Publishing manager Phyllis Dolan was exasperated with her client, Owen Hunt. They were in his living room in his seaside house on the Maine coastline. It was a beautiful, large house with lovely views of the coast and the ocean.
"Owen, I know you have been through a lot these last few months but we need to get a draft of the book, as soon as possible. The first half that you wrote before the accident is great but we need the second half as soon as possible, if we are going to publish it to meet the Christmas season. People are looking forward to the next Owen Hunt book to give as a gift to their friends and family," she said. "You have to get working on this."
"How do you expect me to do this, Phyllis?" he yelled at her. "I am blind. The accident left me blind. I can't work." He had been in a terrible accident, six months ago. He had been driving on one of those coastal roads, when he was blindsided by a drunk driver, which sent him over a cliff. His injuries were severe but he had recovered from most of his injuries, except for one thing. He had lost his eyesight when the glass from the windshield shattered and had gone into his eyes. If one looked at him, he looked perfectly normal with a few cuts around his eyes. He was a handsome man, with strawberry blonde hair and bright blue eyes. But those blue eyes were no longer brimming with expression, anymore.
Before the accident, he was a relatively happy man, though a bit of a loner. That was mainly because his parents were dead and he had been an only child. He had a good life – he was a successful writer which had made him very comfortable. Forget comfortable, he was quite rich. He had bought himself this house in Maine, where the solitude allowed him to intensely focus on putting out popular and profitable books on a regular basis. He had been in several well-publicized relationships but none of them really worked out. After the accident, he seemed bitter about everything.
"I am aware of that but you took the advance on the book and the publishing house needs to get your book into stores. You have to stop feeling sorry for yourself, Hunt," she said.
"In any case, we are not totally insensitive to your situation. You need to finish your book and Meteor Publishing is willing to help you. We are going to bring an assistant for you, until you can finish the book," Phyllis said.
"What!" Owen said. "An assistant! I have never worked with anyone before."
"Well, this assistant will type for you, read it back, help you edit and we are going to make that deadline," she said. "We have just the person for you. She has been working in our office for about a year, now. She is 24 years old, a very bright girl. She will stay with you, until this book is done. We have trained her really well to be an editor. She has aspirations of becoming a writer herself." Owen groaned. He hated wanna-be writers. They were always trying to thrust some manuscript at him to pass on to his publishing house.
"I am going to ignore that groaning," Phyllis said, firmly. "She has a Bachelor's in English and a Master's degree in Creative Writing. So she is well qualified to help you, Owen. Remember we do have deadlines."
"What if I give you back the advance?" he said. "That way, I won't have to meet a deadline and you won't have to send this assistant to make my life miserable."
"We don't want the advance back, Owen. We want a book from you," Phyllis said. "You are one of our shining stars. We want you back in top form. So what are you going to do? Just give up on writing because of your accident and rob the world of your talent. We are not going to let that happen."
"Stop trying to sound altruistic, Phyllis. You know and I know that you want a book from me to help your company's bottom line," he said.
"I won't deny that, Owen but we have been friends for a number of years and I hate to see you in this blue funk all of the time. You're just spiraling lower and lower. I know writing will help you. It is the one thing you love to do. Start writing, again, Owen. I beg of you," Phyllis pleaded.
Owen sighed. He was quiet for a moment. "Okay, send the girl. What's her name?"
"Cristina Yang," Phyllis said. "She will be arriving this weekend. I have already informed Joyce about her impending arrival. She said she would prepare a bedroom for her."
"Yang? Asian girl?" he asked.
"Yes, she is," Phyllis said. "Now, remember one thing. Cristina is not your employee. She is an employee of Meteor, so please be civil towards her. I don't want to hear that you're being mean, mister. I don't want the girl running back to New York, telling me horror stories about Owen Hunt."
"Oh, you can trust me, Phyllis. I will be very nice," Owen said. Phyllis scoffed, "Not the way you've been acting these few months." Owen threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.
"Don't get exasperated with me, Owen Hunt," she said. "Anyway, I will be on my way. While where you live is a beautiful place, it is really a hard trek from Manhattan to come visit you. Goodbye. I have a plane to catch." She went over to him and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. "Be good."
"Yeah," he said. "See ya. Oh dear, I just remember I can't see you. Ha." Phyllis shook her head, as she walked away. He listened to the clicking of her high heels, as she walked away. Then, he heard the front door open and close and the sound of a car driving away. He opened a window and listened to the seagulls.
He heard the soft footsteps of his housekeeper enter the room. "Yes, Joyce," he said.
"Would you be having lunch in here or are you coming to the kitchen?" she asked.
"Lunch in here, please, Joyce," he answered. "Also, Mrs. Dolan told me that she spoke to you about our guest coming over the weekend."
"Yes, Mr. Hunt. I think I am going to prepare the green room with the balcony for her," Joyce said. She might want to look out at the beach."
"I am sure she will, Joyce," he said. "Thank you." Joyce left the room to bring him his lunch, as he sat at a table near the window. He could no longer see the beautiful coastline but he loved the feel of the breeze against his face, as well as listen to the waves crash against the shore. He bought this house for its magnificent views and now, here he was, unable to see it, anymore.
It was Saturday. Miss Yang was supposed to arrive that every evening. He wondered if he had to make arrangements to have her picked up but he received a call from Phyllis that Cristina would take a taxi to his house, so he wouldn't have that trouble. He was anxiously awaiting her arrival. The truth was that he didn't have many visitors to his house. Other than Phyllis, there had been his ex-girlfriend, Tamsin. But after the accident, he broke up with her and drove her away, so she no longer visited. He had been bitter and felt that she was staying with him out of a sense of obligation. He knew that Tamsin was a social butterfly and loved the spotlight from dating a very successful and well-known author. He didn't think that she would have adjusted well to his blindness. The last he heard was that Tamsin was dating a pro basketball player. He didn't have any remorse over their broken relationship. He just wished her well.
He heard the sound of the car coming up his graveled driveway. Miss Yang was definitely here. He heard her voice, as she thanked the driver for bringing her here. It was a lovely voice, he thought. Then, he heard the knock on the door. He knew Joyce would get it. He heard their conversation. "Good evening, my name is Cristina Yang," the young woman said. "Mrs. Dolan said you were expecting me."
"Of course, Miss Yang," Joyce said. "I am Joyce Dumais, the housekeeper. Mr. Hunt is in his study. Would you like to meet him now or go to your bedroom?"
"I think I will just drop off my luggage in the bedroom and then come back down to the study to see him," Cristina said. "Which one is it?"
"At the top of the stairs, it will be the second door to your right. Mr. Hunt's bedroom is at the very end. Do you need me to take you to the study, when you come back down?" Joyce asked.
"No, no," Cristina said. "If I am going to be here for a couple of months, I might as well try to find my way around the house. "
"Okay, good. Well, dinner will be ready in a bit, so you can go and have a nice chat with Mr. Hunt, until then," Joyce said.
"Thank you, Miss Dumais," Cristina said. "Oh, please call me Joyce," the housekeeper said. "Okay," Cristina replied. "You can call me Cristina."
Owen listened as he heard the young woman trudging up the stairs with the suitcase. She seemed to be having a bit of trouble, dragging it up the stairs. He could hear her say "phew" when she finally reached the top. It made him smile. After about 10 minutes, he could hear her feet coming down the stairs. There were a couple of doors opening and closing. It was clear she was checking the rooms to find the study. He decided to make it easy for her, as he opened the study door and left it ajar.
"Oh," he heard her say, before entering the room. She had finally found the right room.
"Good evening, Mr. Hunt," she said. "I am Cristina Yang." She came forward and put out her hand to shake. Then she remembered he was blind and he wouldn't know that she had her hand out. She put down her hand, feeling rather foolish.
"Good evening, Miss Yang," he said. "How are you? Did you find your accommodations suitable?"
"Yes, the bedroom was beautiful. Love the view from the balcony. In fact, the whole house is magnificent. The views are tremendous from every room," she said.
"Yes, that is one of the reasons that I bought this house," he said. "But, of course, I can no longer see them."
"Oh, I am sorry," she said, apologetically. "That was just me being insensitive."
"No," he said. "Don't be sorry. We rarely get visitors up here and it is always wonderful when someone appreciates all of the views."
"I do appreciate every one of them," she said. "I can't wait to take a walk on the beach in the morning. Maybe collect some shells."
"Well, the shells here are very pretty," he said. "I am sure you can find some lovely ones. There is also sea glass, too. What are you going to do with them?"
"Nothing too fancy," she said. "Maybe do some decorative picture frames, or maybe just put them in a clear glass bottle as a decoration."
"That sounds nice," he said. "I am sure you will enjoy it." As he listened to her voice, he wondered what she looked like. All he knew was that she was Asian.
"Do you mind if I ask what you look like?" he asked. "Oh, no, not at all," she said.
"So you're Asian, so you must have dark straight hair and dark eyes," he said, trying to picture her in his mind.
"Well, I do have dark hair and dark eyes. I am okay looking. My hair is not straight. It is curly and it drives me crazy sometimes. It's so hard to take care of that I sometimes feel I need to chop it all off," she said.
"Oh, that means your hair is long," he said. "Yup," she said. "Most times, it is in a ponytail or in a bun."
He wanted to ask to feel her face but he felt that would have been too forward, since they just met.
"Have we ever met before?" he asked. "I have been at the Meteor offices a lot. Maybe I know what you look like."
"I don't think so," she said. "My cubicle is in a corner. I have seen you, though, when you've come to the office."
"And you've never said hello," he said, with a laugh.
"No," she said. "What would you want with silly old me? I am a plebe at Meteor. Plus Mrs. Dolan would want to know why I was bothering you." He laughed when she mentioned Phyllis. Joyce came in the room and announced that dinner was ready.
"Cristina, your dinner is on the dining room table. Mr. Hunt, do you want me to bring your dinner for you?" Joyce asked.
"No, no," he said. "I will eat with Miss Yang at the table," he said. Joyce was surprised. Since the accident, he hardly ever came out of his study and usually took his meals in there. She was pleased that he was willing to go to the dining room.
"Very well, sir," she said, as she rushed to the dining room to put out another place setting.
"Would you like to take my arm?" Cristina asked. Owen had a cane and he could find his way to the dining room but it was nice of her to offer. "Yes," he said. She came to him and rested his hand on her arm. They walked out of the study and went to the dining room. She guided him to the chair at the top of the table, as she sat on the right side of him. Joyce had already laid out the food on the plates for them.
"Could you tell me where is what on the plate?" he asked. She examined his plate. "The potatoes are at 10, the meat is at 3, the vegetables are at 7,"she said.
"Thank you," he said. They had a very pleasant meal and even better conversation together. At the end of it all, Cristina said she was a little tired and wanted to make it an early night. He told her to have a good night.
As Joyce came in to take out the dishes on the table, Owen asked, "Joyce, can you tell me what Miss Yang looks like?"
"Oh, she is a very pretty girl," Joyce said. "She has glossy, black curls and her hair is long up to the middle of her back. She has really flawless skin, too. She is quite slender, on the petite side."
Owen laughed, "She told me she was okay looking."
"Ah," Joyce said. "She was just being modest. She is much more than okay looking, Mr. Hunt. Are you going to retire for the night?"
"Yes," he said. "I am going up to my bedroom." He took out his cane and found his way to the staircase. It was recommended that he give up his upstairs bedroom but he loved his spacious bedroom. He knew exactly how many steps there were on the stairs and he always held on tightly to the railing, whenever he went up or down the stairs. He passed Cristina's bedroom and he could hear the sound of the radio and the thumping of her feet. He could tell she was dancing. It was a wonderful, joyful sound.
A/N Please leave your reviews and comments. I do appreciate that you leave your thoughts, especially since this is a brand new story.