“You’re still a kid,” he says with a stare that tells me not to argue. “And you spent all those years in school. Not using any of that tending bar.”
That one sticks. I don’t say anything because it’s pointless to try and defend my actions. It is what it is. I made my choices, and I don’t regret them.
I have a life here, and it’s a good one. I fish with Jonah, check in on my mom, and run the bar. And I surf. I stay busy.And lonely.But we won’t talk about that last part. I stay busy enough to beat that part.
After we dock, I swing by the bookstore before heading home. Mia, one of the owners of Salty Pages, waves, a million bangle bracelets clanging together, as I walk up, a big smile on her face.
She’s an attractive woman—blonde hair, big brown eyes, dimples—but not my type. She wears a lot of jewelry, and I do meana lot. Necklaces, bangles, rings. It must take her a good half hour to get it all put on each day.
“Hey, Mia,” I call as I climb up and peruse some of the books.
“Hey, Cal, how are you doing?” she says as she tucks a few books onto a shelf. Her boho dress swishes as she moves.
“I’m good. Just getting books for my mom.”
I scan the rows of books, quickly getting overwhelmed by the endless titles. There are tons with cartoon covers that seem interesting, but there are so many, they blur together. She’ll be disappointed if I accidentally buy something she already has.
“I heard your aunt had a new release today,” she says with a grin. “We nearly sold out of all the copies.”
I nod. “She did. She already sent my mom a copy. And Donna is coming to visit at the end of the summer.”
My aunt Donna has been writing romance novels for over thirty years. She lives in Wisteria Cove, Massachusetts, and has a beach bungalow here in Coconut Beach that her family and their friends use. My cousin Finn and his new wife, Rowan, came to stay here recently, and we had a lot of fun. I keep their house in order while they’re away.
“It would be awesome if she could swing by and sign the books that we carry of hers,” Mia not-so-subtly suggests.
I skim my gaze over a book that has a dude with eight-pack abs on the front cover. Yeah, not buying her that. I pick up a gold and black book that alludes that it might be about dragons. NowthatI could buy for her.
“I’m sure she will,” I say as I blow out a breath. “Mia, I have no idea what to pick for my mom. Is this one good?”
“Well,” she says as she eyes the book in my hand, a patient smile on her face. “She already has that one. You bought it a few weeks ago.” She hooks her thumb over her shoulder making all her bangles clatter loudly. “I already put back two paperbacks and one hardcover that I think she’d like. She doesn’t already own those.”
I sigh with relief. “Thanks. I never remember what she has or know what she’ll like.”
“It’s no problem. These are good ones, I promise.”
I’m grateful for Mia’s help.
“Thanks, I trust you. You know your books. I just wish she could come pick them out herself,” I say with a wistful smile.
She taps a pen to her lip, brown eyes glittering eagerly, and says, “What if we brought the truck to her sometime?”
The image of the book store rolling up to Mom makes my chest ache. I think she would enjoy that.
I soften. “You would do that?”
“For my top reader of Coconut Beach? Sure I would,” Mia says as she flips the screen for me to tap my card.
“That would be great. Let me talk to her about it first, though,” Itell her. Sometimes she’s not up for going out in the yard, and I don’t want Mia to go to the trouble for nothing.
“Let me know. See you next week, Cal.” She waves, her millions of bracelets clanging their goodbye to me as well.
I make the short walk to my truck and stop by the Oceanside Market on the way home. I go through the list, get everything for my mom, and load it up. As I pull out of the parking lot, I pass a car that has “just married” written in shoe polish on the back window. Cans tied to yarn clatter against the pavement as it drives by.
Naturally, marriage makes me think about Silvie, the mysterious runaway bride from last night. I can’t help but wonder how she’s doing today. Each time my mind tried to drift to her throughout the day, I’d busy myself with something else. I’m still curious about her story. I wonder if I’ll ever know it.
Once at my mom’s, I find her in her usual chair by the window. Same spot she’s claimed for years. She looks up when I come in, eyes bright when she sees me.
“Hey.” She beams at me.
