My throat goes dry, and the whiskey doesn’t help.
A guy slides up behind her, and she redirects him with a hand to his chest and a shake of her head. I stare at the amber in my glass and try to talk myself out of whatever the hell this feeling is. I’m in a crowded bar, watching her like she’s the most interesting thing in the room—because she is. I force myself to focus on the condensation trailing down my water glass. I last ten seconds before my gaze returns to the dance floor.
She spins around, and her eyes lock directly on me. Her skin is flushed, and her light-brown eyes are bright from the alcohol and music. The strap of her sundress has slipped down one shoulder, and she doesn’t bother to adjust it. We zero in on one another, and everyone in the bar fades to a blur. The crowd disappears. Cal says something, but I can’t process his words. The only clear thing in this room is her face thirty feet away. She nods, acknowledging me, and it unravels me at my core. The distance between us is a dare I can’t take. I won’t.
She turns away, breaking the moment, and whispers something to Fallon. The bar rushes back in, glasses clattering, followed by laughter. I exhale slow, and my hand isn’t as steady as I want. What the fuck just happened?
Cal glances at me and telepathically asks if I want to send drinks. I shake my head again.
The band plays a slower song, and Wendy and Fallon return to their table.
I need to get the hell out of here, so I tell Cal I’m ready to close my tab.
“Already?” he asks. “Party is just getting started, New York.”
“It was a travel day, and I need rest. Feeling off.”
“I get it,” he tells me with a kind smile.
Once I’ve signed the receipt and tipped well, I stand and stretch. With my head high, I walk past their table and keep my eyes forward even though Wendy’s follows me.
Cal’s voice carries over the crowd. “Thanks, New York. See ya. Same time tomorrow?”
“Probably not.”
“That’s what they all say. You’ll be back. Guaranteed!” He points a rum bottle at me before tossing it in the air.
The music fades behind me as I take the boardwalk back to the B&B. I’m just a guy from New York, walking home from a beachside bar. The air is cooler, and the planks are powdered with sand. Stars spread across the sky in a way I never see in Manhattan because of the light pollution. I take a moment to admire the summer constellations—Virgo, Sagittarius, Scorpius, and Lyra.
When I finally return to the B&B, the inside is mostly dark. The house is on stilts, and I take an elevator to the main floor, noticing how it rattles on the way up.
The front door is kept unlocked, and the only light on is another seashell-covered lamp next to the counter. It must be a theme here.
As I climb the stairs, I have no regrets about leaving the bar. Exhaustion is real and the whiskey starts to take hold. I pull the mermaid key chain from my pocket and unlock my door, then walk onto my private balcony for more fresh air before I crash for the night.
The music from Cocktails & Chaos thumps in the distance. My eyes scan the beach and land on a figure walking the shoreline. Sandals dangle from one hand while the material of a dress flaps in the breeze.
Wendy.
She’s alone and taking her time, letting the water run over her feet. I sit in the chair and watch from the shadows because I can’t stop.
When she’s closer, I catch the sound of her humming over the waves.
I move back inside and crack the door to my room so I can listen.
A minute later, the stairs creak, followed by light footsteps down the hallway, then silence.
Wendy lives somewhere in this house.
Being here isn’t just a job; it’s her livelihood. I guess that means she’ll be everywhere I am.
Great.
chapter three
Wendy
The beach at six in the morning belongs to me, the seagulls, and the pelicans. The sand is cool and firm under my bare feet, where the tide packed it flat overnight. Right now, the water is pale green, a color that can only be seen before the sun climbs high enough to turn it blue.
