Birdie’s words echo in my head. My girl. She’s talked about Silvie so much that I practically felt like I knew her. Silvie, the woman who never forgot Birdie’s birthday. The one who sent her flowers just because. Birdie’s always bragged about her like a proud mama. I didn’t know her name, but I knew she existed.
That always made me happy for Birdie because she deserves that. Birdie has been a huge part of our town since she moved here over ten years ago. She fit into this town like a local, and everyone thinks of her as a local now. She loves with all of her heart.
I reach my place and let myself inside, the quiet evening enveloping me. I strip off my clothes and step into the shower spray, letting the water wash away the salt, sweat, and lingering scent of Silvie’s perfume. Regret fills me at that last part.
Get it together, man.
My mind takes a while to settle when I lie in bed with the fan humming softly overhead. I close my eyes and see that honey blonde hair spilling over my arm. The way she trusted me without even knowing me. The peaceful way she looked while she slept, like she was finally able to rest here in Coconut Beach, her safe haven.
Whatever or whoever she’s running from, I’m glad she’s away from them. I have a feeling she’s landed exactly where she’s meant to be.
5
Silvie
I wakeup to the sound of a hush of waves through the window, blowing a breeze across my face. It’s soft at first, like it’s a dream. There’s music in the distance playing softly. Something low and familiar, and comforting. And then it hits me. The unmistakable aroma of coffee and bacon. And something sweet I can’t put my finger on, but if I had to, I’d say they were Birdie’s honey biscuits she used to make for me when I was a kid. Anytime I had a bad day, those mouthwatering biscuits saw me through it. It got to the point where, no matter how bad a day I was having, if I told her I needed her biscuits, they were in the oven before I knew it. There’s not much in life that Birdie’s honey biscuits can’t fix.
Even a rotten sister and a cheating groom.
God, I am so glad I got away when I did.
As quickly as the thought of yesterday’s fiasco enters my head, I push it away. I’m here now, and out of that godforsaken dress, which means I can focus on healing myself. Thingswillget better.
I smile before I open my eyes. The breeze flows over me, and I let myself truly feel it. Love from Birdie. This has to be a dream. I have to be dreaming. Because yesterday felt like a nightmare.
I burrow deeper into the bed and pull the covers over my head, curling onto my side, the sheets soft against my skin. The smell of Birdie’s home fills my senses like a hug. For a second,I let myself believe I’ve woken up in a new life. A better one than the rat race I’ve been living in.
Then my head pulses hard, reminding me of all the choices I made last night that led me to this wicked hangover. I groan and finally sit up. Sunlight spills across the room, painting everything in gold. I turn my head and spot a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand beside me. The room tilts a little, and I pop two pills in my mouth, draining half of the glass in one go.
Last night’s events at the bar come back to me in embarrassing fragments. The shots. The dress choking the life out of me. The pleading for Cal to get it off me.
Cal.
Warmth pools in my stomach at the memory of his dark, honeyed eyes, so kind and honest.
He had plenty of opportunity to take advantage of the situation, but he didn’t. Instead, he calmly assisted me through the worst night of my life.
And he was really, really cute. Not that I was looking. I’m so over men it’s not even funny. But I do have eyes. A lot of the patrons flirted with him. He was friendly and fun. There was something about him that made him feel like a safe space. Plus, if Birdie approves, then he has to be okay.
She never liked Tyler and look how right she turned out to be with that assessment.
I’m still reeling over the fact I fled before the wedding. It was so out of character for me. Then, I allowed myself to get publicly drunk and relied on a bartender to take care of me. I’m not one to be reckless or impulsive. I’m the woman with spreadsheets, backup plans, and color-coded systems. I don’t wake up with gaps in my memory due to a night of drinking. What if something happened to me last night?
Except nothing happened. And now I have to figure out my life. How to fix everything. To be honest, though, I don’t even know where to begin. Or how to begin. How do I rebuild my life? How do I fix the mess I’ve made of my life, my company, and my family?
For the first time in my life, I feel like I have absolutely no control over anything. The thought sends a spike of fear through me, and it’s scary. I press a palm to my chest and breathe through it.
I’m safe with Birdie. I’m here. There’s no more Tyler, no more Belladonna, no more betrayal and drama. What a relief that is.
I push myself out of bed to find a folded T-shirt and leggings on the chair next to the bed. It smells like laundry soap and sunshine. I recognize the outfit as one I’d left behind on accident. I’ve never been more grateful for cozy clothes. I pull them on and head to the bathroom. I look in the mirror and cringe. Wedding makeup and wild, crazy hair. Lovely.
After brushing my teeth and hair and washing my face, I exit the bathroom and pause to admire the bedroom. Warm, muted colors decorate the space, and it fills me with happiness. Each silly knickknack or piece of art was painstakingly chosen with the purpose of making the guest feel comfortable. I could spend hours marveling over each figurine or carefully placed book.
I make my way out of the room and into the living room. The whole cottage is eclectic and so Birdie. Because of her, my childhood has color and playfulness despite the cold, perfectly decorated home I was raised in. There’s a frame sitting on an end table and I can’t help but pick it up. It’s of me and Birdie. I must’ve been in elementary school. We’re both grinning at each other, happy as can be.
I needed this escape.
I set the frame back down and step into the kitchen, smiling when I see Birdie. She’s at the stove, humming along to the music, drizzling honey on her biscuits while swaying to the music. The kitchen is warm and bright, like coming home.
