“I wonder if Fran noticed.”
He shrugs and picks up a yellow notepad from the coffee table. “Look at this.”
“Is that a list of tasks?”
“Seems to be.” He flips the page to more items. “Only about half of these are checked off.”
“Oh man. What do we do?”
He flops the notepad back on the coffee table. Dark circles rim his eyes, and his shoulders slump. The excitement of seeing an ambulance has worn off. “Well, seeing as it’s after midnight and we have to be at the coffee shop at nine, we save this mess for tomorrow. Maybe Fran will have an awesome plan B.”
“Right.” I purse my lips. What’s Ava going to think of all this? Her big moment is less than forty-eight hours away. This weekend’s gotta be great for her.
We don’t find any keys, but we turn off the lights and close the front door before heading back down the hill toward the boardwalk.
I straighten my shoulders, hoping for the best. “It’s going to be fine. They’ll figure it out.”
Will yawns. “Yeah. Tomorrow’s a new day. We can get back to ignoring each other in private and pretending to get along in public. It’ll be great.”
“Of course.” I tear my gaze from his. I don’t like him and need to stop being mesmerized by his dark eyes. He called me psycho! “For the record, I’m still mad at you.”
“Figured.”
Warmth infuses the word, and he doesn’t seem the least bit concerned. Somehow, this, plus his stupid shirt and stupid pretty eyes, infuriates me. I don’t even say bye when I veer off and up the steps to The Blue Moon.
He laughs behind me as I pull the door open. “Good night, Morgan.”
I shut the door and flip the deadbolt, locking him out of the house and out of my mind.
Well, at least one of those things is possible.
CHAPTER NINE
WILL
I walk into Coffee Connection, and the aroma hits me like a cozy bolt of lightning. Man, I need it. Desperately. I’m rolling in on way too little sleep.
Clinking dishes and jittery chatter further enliven the air. Almost everyone in the tiny coffee shop—including me—is wearing matching pink or green T-shirts stamped with glittery wordsbridesmaid,father of the groom,flower girl,etc. We make an absurd group, like overgrown kindergarteners on a field trip.
Clearly, this groomsman isn’t fit to talk to anyone until I’m caffeinated, so I order a latte from the barista, a cute girl about my age, and have a seat on a polished stool at the coffee bar. No one is freaking out about the wedding planner. Fran must’ve kept her secret.
I hide my ruined tennis shoes under my stool as I scratch at a faint stain on my khaki shorts. The blue remnants didn’t quite come out when I washed them in the sink last night. Sadly, Dollar General had no shorts in my size except for a pair of too-short, fishing-themed swim trunks. I bought them. But only for emergencies. At least my parents will be here this afternoon.
I pull my phone from my pocket. Mema catches my eye and gives me a wave from a table with my cousin Emma and her parents. I wave back. Ava and Hudson are deep in conversation with Hudson’s parents while other family members and friends mill about, catching up and laughing. No Morgan.
I swing back around and make the mistake of opening Instagram. Photos of my high school buddies still having fun on our senior trip fill my feed. They mock me with their happy smiles as they pose on the sandy beach. The ocean spreads behind them. Disgusted, I consider shoving it back in my pocket, but I’m a glutton for punishment. My thumb keeps pushing new photos onto the screen as I try to remind myself that I’ll see them on Saturday night at the pool party when they’re home and all this wedding business is behind me.
A ding sounds as the door swings open, and I glance over my shoulder. Morgan walks in. All sleepy-eyed and smiles, she greets others around the room. Huh, maybe it’s just me, but that pink bridesmaid shirt doesn’t seem so bad on her.
She directs that smile at Mema when she passes her table, and Mema says something I can’t quite hear. Morgan giggles and then yawns, and I’m left dying to know what Mema said.
Morgan mumbles about getting coffee when Ava, perky as ever, tries to wave her to their table next. As Morgan frowns at me, a tinge of disappointment pinches my chest. Doesn’t seem much changed overnight.
But I’m in her path to coffee, so she has no choice but to join me at the coffee bar. She tries to snag the barista’s attention, and if I’m not mistaken, the girl is ignoring her. Ha. Good.
“Nice shirt,” I say after a beat.
“Thanks.” She doesn’t crack a smile. “But what’s up with yours? You look ridiculous.”
