“I’m happy you came in today, Shay. It’s good to meet you.”
“You too, Sunny.” She grabbed a pen out of her bag and scribbled something on the back of a book club card. “Here’s my number. In case you ever want to commiserate over life with a strong-willed man. Or books about dragon riders, or whatever.” Collecting the cookies and coffee, she added, “Good luck with that boy of yours. You’re going to need it.”
More than I even knew.
chaptertwenty-two
Beckett
Today’s Special:
Salt-Rubbed Anonymity with Wine Many Ways
I wasn’t worried.
Not in any significant way.
Not about my date with Sunny tonight.
I mean, no more than anyone worried about a first date—which was to say that I had some worries. Normal, reasonable worries.
But then I had the rest of my world to contend with, and there were many more worries there.
Parker had been two hours late in returning from the beach this afternoon. I’d used that time to research whether those electric shock collars people used to keep their dogs in the yard would work for teenage pains in the ass. Inconclusive.
My attorney found it necessary to call me once an hour with the kind of updates that gave me acid reflux because my mother had gotten her hands on another burner phone and she remembered not only my number but also Parker’s and a few of her girlfriends too. It seemed she had a day off from babysitting.
My firm wanted to know if I could give them an update on when I’d be returning to work. I’d laughed and closed my email before I could respond withFuck if I know.
Add to all of that the fact that everyone in Friendship knew about this date.Everyone. They’d all dropped by to offer advice and more than a few words of warning. It was painfully clear that everyone loved Sunny to death and they’d take up arms if she didn’t enjoy every single second of this evening.
Even better: Mel was running the restaurant tonight and that would’ve been great if Bethany hadn’t parked herself at the bar with a book and proceeded to ignore the shit out of Mel. Now I had Mel pacing like a caged lion and biting off every head that crossed her path.
When Parker had noticed me glaring at today’s episode of The Mel and Beth Situation, he pulled me into the office, saying, “I see what you’re doing and it’s stupid.”
“What am I doing?” I asked.
“You’re inventing reasons why you shouldn’t go out with Sunny tonight. It’s classic self-sabotage.”
I rubbed my brow. “And why would I do that?”
“Any number of reasons.” He ticked off on his fingers, saying, “You subconsciously question whether you’re good enough for her, you’d rather end things early and by your own hand than lose control and risk getting hurt, and there’s always the Freudian issues of—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” I said. “I am concerned about the oyster company. That’s it. This place is never more than one strong sneeze away from disaster and Mel’s head isn’t in the game.”
“Go on the date,” Parker said. “This place will be fine. Worst-case scenario, I run the restaurant. I’ve done it before. It didn’t burn down.”
There was a headache forming behind my right eye. “When didyourun the restaurant?”
He shook his head and steered me toward the stairs. “All that matters is I lived to tell about it. Now, get outta here and don’t let me see your face until morning.”
I glanced back at him. “Aren’t I supposed to be parenting you? Not the other way around?”
“This isn’t parenting,” he replied. “It’s the trauma-informed psychology I learned from Instagram and TikTok.”
“Oh.” I continued down the stairs. “Is that…a good thing? Is that something you should be learning on the internet?”
“Count your blessings. I could be getting far worse from the internet.”
