Relief settles into my chest. “Great. Meet me at sunrise. I’ll have the boards.”
She stands and slings her bag over her shoulder, laying down a few bills even though I never brought her a ticket. “I should go beforeI talk myself out of this bad idea I just committed myself to and take up more of your day. Thank you, Cal.”
“Surfing is never a bad idea.” I chuckle. “You’ll do fine. See you tomorrow.”
She hesitates and then smiles. “Thanks for being my friend.”
There’s a tender thread of vulnerability in that statement and it lands harder than it should. Because no one thanks you for that unless they really needed it. She’s a mega-successful boardroom boss babe and yet she’s grateful for a new friendship with the surfer bartender bro. It makes me want to haul her to me and hold her in my arms.
As friends, of course.
“Any time, Silvie.”
She leaves, humming, almost bouncing, and smiling easily at everyone. She’s different from the woman who blew in here a month ago in a wedding dress. Silvie fits in here. And when she’s gone, the bar feels lonelier without her in here. Like the energy in the air has shifted.
Tomorrow we’re surfing. For the first time in a while, I have something to look forward to.
Standing behind the bar, with the ocean humming outside, I realize I’m looking forward to it way more than I probably should.
9
Silvie
“This is unacceptable, isn’t it?”I say, holding up one of the only two swimsuits I have here in Coconut Beach.
I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed at Birdie’s, surrounded by the clothes I have, trying desperately to find something appropriate to surf in. I don’t know how I didn’t think to buy more swimsuits when I went shopping with Summer the other day. The one I grabbed with her was basic. I also have the granny one I left here at one point when I visited Birdie about eight years ago. That one is definitely not going to work.
Wilby’s face fills my phone screen, his dark brows already pulled together like he’s not sure what I was thinking wearing that swimsuit then, either. He’s sitting at his desk in New York, immaculate as always, white button down, coffee cup clutched like a lifeline. And given that he has impeccable choices in fashion, I know he’ll always tell me the truth.
“Silverlyn,” he says patiently. “Those are not swimsuits, they’re punishments. I can go to your penthouse tonight and pack up some of your things and ship them to you.”
He’s not wrong. One’s generic and the other is a granny suit. I can’t wear them surfing with Cal. He’ll think I’m one of the Bees. He probably already does. And maybe that’s how he should think of me. But that’s definitely not how I want him to think of me.
Why is that anyway?
After the hell Tyler put me through, you’d think I’d be turned off of men. Initially, I would have sworn that I was. But, over the past few weeks, I’ve done a lot of soul searching. What I had with Tyler wasn’t real love. It was convenience more or less. Of course, it doesn’t excuse his infidelity, with my sister no less, but it makes it less painful.
The lowkey flirting I’ve been doing with Cal has a fire burning in my belly. Maybe having a little fun with him will be nice. I certainly feel safe around him, especially when he’s always taking care of me and bringing me food.
Does he have the same buzzing attraction that I do?
Considering I’ve caught him a time or two staring a little longer than appropriate, I’m going to assume so.
“Seriously, no,” Wilby says, interrupting my thoughts. “Stop waving that ugly thing at me. Birdie called, she wants her old lady swimsuit back.”
“Ugh.” I glance down at the navy one-piece in my hands. “This one’s functional at least. Great for surfing, right?”
“It’s giving grandmother,” he corrects. “Add a little moomoo, and you’re all set, Bertha. Grandmas don’t surf.”
“Stop.” I laugh, tossing it onto the bed. “I’ve been wearing both of these for days.”
“That’s a crime,” he shudders as he sips his coffee.
I miss Wilby. He made work fun, and he’s my right arm man. I know everything about him, and he knows everything about me. I have never had a closer best friend than him.
I snort and start digging through another bag. “I just haven’t had time to think about fashion choices.”
“You have had nothing but time,” he says. “You simply chose yoga and beach walks and emotional healing instead of appropriate swimwear.”
