonds. “I want you to,” he insisted. The bracelet dangled from the end of his finger.

He was kind of cute. In a scrawny way. Those eyes though. Those eyes could be my downfall if I didn’t keep my head on straight.

I held my arm out and Dylan slipped the bracelet over my wrist, his fingers brushing against my skin and sending electric currents up my arm. He was warm and his fingers rough and calloused from working with the shells. Every tiny hair along my arm stood on end as he regarded me with those pale eyes.

I snatched my hand away when Lake’s door opened and he strolled into the room, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Mrs. Boileau has changed her mind again on what she wants,” he told us. “I’ll never get her picture done if she keeps changing it.”

“What does she want this time?” Dylan asked with an amused smile.

“A nighttime lighthouse scene,” Lake answered. “Which means I’ll have to paint all the shells I’ve already glued down to look like the night sky.” He sat back down on his barstool, his hands on his knees, and looked between the two of us. “So, have you two gotten to know each other?”

Dylan smiled at me. “I was showing Mara what we do.”

Lake’s eyes drifted toward the bracelet on my wrist. “And giving away our product, I see.”

I started to take the bracelet off, but Lake held up one hand. “I’m joking, Mara. Those are Dylan’s bracelets and he’s free to give them to anyone he wants.”

I’d had enough of Lake for one day. “I’m going to bed,” I said.

“Are you starting school tomorrow?” Dylan asked.

I shrugged. “Apparently.”

“I’ll walk you there, if you want,” he offered.

It was the first time all day I’d felt as if someone was doing something genuinely nice for me, simply because he wanted to and not because he had to. I managed a small smile back at him.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’d like that.”