She Moved Into a Beach House for the Summer, Not Knowing Her Landlord Was a Millionaire Falling

Cracks in the Summer Bubble

As Xavier walked away, Julia stood rooted to the spot, wondering if she had just made a huge mistake. She was here to rebuild her career, not start a summer fling with her landlord, no matter how intriguing he might be.

That night, unable to sleep, Julia wandered onto the porch and was drawn to the beach by the silver path the moon laid across the water. The sand was cool between her toes as she walked toward the shoreline, stopping when the gentle waves lapped at her ankles.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

Julia startled at Xavier’s voice. He stood a few yards away, hands in the pockets of his shorts, looking as if he belonged to this landscape of shadows and moonlight.

“I’ve always been a night owl,” she said, trying to sound casual. “The ocean’s beautiful at night.”

“It is.”

He moved closer, and she could smell cedar and salt on him.

“What’s your book about?”

The question surprised her. Most people asked about her chances of getting published or whether they might know any of her work.

“It’s about a woman who inherits a lighthouse from a grandmother she never knew existed. She discovers old letters that suggest her grandmother might have been involved in something illegal during prohibition.”

“Sounds intriguing.”

“Historical mystery with elements of romance,” Julia admitted. “The love story just happened as I wrote. The characters had other ideas.”

Xavier nodded as if this made perfect sense.

“The best stories often take on lives of their own, like people.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the waves.

“Why Seabbrook?” he asked finally. “There are more famous writer retreats.”

Julia considered her answer.

“I needed somewhere real. Not pretentious, not a postcard. Just authentic. Somewhere people actually live, not just visit.”

His gaze rested on her face, thoughtful.

“Most summer people want the postcard.”

“I’m not most people.”

She met his eyes, surprised by her boldness.

“No,” he agreed softly. “You’re not.”

The intensity of his gaze made Julia’s breath catch, suddenly aware of how alone they were under the vast night sky. She took a small step back.

“I should try to sleep. Big writing day tomorrow. After our coffee, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed, already wondering what to wear.

“Good night, Julia.”

“Good night, Xavier.”

As she walked back to the house, Julia could feel his eyes following her. For the first time since arriving, she wondered if three months in Seabbrook might be too long for her heart to remain unaffected.

The cafe was bustling when Julia arrived the next morning, but Xavier had secured a table by the window overlooking the harbor. He stood when he saw her, and something about that old-fashioned courtesy made her smile.

“I ordered the famous scones,” he said as she sat down. “And coffee, black for me, but I wasn’t sure how you take yours.”

“Black is fine, thanks.”

Their conversation flowed easily as they shared childhood stories and career paths. Xavier explained how he developed a security software program in college that eventually became the foundation for a company he later sold for a staggering sum.

“Hence the luxury of making furniture instead of sitting in board meetings,” he concluded.

“You miss it? The tech world?”

Xavier considered this.

“I miss the problem solving and the camaraderie of the early days, but not the pressure or the politics.”

He leaned forward.

“What about you? What pulled you toward writing?”

Julia traced the rim of her coffee cup.

“I’ve always lived partly in my imagination. Writing just gave those daydreams somewhere to go.”

She hesitated, then added, “My parents wanted me to pursue something practical, so I got an accounting degree and wrote in secret until I couldn’t stand it anymore. And now, I have six months of savings left to make this work before I have to go back to spreadsheets.”

Xavier’s expression grew serious.

“What would help with your writing? I mean…”

The question caught Julia off guard.

“Honest feedback, I suppose. My last relationship was with my editor, and when we broke up, his professional opinion became less than objective.”

Xavier’s eyebrows rose.

“That sounds complicated.”

“It was a mistake from the start,” Julia admitted. “Mixing business with pleasure.”

“Yet here you are, having coffee with your landlord,” Xavier pointed out, his tone light but his eyes watchful.

Julia felt heat rise to her cheeks.

“For research,” she reminded him, though the excuse felt flimsy even to her own ears.

“Right. Research.”

His smile suggested he didn’t believe her either.

“In that case, how about a tour of the town’s historic sites tomorrow for your book?”

“I’d like that,” Julia said, knowing she was stepping onto dangerous ground but unable to make herself care.

Over the next two weeks, Xavier became Julia’s unofficial guide to Seabbrook. They explored hidden coves, hiked coastal trails, and visited the town’s small museum. Each excursion was justified as research, but Julia knew they had long since crossed into something more personal.

One evening, Xavier invited her to see his workshop. The small, weathered building revealed a surprisingly sophisticated interior with polished concrete floors, walls lined with tools, and several pieces of furniture in various stages of completion.

“This is incredible,” Julia breathed, running her fingers along the edge of a cherrywood dining table. “You made all these?”

“It started as therapy after Elise died,” Xavier said quietly. “Something to do with my hands when my mind wouldn’t stop racing.”

Julia looked up at him.

“The bookstore owner mentioned your wife. I’m sorry.”

“It was eight years ago.”

Xavier picked up a piece of sandpaper, seemingly more for something to hold than any real purpose.

“We were college sweethearts. When she got sick, I threw myself into building the company, thinking success would somehow save her. More money for treatments, better doctors.”

His jaw tightened.

“By the time I sold the company, she’d been gone three years.”

“And you came back here?”

“Where else? This was home. This was where we’d planned to raise children someday.”

He set the sandpaper down.

“What about you? Anyone serious before the editor?”

Julia shook her head.

“I was always too busy dreaming up fictional relationships to maintain real ones.”

She attempted a smile.

“Pathetic, right?”

“Not at all.”

Xavier moved closer.

“Some people are worth waiting for.”

The air between them seemed to thicken, and Julia found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him. As if reading her thoughts, Xavier reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek.

“I should get back to the house,” Julia whispered, reluctant but wary of the intensity building between them. “I promised myself 2,000 words today.”

Xavier nodded, dropping his hand.

“I’ve kept you long enough. Let me walk you back.”

That night, Julia couldn’t concentrate on her novel. Her protagonist’s romance with the mysterious lighthouse keeper seemed pale compared to the electricity she felt whenever Xavier looked at her. She closed her laptop and stepped onto the porch.

She was surprised to find a small package on the outdoor table. Inside was a wooden bookmark, intricately carved with a lighthouse design that mirrored the one in her novel. A note read simply:

“For marking your progress. X.”

Julia clutched the bookmark to her chest, touched by the thoughtfulness of the gift. It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember that her time in Seabbrook was temporary, and that at summer’s end, she would return to her real life with or without a book deal.

The following weekend, Xavier invited Julia to a benefit gala for the town’s historical society.

“It’s black tie,” he warned. “But it’s the social event of the summer season. Good research,” he added with a teasing smile.

Julia hesitated, checking her budget mentally.

“I didn’t exactly pack formal wear for a writing retreat.”

“There’s a boutique in town,” Xavier suggested. “Consider it a business expense for your novel.”

Julia relented and found a simple but elegant midnight blue gown that made her feel like she belonged in a different world than the one she usually inhabited.

When Xavier picked her up in a classic Aston Martin, looking devastatingly handsome in a tuxedo, she knew the evening would be memorable. The gala was held at the town’s grand old hotel, a Victorian masterpiece overlooking the ocean.

As they entered, Julia noticed how people nodded deferentially to Xavier, some openly curious about his companion.

“Why are they staring?” she whispered.

“Because I rarely attend these things, and never with a date,” he replied, his hand warm on the small of her back.

“Is that what I am? A date?” Julia couldn’t help asking.

Xavier stopped, turning to face her fully.

“What do you want to be, Julia?”

Before she could answer, they were approached by an older couple who greeted Xavier effusively.

“Xavier darling, we’ve missed you at the club this summer,” the woman said, eyeing Julia with undisguised interest.

“I’ve been busy, Mrs. Patterson. May I introduce Julia Owens? She’s staying in my beach house for the summer. Julia, this is Margaret and George Patterson.”

“The beach house tenant.”

Mrs. Patterson raised perfectly groomed eyebrows.

“How unique. And what brings you to Seabbrook, dear?”

“I’m a writer,” Julia said, suddenly conscious of the social divide between herself and most of the people in the room. “Working on a historical novel set in a coastal town.”

“How fascinating,” Mrs. Patterson replied, clearly uninterested. “Xavier, you must tell us about your new furniture commission for the Baxters. We heard it’s quite substantial.”

As the conversation shifted to people and events Julia knew nothing about, she felt increasingly out of place. She excused herself to get a drink, needing a moment away from the scrutiny. Standing at the bar, Julia overheard two women talking nearby.

“That’s his tenant,” one said incredulously. “I heard she’s living in his smallest beach house practically for free.”

“Classic Xavier charity case,” the other replied. “Remember when he hired that local boy with the stutter to work in his workshop? Always trying to save someone, though this one’s prettier than usual.”

The first woman added with a laugh,

“Maybe he’s finally ready to move on from Elise.”

Julia’s cheeks burned with humiliation. Was that how everyone saw her? A charity case? Was that how Xavier saw her? Someone to be helped, guided, saved?

She set down her untouched champagne and slipped through the French doors onto the terrace, needing air and space to think. The night air cooled her heated face as she gripped the stone balustrade, looking out over the moonlight gardens.

“Julia?”

Xavier’s voice came from behind her.

“Are you all right?”

“Am I a charity case?” she asked without turning around.

“What?”

His confusion sounded genuine.

“The women at the bar. They seem to think I’m your latest project. Getting a discounted rent, special treatment.”

She finally faced him.

“Is that why the beach house was so affordable? Was it never market rate?”

Xavier’s expression shifted from confusion to understanding, then to something like anger.

“Those women don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“But they’re not entirely wrong, are they? The beach house should rent for twice what I’m paying.”

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture Julia had come to recognize as a sign of frustration.

“I own the property outright. I can charge what I want.”

“That’s not the point, Xavier. I don’t want to be someone’s good deed.”

“Is that what you think this is?”

He gestured between them.

“All of this? The tours? The coffee? Tonight? You think I’m just being kind to the struggling writer?”

Julia swallowed hard.

“I don’t know what to think anymore.”

Xavier closed the distance between them, his eyes intense in the moonlight.

“Then let me make it clear. Yes, I lowered the rent because the rental agency told me you were a writer needing quiet space.”

“Yes, I was curious about you from the moment I saw you on that porch. But everything since then, every moment we’ve spent together, has been because I’m falling for you, Julia. Not out of pity or charity or boredom.”

Julia’s heart pounded against her ribs.

“You hardly know me.”

“I know enough,” he said softly. “I know you’re brave enough to chase your dream when everyone told you to be practical. I know you see the beauty in ordinary things. I know you’ve made me feel more alive in these past weeks than I have in years.”

“Xavier…”

Julia’s voice faltered as he reached for her hand.

“Tell me you don’t feel it too, and I’ll walk away right now,” he challenged.

Instead of answering, Julia closed the remaining distance between them and kissed him. His arms immediately encircled her, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened into something that felt like coming home and embarking on an adventure all at once.

When they finally broke apart, Xavier rested his forehead against hers.

“Not exactly how I planned our first kiss,” he murmured.

“I’m not complaining.”

Julia smiled up at him, feeling lighter than she had in months.

“Should we go back inside?” he asked.

Julia shook her head.

“Take me home instead.”