Summer Ever After: A Sweet Romantic Comedy

Chapter 16

This evening’s target:Briggs Dalton, aka the owner of the bookstore on the island. Actually, his mom owns it, but I’m not picky about those details.

Briggs has been back on Sunset Harbor for a month. We’ve talked and been friendly whenever we’ve seen each other. It’s not a huge stretch that I would show up unannounced at the bookstore.

I push my reading glasses farther up on the bridge of my nose—they’re fake, by the way, a nice touch for a man with his job. I’m like the sexy librarian version of myself. The glasses are a little much, but when you’re desperate, you do desperate things. Plus, who doesn’t love playing dress-up?

With the right look in place, I swing open the front door to The Book Isle. A little bell rings above me, announcing my entrance.

“Welcome in,” Briggs calls from behind the counter. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

“Thanks.” I smile, but it’s no use. All I see of Briggs is the top of his sandy-blond hair as he looks down at a piece of paper on the counter.

I casually make my way through the shop, pretending to be interested in my next read when, in reality, I’m only here for my next date.

A stack of Secret Crush by Sunny Palmer catches my attention, and I end up rearranging the display so that Capri’s book stands out more than the other romance books on the table.

“Oh, hey, Jane. Are you a Sunny Palmer fan?”

My head whips up. Briggs stares at me from behind the counter. I totally vibe with his nerdy, boy-next-door look, especially when I’m wearing these reading glasses.And I think he’s gotten a little buffer since last time I saw him.

A giant grin covers my mouth. “I love Sunny Palmer!” I’m her best friend. “I mean, who doesn’t love a good romance book?”

“I’ve actually never read a Sunny Palmer book, but my mom has and seems to enjoy them.”

I take a couple steps forward, closing the distance between us. “Do you read a lot?”

“It’s kind of hard not to when your mom owns a bookstore.” He glances around at the place.

“Yeah, I bet.” I lean my elbow on his counter, noticing how Briggs takes a slight step back. I’m calling it a coincidence and sticking to the plan. “I mean, with the love of books in your blood, you’re probably the type of guy who would build a library in your home for a woman just because you know how much she loves to read.”

A favorite trope of mine.

“Or I could totally see you reading her favorite book even if you didn’t like reading just so that you had something to talk about with her. And maybe she doesn’t even know you’re reading it. You just happened to see it on her nightstand, but you memorized the name of the book so you could read it on your own time. And when she finds out, she falls a little bit more in love with you.”

Another favorite.

He blinks back at me with a blank expression. “I’m sorry, what?”

I may have gotten a little carried away.

“Nothing.” My arm falls, hitting the counter with a thud. “It was nothing.” I’m giving one last trope a go. I push my fake reading glasses up and dive back in. “Do you like writing, Briggs? I mean, you were good at English in high school, weren’t you?”

The puzzled look on his face deepens. “I was okay at English.”

“What I’m really getting at here is pen pals.” Briggs Dalton would make the perfect hero in a little You’ve Got Mail type romance. “Have you ever had a pen pal before? Or maybe you’re looking for a pen pal?”

“No, not really.”

“Interesting.” I casually lean against the side of the counter. I’m hitting my stride again. “Are you happy you came back to Sunset Harbor? Like, are you planning on staying?” For the rest of your life?

“I haven’t really thought that far ahead.”

I probably need to remind Briggs about the good times we had together in school. Maybe if he fondly remembers his past on the island, he’ll want a future here too. Plus, we played love interests in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, so obviously I need to remind him of that.

“Do you remember the seventh-grade play we did together?”

“I remember being new at school and being forced into one of the main parts.”

“Yeah, you were Lysander.”

His forehead creases. “How did you remember that?”

“Because I was your lover, Hermia.” I try to jog his memory. “I still remember some of my lines. ‘Help me, Lysander, help me,’” I theatrically say my part from memory. “‘Do thy best to pluck this crawling serpent from my breast.’” My smile is big as I look back at him. “Remember how awkward it was when I had to say breast in front of the whole school and how everyone giggled?”

“Jane, is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m just reminiscing. You’re a local. I’m a local. It’s only natural that we should talk and hang out. Maybe even…I don’t know...”—I scratch the back of my head—“go out on a date sometime.”

He chuckles. There might even be a small blush crossing over his cheeks. “I’m really flattered, Jane, but I’m in a weird spot right now and not really looking to date anyone at the moment.”

It’s a crash landing.

“No, I get it.” I straighten. “I’m kind of in a weird spot right now too.”

Clearly.

I look around, searching for the quickest escape while still managing to keep a little dignity. I’m not sure it’s possible.

I reach for a copy of Secret Crush on the table and hold it up. “Just the Sunny Palmer book, then.”

After paying for the book I already own, I push the door open and scurry away with my tail between my legs. I dig through my purse and immediately call Capri. I don’t expect her to answer. She’s still on her bike ride with Tristan, but I plan on leaving the longest voice message known to man.

The phone beeps, and I don’t hold back. “I just made a fool of myself in front of Briggs Dalton. I’m pretty sure he’ll never speak to me again. I think this whole plan of dating men on the island makes me look desperate. I know that sounds strange coming from someone forcing romance tropes over here, but just disregard that.” I look both ways before crossing the street into the main square by the fountain. “I think it’s time I look at a dating app. You know, choose a small radius so I’m getting men on the mainland who live close to Sunset Harbor but not directly here. It’s like the saying, don’t crap where you eat. So I’m making a change. I’m taking my tropes off the island. I just thought you should know.”

I lower my phone and click off the call, shoving it back in my purse along with my stupid, sexy librarian glasses.

“Hi, Jane!” Betsy Barnes steps out of the hair salon, watering the plants outside her shop. Her signature pixie cut could be spotted a mile away. “What are you up to?”

Oh, you know. Just putting a stamp on my singlehood for the rest of my life.

“Nothing much. What about you?”

“I have another hair appointment in fifteen minutes, so I’m just getting a few things done. Randall called about a half hour ago and told me about your great idea for the golf fundraiser for the community pool. It was actually perfect timing because Walker was coming in for a haircut.”

My heart sinks, literally plummeting into the depths of despair. “Walker came to Cuts and Curls? Today?”

“Of course. Where else would he go for a haircut?” She points inside. “In fact, we just finished. He’s paying at the counter with Holland right now.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. “Did you mention the golf tournament?”

“Only how much it means to all of us on the island.”

“Oh, great.” I barely get the words out when Walker steps outside.

He’s not wearing a hat. I mean, why would he be wearing a hat when he just got a haircut? But he’s not wearing a hat, so his dark, wavy hair is on full display for the first time since he arrived on the island. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of Walker in his golf hats—when he wears them forward or backward—but him without a hat has been my favorite thing ever since I first met him in seventh grade. Walker has the perfect amount of curl that every man wants but very few achieve. It’s iconic. Plus, you can see his cobalt-blue eyes better, and pair that with his smile and?—”

“Well, if it isn’t Pollyanna?” Speaking of smiles, his is pointed right at me.

“Pollyanna?” Betsy scoffs. “No, this is Jane.”

His playful stare stays on me, quickening my heartbeats. “Oh, I know who she is.” He finally glances away, adding a wink just for Betsy’s sake. “Pollyanna is just a little nickname between Jane and me.”

“No.” I shake my head adamantly. “It’s actually not a nickname. He’s used it, like, twice. And it’s fading already.”

“I love pet names,” Betsy gushes, ignoring my refusal to accept Walker’s nickname. “Randall calls me Tinkerbell—you know, because of my hair.”

“Isn’t that cute?” Walker smiles between us. “Well, I should be going. Thanks for the haircut, Betsy.”

“No, thank you for your help with the golf tournament.”

“It’s my pleasure.” His smile oozes with fake cheesiness—something you don’t see often from Walker Collins. “In fact”—he puts his arm around my shoulder, leading me away—“Jane and I need to discuss some of the details. We’ll catch you later.”

“I was going to tell you.” I roll my shoulder, trying to shirk his arm off me.

“You mean, ask me?”

“Right.” He drops his hand, and my whole body instantly relaxes, which helps me think better so I can defend myself. “I was going to ask you if you’d be willing to do this golf fundraiser to help the island. I know you hate it here and you don’t like people being in your business, but something like this could really help out Sunset Harbor. And it’s not like I’m asking you to donate a kidney. All you’d have to do is play golf. It would be like a practice session.”

“When?”

It’s a good sign that he hasn’t completely said no yet.

“That’s up to you. I mean, the Fourth of July is out, but we could probably make any other day work. A Friday would be best since the city offices are closed that day, and we’d be available to run the tournament.”

“Usually, in tournaments like this, you golf in pairs or foursomes and play the closest ball. It’s called a scramble.”

“Sure, we could do that.” To be honest, I haven’t really looked into it yet. Note to self: Google these types of fundraiser tournaments.

He eyes me. “So I can pick my partner and my group?”

Walker will probably win the tournament no matter who his partner is, but I can see this is a big bargaining chip for him, so I concede. “Yep, you can choose your partner. If you want Pete Luca, he’s all yours.”

“Great.” His lips pull into a smirk. “I’ll take you, then.”

“Me?” My brows jump so high they might never come back down. “I can’t be your partner. I’ll be running the event. And besides, I’ve never even played golf before.”

“Sounds like I’ll have to teach you. Maybe even schedule a practice or two before then.” His tone is emotionless, but his expression gives away his amusement.

Teaching me how to play golf?

Practices?

No, no, no, noo, nooo. That’s not going to work.

Even the most basic romance fan knows what that kind of stuff leads to.

“I’m not going to be your partner.”

“Then I’m not doing the tournament.”

It’s time to face my reality. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Not really.” His nose wrinkles as he shakes his head, making him look positively charming, and for a fleeting moment, I’m excited to be partnered with Walker. Then doom sets in.

How am I going to explain this to Capri? I can’t go from telling her we’ve bumped into each other a few times to he’s teaching me how to play golf and partnering up with me.

“Now, as far as dates go, we have to schedule it before July thirteenth,” he says.

More doom sets in—how much doom can one person feel?

“Why? Is July thirteenth when you’re leaving town?” My voice is measured, hiding my disappointment.

“I fly out to Scotland that morning for the British Open.”

“I didn’t realize you had a big tournament scheduled. Don’t you have to qualify for those things?”

He nudges me. “Jane, are you implying that I haven’t been playing well enough to qualify for the British Open?”

That’s exactly what I’m implying. “Oh.” I nervously tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “No, I was just saying?—”

“It’s fine.” He laughs it off. “Normally, you do have to qualify, but I have an exemption since I won the Masters two years ago. The British Open is the last Major of the year. There are other PGA tournaments, but nothing beats the Majors. So I’m going all in. Hopefully, I’ll be the comeback kid. I mean, I’m not delusional enough to think I could win, but I’d like to at least make the cut and have a chance to play on Saturday and Sunday.”

My footsteps stop in front of the city building where my golf cart is parked. I turn to Walker. “Does Pete agree it’s delusional to think that you could win?”

“Pete thinks there’s nothing wrong with my golf game. He says the problem is in my head.”

“Not your gut?”

“Pete doesn’t know about golf gut.” He leans his hip against my cart, all cool and casual-like. “That’s privileged information reserved only for you.”

My smile grows. “How did I get so lucky?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, leaning in a little closer. “I guess I just really, really like you.”

If he has golf gut, I have Walker gut. It’s where my stomach flips over and over with excitement and butterflies. It’s wrong, but most addictive things are.

I want to take a step closer and say something cute back to him, along the lines of, ‘I really, really like you too.’ Okay, maybe not that, but something that keeps the playful conversation going. But instead, I glance down, searching inside my purse for my keys, pulling myself out of Walker’s magnetic field.

“You should listen to Pete. He knows his stuff. If he says the problem isn’t your game, then you should trust him.” I dig around some more, but my new Sunny Palmer book is blocking everything. I pull it out, holding it in my armpit so I can see to the bottom of my purse. Yep, there are my keys.

“What’s this?” Walker grabs the book out of my arms, looking it over. “Secret Crush.” His glimmering eyes lift to me. “Sounds fun.”

“It’s a very good book.” I square my shoulders, answering like any devoted friend would. “In fact, it’s my favorite romance book of all time.”

“Your favorite romance book of all time? Well, heck, if it’s your favorite, I better read it.”

All the butterflies from earlier drain out of my stomach like someone just pulled the plug on an above-ground swimming pool. Walker reading a romance book just for me will do me in.

“Absolutely not.” I grab it out of his hands before he sees me coming.

“Why not?” The corner of his mouth lifts wickedly. “Is it spicy?”

“No! What’s wrong with you? It’s Sunny Palmer. Of course it’s not spicy.” I say it as if he should know who the real Sunny Palmer is, even though I know Capri has never told him.

“Jane, I wouldn’t judge you if you read spicy books. A straight-laced girl like you is bound to have a hidden wild side. It really wouldn’t be that surprising.”

My mouth opens to rebut, but nothing comes out. I drop my purse on the seat and climb into the cart. “I’m leaving,” I announce.

Walker laughs as he steps toward my cart, not away. His hands rest on the roof, allowing him to lean his head down into my space. A fruity aroma from his fresh haircut surrounds me, competing with the manly cologne I’m used to smelling on him.

“It was good to see you, Jane.”

I turn the engine on. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.” His perfect lips turn upward into the perfect smile—just a lot of perfection going on with him. “It’s always good to see you.”

“I’ll look at my calendar and let you know a good day to schedule the golf fundraiser, okay?” I jerk the shifter into drive, but he still doesn’t move.

His hands alternate tapping on the roof of my cart. There’s something really obnoxious about that kind of sexy-casual confidence. “I can’t wait to hear from you.”

And I can’t wait to get out of here.

“Okay.” I push the gas pedal, slowly sending the cart forward. If I run over Walker’s toes, it’s his own fault for being in my space.