My trembling hand nearly drops my phone as my thumb hovers over the screen. Anxiety slithers through my chest, seizing my lungs and constricting my breathing. My vision blurs as my mind loses focus—like I’m outside my body, watching this happen to some other girl. The screen is fuzzy as I immediately block the number he contacted me from.
My eyes dart around the shop, glance out the windows, the skin on the back of my neck prickling as if he’ll be lurking around any corner.
I swallow the knot in my throat, slipping my phone back into my pocket and composing myself enough to hope my mother doesn’t notice when I peek my head into her work room and say, “I’m going to go grab a coffee. Are you in a spot to take a break and watch the counter?”
She pulls out an earbud and drops the scissors in her hand. “Yeah, I’m about finished. Can you get me a Honeysuckle latte while you’re over there?”
I nod, lips twitching with a smile when I’m reminded how my aunt named her coffee shop’s five signature drinks after the boardwalk businesses—each inspired by the family who owns them. My mom’s is her favorite cold brew with vanilla cream and honey.
I push open the doors to Honeysuckle and turn left, taking five steps before I reach the front of The Wicked Wildflower and swing it open. The cafe is buzzing with patrons littered at the tables, sipping on coffee and nibbling baked goods, but it’s otherwise slow.
Allie has her back turned, boxing up what appears to be a number of custom orders—variously decorated cakes and pies.
“Allie?” I ask quietly as I reach the counter.
“One sec, babe.” She finishes packaging the last of the orders before spinning toward me. Her brows knit as she studies my face, and the composure I’d garnered on my way over here begins to unravel. “What’s going on?”
“Can you take a break?” I ask, my tone hollow.
She nods, features softening into a solemn expression. “Hold on.” She stacks the orders, backing through the swinging doors that lead to the kitchen. She calls to Dahlia, who must be in her office, informing her she’ll be taking her break.
Returning to the front, Allie loops her arm through mine, patting my hand as she says, “Let’s take a walk down the pier.”
“Don’t let me forget to order my mom a coffee when we get back.”
“Okay.” She leads me out the front doors before we take a left, heading for the pier that expands beyond the boardwalk, stretching out into the endless blue Pacific. “Tell me what has you all knotted up.”
It’s a flawless, breezy summer day—not one cloud obstructing the infinite azure of the sky above us. Seagulls circle our heads as waves crash against the pillars below, the roar dulling the hum of beachgoers around us.
These types of days are my favorite. The reminder of how far and wide people travel to experience this kind of easy living, and how lucky I was to have grown up inside it my entire life.
I’m disappointed in myself for having a raging storm cloud hovering over my head on an afternoon like this.
“Parker called me.”
Allie pauses, head whipping in my direction. “I thought you blocked him.”
“I did. I guess he got a new number or called from someone else’s phone. I don’t know.”
“Did you answer?” she asks hesitantly as we continue our walk.
I shake my head. “I ignored it, and then he texted me, telling me we needed to talk. I blocked the number after that.”
“Good.”
“I think...” I swallow. “I think he knows about the abortion.”
“That doesn’t mean you owe him a conversation, Willow.”
I nod, but some kind of trepidation slithers down my spine as we make a loop around the pier, walking in comfortable silence. It’s been months since the day I left him, and to learn it’s all still eating at him enough to go to such lengths to contact me—the guilt lingers.
He may have broken me, but what does that matter if I did the same in return?
“Do you think I did the wrong thing?” I ask Allie.
“Assuming you’re referring to offering Parker closure, no.” She stops as we reach the boardwalk again, grasping my hands to halt me walking. “Heknows, Willow. He can ignore it, he can justify it, he can pretend, but he knows what he did. You made a clean break, your message rang clear. He doesn’t deserve closure, and the only reason he’s chasing it now is to attempt to manipulate you into absolving him of his own deep-seated shame.”
“You think he feels shame?” I laugh incredulously.
