Ocean took in the place. The dress shop looked like it had once been someone’s house, now converted into a clothing boutique. The wide front windows held headless mannequins in flowing skirts and delicate blouses, clothes arranged just so, like they belonged in an Instagram feed.
A cowbell clanged cheerfully when they stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of orange blossoms and pressed linen. Way at the back of the store, a woman was busy hanging dresses on a rack.
“Please look around,” she called out. “I’ll be right there.”
Ocean drifted toward a rack of clothing, dragging her fingers along a line of blouses that looked like they’d all escaped from some country club catalog. Crisp white collars, pastel sweaters tied across empty shoulders. They were obviously waiting for a yacht that never came. Underneath, skirts practically shouted brunch with the ladies. Ocean wrinkled her nose. Yeah, no thanks. She wasn’t about to dress like somebody’s mom in Newport Beach.
Skye, meanwhile, had already wandered toward the back of the store where the woman was working, completely oblivious to Ocean’s verdict on the fashion disaster surrounding her.
A few minutes later, her mother’s sudden gasp was followed by another.
“Barb!”
“Skye!”
“Oh my God!”
Ocean looked up in time to see the two women wrap each other in a tight hug, clinging like long-lost sisters.
“What are you doing here?”
“I took over for my mom after she retired,” the voice said. “I heard about Clare. I’m so sorry.”
Another hug. Then a few whispered words Ocean couldn’t quite catch, low and urgent, like secrets.
“You’re here for your mom’s funeral?”
“And I have to decide what to do with her things.”
More back-and-forth, too quiet for Ocean to follow. She shifted her weight, watching the two old friends standing close to each other, like no time had passed at all.
“Can we get together? There’s so much we have to catch up on.”
“Love to,” Skye said. “By the way, come and meet my daughter.”
They walked toward her and before Ocean could react, Barb swooped in and wrapped her in a big hug. Ocean stiffened, completely caught off guard. Back in California, people weren’t this affectionate with strangers. A polite smile, definitely. Maybe a casual “Hey” or a half-wave if you were feeling generous. But hugs? Those were reserved for close friends or family. If then, even. Most people she knew kept their personal space locked down tighter than a beach house in winter.
Here, though, Barb wore her warmth on the outside. No hesitation, no filter. Like hugging someone you’d just met was the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re beautiful. How old are you?”
“Fifteen,” Ocean answered, the word catching in her throat as she tried to process the sudden closeness.
“I have a sixteen-year-old. Maybe you two could get together.” Barb turned to Skye. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful? How long are you staying?”
“We haven’t decided yet, but maybe until the end of the month.”
“I’m pushing for longer,” Ocean had to add, throwing in her two cents.
The old friends fell quickly into conversation, their voices soft and full of memories. Ocean stepped away, giving them space. She drifted toward the back of the store, racks of fabric brushing her shoulders. She needed something to wear for her grandmother’s funeral.
The thought landed heavy, pulling her down like an anchor she couldn’t cut loose. Grandma Clare was gone. Really gone. Why couldn’t she have stuck around the way Jo had?
A one-piece, dark gray pantsuit caught Ocean’s eye. It was kind of boring, but it was her size and better than anything she’d packed from California. She flipped the price tag over and immediately stepped back. Nope. Not happening. She headed straight for the clearance rack.
That rack was a preppy nightmare. Pale pinks, loud oranges, blinding yellows. Nothing she would ever wear, not even on a dare.
When she circled back, her mom was already at the counter, paying for the gray outfit Ocean had just decided against.
