“I knew it,” he mutters, looking around as we exit the airport. “This place is like a postcard.”
We walk out onto the street to where I parked. I brought Birdie’s golf cart here to pick him up. A woman walks by, pushing a stroller with her dog in it, and smiles at us. Wilby nods politely, then leans in. “Why did that woman seem to know you?”
“She does.” I smirk.
He blinks. “Silverlyn. Who are you? Who have you become?”
Happy. Myself. Free.
I grab his arm and pull him to the golf cart. “Come on. You need breakfast and a tour.”
Outside, the sun is already hot, beating down on us with a tropical feel. Wilby squints at the palm trees lining the parking lot. “This place is gorgeous. I’m beginning to see why you haven’t come home.”
Home.
I shudder at the thought of New York City being home. It feels like another planet right now.
“This place looks like a time capsule. Like it’s still living in analog mode.”
“It definitely fits the vibe,” I tell him.
“That’s...interesting,” he adds, still looking around and taking everything in as I stuff his suitcase behind us on the golf cart. “This is your mode of transportation?”
“Yep! Buckle up!” I call as I get in the driver’s seat.
He sighs as he slides in next to me and says, “If anyone asks, I rode in a respectable Uber.”
We ride through town, music spilling out of shops and restaurants, even though it’s barely morning. A man in board shorts waves at mefrom the coffee stand. Wilby takes everything in like he’s watching a nature documentary.
“Why is everyone waving at you?” Wilby asks, confused. “You haven’t even been here that long.”
“Everyone waves at everyone here. It’s not like New York,” I add.
“Yeah, if everyone smiled and waved in New York, we’d think they were psychopaths.” He cringes as if the thought is traumatizing.
I laugh. “It’s different here. It’s good for the soul. I wish everyone could come visit Coconut Beach at some point and relax. You’ll love it, Wilby. Trust the process.”
“Okay, but I’m not wearing flip flops,” he says, shaking his head with disgust.
“Trust me, by the end of the weekend, your dogs will come out to play,” I tease, knowing that sentence alone will make him crash out.
“Never, and I repeat never, say that to me ever again,” he says, giving me a look of disgust.
“No promises,” I singsong.
“So, there’s a bar called Cocktails & Chaos? That gives meCocktailmovie vibes. You know, the one with Tom Cruise, before he got all weird?” he says excitedly.
“That movie is a classic,” I agree. “B&B to check in first or Birdie’s?”
“As if you have to ask. The B&B can wait. I want to see all the things, including Birdie. Plus, I can’t check in yet anyway.”
I head in the opposite direction of his B&B. We pull up in Birdie’s little driveway that fits her golf cart. I turn to Wilby, and he’s watching me, grinning slowly. “You look happy here.”
I smile despite myself. “Iamhappy here.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, then finally smiles. “It looks good on you.”
“Thanks,” I say as I step out and lead him up to Birdie’s cottage. I look at it as if I’m taking it in through what he’s seeing. It’s a light blue cottage with white trim. It’s framed by flowering bushes, making it cozy. There’s a small screened-in porch on the front full of plants. I have always loved Birdie’s cottage. And I’m curious to see what Wilby thinks.
