Wrapped in Blue by Kara Emerson
Chapter One
Julian
There’s no need to even try to hide my exasperation. “How’s it going? I was almost beheaded by Santa with a longboard,” I say as I wind through the chaotic boardwalk toward the Indigo Beach fishing pier.
The early-December day is warmer than I planned for in this obscure town on Florida’s Atlantic coast. Sweat prickles at my temples, and I’m squinting so much my head aches. It’s a cloudless day, and the sun’s reflection comes at me from every angle, from the ocean’s surface and crystalline sand on my right to the storefront windows and car windshields on my left. I can’t believe I forgot to pack sunglasses.
“What does that even mean?” Ruben, my editor-in-chief at 206 and one of my closest friends, asks with a laugh, clearly enjoying my irritation. I met Ruben when I was in college. He was my mentor when I started at 206, a Seattle lifestyle magazine, as an intern, and he’s helped me grow into a mentor to our newer writers.
“What it means is a guy who looks like Santa, wearing swim trunks with red suspenders and flip-flops—with no shirt, I might add—almost knocked my head off my shoulders with a nine-foot-long surfboard.”
Final preparations are going up before the town’s holiday festival officially kicks off tonight, with all the decorations in various shades of blue. Men on ladders are stringing lights around the palm trees lining the street. Workers line the boardwalk, affixing banners and wrapping lighted garland around the railing. Wet and sandy children dodge between the workers, their parents rushing after them and offering apologies. The sounds of hammers on nails, squealing children, and squawking seagulls overlap with the Christmas carols pumping out the speakers of the shops across the street. The salty air mingles with the scents of briny seaweed and coconut-scented sunscreen lotion. All are details I catalog for the article, though a pang of nostalgia hits me. I push the feeling aside.
Ruben shocked me when he assigned me the annual Indigo Beach holiday festival. As a senior writer at 206, my assignments are usually feature stories covering the city’s people and current events. I rarely ever travel for work, and if I do, I stay in the Pacific Northwest.
“Now, I have a question for you,” I say. “Why me? This assignment is much better suited for someone—anyone—other than me. We have an entire staff of other writers who would have jumped at the opportunity to write this story.”
“Because you’ve been a brooding pain in the ass since you found out Trina is engaged. Why you care, I have no idea,” he says. “And I thought a change of scenery would do you good. Get you out of the Seattle gloom and into the sunshine. Plus, there’s supposed to be surfing there, right? I know you don’t get out to Westport or La Push nearly as much as you want to.”
At his blunt observation, I take a deep breath. This funk I’m in—it’s not about Trina. Not directly, anyway. Our breakup is one piece of a bigger picture, like the stable ground I’ve been standing on is slowly cracking.
“First of all, I don’t care about my ex. Second, with the rumors the magazine is up for sale—” Something hits my arm, sending my phone flying out of my hand. Thankfully, it lands in the soft dunes and not on the boardwalk planks. “What the f—”
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” a female voice says. I bend to grab my phone out of the sand, but a slender hand reaches it before I do and then dusts it off against a pair of cutoff shorts, which showcase a pair of tanned, toned legs. “I’m severely under caffeinated and am not in full control of my actions.”
The woman hands the phone to me as I straighten, and I finally meet the gaze of my attacker. I’m awestruck by the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, framed by dark, wavy tendrils of hair falling out of the messy bun atop her head. A few damp strands stick to her forehead and temples. Small beads of perspiration glisten on the faint smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Despite her haphazard appearance, she is stunning.
“Are you okay?” she asks, a flash of worry in her eyes.
“Y-yeah,” I stammer. Get yourself together, man. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I inspect my phone. “And it looks like my phone will survive as well.”
“Good to hear,” she says and then bends down to pick up the large vinyl banner rolled up at her feet. As she grasps it, it uncoils on the boardwalk, people jumping out of the way to avoid stepping on it. “Dammit!”
I squat down next to her, picking up the end of the banner, and I help her roll it back up.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, not meeting my eyes.
This day—hell, this month—has been one thing after another, and at this point I can’t help but laugh. It’s like the universe is having a little fun at my expense. I should retreat to my hotel room and call Ruben back. Maybe I can convince him this isn’t the best idea, but a glance at my assailant gives me pause. Her brows pinch together, and she closes her eyes, exhaling heavily as her shoulders droop. It’s the look of someone having a rough morning. Something about her defeated expression tugs at my chest.
I need to see those crystal blue eyes again. Maybe even see her smile.
“It’s the least I could do after you forced the end of my phone call. Y’know, you could kill someone with that thing,” I tease.
She snaps her eyes up at me, an affronted expression on her pretty face. There they are.
“I’m sure I could, but there are too many witnesses on the boardwalk. Not much chance of a clean getaway.” She shrugs, giving me a crooked grin.
I can’t contain my laughter.
“I really am sorry,” she says with a sigh. Her icy blue eyes soften, and a blush rises in her cheeks. She drags her fingers across her forehead and tucks a curl behind her ear.
“Apology accepted. Do you want some help?” I ask.
“No,” she says a little too quickly, before her eyes soften in apology. “I mean…no, thank you. You’re very brave to offer, but I can’t be held responsible for any injuries sustained in my given state. It would be safer…” She trails off. Her eyes widen, and the little smile she gives me looks practiced. It’s a face I see often in the office, of someone with a lot on their plate who doesn’t like to ask for—or readily accept—help.
“That’s fair,” I say. “I mean, I just got here. It would be a shame to meet my demise before the weekend even begins.”
She tugs her lower lip between her teeth in a grin before her phone grabs her attention. She checks the screen, and all playfulness vanishes. “I need to get back to work. Have a great weekend.” She quickly turns and leans the banner against the boardwalk railing. “Merry Christmas,” she says over her shoulder.
“Merry Christmas,” I reply, a little stung by her dismissal, but it seems her gaze lingers before she turns away.
I’m not ready for our interaction to end, but she’s already working to secure the banner to the railing. It’s a small town, and I’ll be here for a few more days. There’s a good chance we’ll run into each other again.
Walking toward the pier, I dial Ruben’s number.
“Did you really just hang up on me?” he answers on the first ring.
“Not intentionally.” I laugh. “First, there was the Santa with the surfboard. Then, someone hit me with a rolled-up vinyl banner and knocked my phone out of my hand. This town seems more dangerous than charming.”
“Be careful, man. You know how things happen in threes.” He chuckles.
Yeah. I think about the strange tug I felt in my chest and wonder if the woman with those striking blue eyes just might be the third thing. I shake the thought away.
“Now you’ve jinxed me. Maybe you should send someone else—”
“Everyone else is working on other assignments, J. Besides, you’ve been writing in the same lane for a while. It’s good for your portfolio to change things up, to show your range.”
My skin prickles at his statement. “My portfolio? Ruben…it’s not just a rumor, is it? The owners are shopping the magazine, aren’t they?”
“You know as much as I know, my friend.” He sighs. I can see him now, leaning back in his office chair, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand as his other holds the phone to his ear. “What I do know is you needed a break, and you refuse to take any real time off. Call this weekend a working vacation. Surf, enjoy the sun, eat fresh seafood, and make sand angels instead of snow angels. Write the story, but for fuck’s sake, have some fun.”
After we hang up, I’m still thinking about his words and the fun exchange I had with the banner-wielding beauty. Suddenly, this assignment doesn’t seem like such a chore.
© 2025 Kara Emerson. All Rights Reserved.
Welcome to Indigo Beach.
Warm ocean breezes are the backdrop to new beginnings and second chances in this new small-town romance series from debut author Kara Emerson.
When Seattle journalist Julian Parris is sent to cover a seaside town’s quirky Christmas festival, he expects tinsel, tourists, and a forgettable puff piece—not a woman who knocks him off his feet. Literally.
Iris Callahan, lifelong Indigo Beach local and reluctant festival coordinator, has too much on her plate to play tour guide to a brooding city reporter. Between juggling family obligations, small-town drama, and her dream of reopening her late mentor’s local surf shop, the last thing she needs is a man who’s just passing through.
But when a chance encounter leads to shared sunsets, salt-sprayed laughter, and sparks neither can ignore, Iris and Julian find themselves caught between the pull of possibility and the promise of goodbye.
In a town draped in shimmering lights and second chances, sometimes the hardest thing isn’t falling in love—it’s deciding whether to stay long enough to see what happens next.