Plenty of places to choose from.
Can’t beat paradise, even if I didn’t get to enjoy my long-coming revenge.
Yet.
I still own Chandler Sullivan’s café. Signed the papers this morning before boarding the flight that was supposed to get me here just in time to destroy his life the same way he once destroyed mine.
Not theexactsame.
But close enough.
And I still get to watch everyone in his hometown realize what he’s done and what will ultimately happen to his family’s business.
Just not at his wedding.
“Not that I’m asking you to share.” The woman giggles a high-pitched giggle that threatens to split my eardrums while she tries to lean even closer. “That would be too much, wouldn’t it? Or would it? Wow. Your hands arereallybig. Look at your thumb. That’s…a really big thumb.”
I suck in a breath through my nose, twist on my stool to block her with my body, and pretend Icanhear the ocean surf over the sound of this woman’s chatter and the ’80s music playing on the bar’s speaker system.
“Reallybig thumb,” the woman repeats.
I take another swig of my lemon ginger kombucha and close my eyes while I swirl it around my mouth.
Whatisthat aftertaste?
It’s different. Reminds me of the holidays, butfir treeisn’t right, and also doesn’t make any sense.
I love a good puzzle, especially after a long day of not much going right.
“Are your…feet…as big?” the woman next to me asks.
And this kombucha is a mystery I won’t be solving.
Today’s a wash.
I start to move, leaving most of my flight still intact in front of me, when a whirlwind arrives on my other side. “Hi, honey,” a short redhead says. To me. “Sorry I’m late. Parking the car tookforever. Did you order dinner yet?”
Is she—is she talking to me?
She subtly moves her green eyes to the woman on the other side of me, then adds an equally subtle eye roll.
“Honey?” she repeats.
My brain kicks in, and so does my mouth right as my phone vibrates on the bar again. “No.”
“Silly. You’re so good at ordering for me. You didn’t have to wait. I know you were starving after…” She winks.
It’s a massive, exaggerated wink that’s so unexpected and legitimately goofy that it startles a small laugh out of me.
That hasn’t happened in weeks. Months?
Laughing at a stranger is uncomfortable enough that I almost reach for my phone to see what half-truth message my sister or my former business partner has sent now.
Instead, I make myself nod at the woman. “I was hungrier than a whale,” I agree.
“And so mellow you forgot to save me a seat.” She laughs and pats my hand like touching me is the most natural thing in the world, her fingertips soft and light as a butterfly’s wings, then pulls away before I can process that she invaded my personal space.
A wave of goosebumps spreads up my wrist and forearm.
