To Have and to Scold (Coastal Kisses)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Dallas Olivia

Eating at a cutesy local diner is great and all, but when you accidentally start screaming like a stuck pig, you leave an unfortunate first impression. And first impressions are all I’ve got going for me at the moment.

Looks like my whole plan of wooing the people of the beachside town of Willow Cove is going to have to wait until tomorrow.

If you’d had a…a llama—I think it’s a llama—splatter his spit through a fence all over your left arm, you would have screamed, too.

With one eye on the beast behind me, I grab the napkin dispenser on my outdoor table, hold it down with the hand of my suddenly half-paralyzed and dripping bare arm, and with the other hand rip as many paper napkins out of the dispenser as I can. I fight the urge to scream again, or hurl, as the case may be, while I wipe off my arm, wadding up the napkins so I don’t get any of the offending camelid saliva on my hand.

“Ma’am! Ma’am. Are you alright?” my teenaged server says, rushing over from one of the other half dozen tables.

My scream was pure reflex. I’m not generally a screamer as a rule—I’m not some helpless ingenue in a movie. It’s just that a mini camel spat on me from between his large, yellowed teeth.

During the commotion, a bunch of kitchen staff stream out of the kitchen like we’re about to be lambasted by a ten-foot tsunami wave. Bless those poor people’s heart rates.

Are there tsunamis in Willow Cove? Thankfully, I won’t be here long enough to find out because my new job here is temporary.

I hurriedly retrieve my bag, catching a whiff of grassy cud in the air, and hand my credit card to the waiter. “There’s a llama or alpaca right there,” I breathe, my gaze pointing at the beast, who is now waddling down the boardwalk on the other side of the short fence that encloses Witty’s Café’s outdoor eating area.

The server looks alarmed. He’s a nice kid with bleached blonde hair sticking out in every direction and a little matchstick mustache. “I’m so sorry.” He frowns. “Did Prince Harry spit on you?”

“Prince Harry?” I offer the brightest smile I can manage. “Yes, he did.”

“Oh, honey,” another server, this one a middle-aged woman with purple hair, says. “That llama is a little weird.” She steps out from the small crowd of employees that has gathered. “He spits as a sign of affection.”

“Is he, like, all y’all’s mascot or something?” My parents are Northerners, Boston bred. I was raised in Atlanta, but my Northern roots mean I don’t use “all y’all” much. The fact that I did just now shows how off I am.

The purple-haired server laughs. “No. He belongs to King Kingston now, ever since his uncle passed on.” She scratches her head and scans the boardwalk row of shops along the horizon. “I don’t see King.” She turns to a co-worker. “Tell Witty I’m walking Prince Harry down to the surf shop. I’ll be back in a bit.” She offers an apologetic smile and walks along the inside of the wrought iron fence until she reaches the gate. She opens the latch and turns onto the boardwalk. “Prince Harry! You come here now.” Her voice fades as she reaches the llama, speaking in baby talk to him, gently grasping the harness around his neck.

My gaze darts around at the various customers staring at me. I turn to the server, who’s watching all this with a lazy smile. “If you could just bring my receipt, I’ll leave, and you can just…” I make a sweeping motion with my hands at the little wad of grassy cud deposited on my table. “Have at it!”

After hastily signing the receipt to pay for my bread bowl-housed tomato bisque, I put my light-blue blazer back on over my blouse and pick my way through Witty’s Café’s outdoor tables to the exit gate, apologizing left and right.

Maybe if I’m the perfect mix of confident, delightful, and apologetic—if I do enough head bobbing and “sorrys” and make eye contact—people might think, Hey, you know that new, auburn-haired wedding planner in town? By golly, she’s got moxie!

That’s it. Moxie. That’s why I screamed so loud. That’s why I’m here in the first place, getting my mojo back after a very unfortunate incident at work got me…unemployed.

I refuse to say “fired.” Dallas Olivia Cardon doesn’t get fired.

And let’s also say it was moxie that caused me to come here, sight unseen, to work as Willow Wood Mansion’s new wedding planner.

Not sheer terror at my reputation in Atlanta being tarnished by accidentally mixing up two wedding cakes. Not fear that I’ll never get said reputation back. Not even the ever-present knowledge that I have to do something amazing here so I can go back to Atlanta and re-enter my meticulously designed five-year plan—known in my brain as “ The Plan .”

We’re calling it “moxie.” I kinda like that.

Moxie.

And it’s in this moxified state when, right as I’m about to exit the outdoor seating area for the boardwalk, I see him .

Holden Dougherty. My ex.

And, oh yes, there’s my cousin, the lovely, tall, lithe McKenna Cardon.

Of freaking course.

They’re both staring at me. McKenna’s a beachy goddess basking in a lounge chair. She’s got enormous sunglasses on top of her blonde pixie cut, which, by the way, she totally rocks. Both the shades and the hair.

I tried a pixie cut once. In fourth grade. And it looked like a yorkie wearing a beehive wig. It was not sophisticated like McKenna’s.

But I digress.

My ex and his new girlfriend, my cousin, are sitting right there, looking at me with wide eyes, like they heard my scream and are glued to their seats in awe.

I freeze. You know that fight, flight, freeze, or fawn thing? That’s me. My feet are sealed to the ground, my hand still outstretched to the gate to the boardwalk, my mouth gaping open.

“Dallas?” Holden says, offering a bit of a laugh, as if to say, oh boy…can we avoid a scene, please? He’s wearing a bright orange T-shirt and board shorts.

“Are you okay? We heard the ruckus over there.” McKenna scrunches her brows together in mock concern. How do I know it’s mock concern? Because I’ve known her since I was born, that’s why.

Holden joined us on a family bungee jumping excursion to celebrate our grandparents’ fiftieth anniversary—yes, my Grandad and Noomi are cool like that.

McKenna got scared and started freaking out at the top of the crane thing and who comforted her?

Holden. I witnessed the shared laugh between them as he gave her a pep talk so she could go through with the bungee jumping.

And that’s when I knew that McKenna and Holden would eventually fall in love.

I finally find my voice, the memories of that bungee jumping moment of clarity searing through my stomach like a combo of Pop Rocks and spicy, neon-red Takis.

“I was mildly accosted by a llama. But I am all good. Really, really good.” I give up a giggle that sounds about as foreign as if I’d suddenly tried to speak in Italian. Then, “What are you two doing in Willow Cove? I should have you over to my new place!”

“New place? You live here?” Holden asks, his brows going sky high.

“Yep.” I’m nodding so vigorously that my neck spasms. “I start work on Monday.”

“Wow!” McKenna drawls in her natural, Georgian accent. “Congratulations on finding something.”

“What are you guys doing here?” It’s then that I realize my hand is still outstretched to the gate, in midair, my fingers curled in some odd, witchlike pose. I drop my hand and the blood starts to rush back into it.

“I grew up coming here with my family, remember?” Holden says. “McKenna and I thought we’d go on our own spring break vacation here.”

I do remember him telling me he used to travel to Willow Cove in the summers with his family, but I couldn’t have known that would mean he would bring McKenna—the cousin who didn’t even tell me she’d started dating Holden. I had to find out from someone else.

“Well, text me and we can meet up if you want to!” Now my voice is reaching the highest of decibels. If I stay at this any longer, I’ll be at operatic levels.

I give a wave with my half-dead hand and step to the gate, head down, my smile as frozen as my feet once were.

I’m outside the diner’s patio, my sights set on my car that’s parked an unfortunate hundred yards away. I catch a glimpse of a couple of guys in my peripheral vision.

“You okay?” offers the taller one as he comes through the gate, holding it open for the man behind him. He’s wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and leather slides on his feet. His eyes are velvety rich chocolate.

“That was some scream,” the other one says. They look like they could be brothers with the same dark hair and tanned skin.

I make another waving motion like I did to the server and to my cousin and my ex, like, no big whoop . “I’m fine.” I laugh. “My throat’s a little sore, though.” I realize I’m raspy. It’d better clear up by Monday morning.

“Can I ask what happened?” the tall one says, joining my stride down the boardwalk.

The shorter one looks like he’s holding back a smile—at my expense.

“You know, the llama was flirting with me, and things got a little—wet.”

The shame of it is hitting me. Not only for the unholy screaming I just did, but all of it. All the things during the past two weeks of What in heaven’s name is happening to the dumpster fire that has become my life? are culminating right now. Tears are even threatening.

I clutch my middle, hoping and praying I can keep it together and the tomato bisque down.

The men start to laugh. “Sorry about Prince Harry,” the taller one says. “King tries to keep him in his pen, but he likes strutting through town like he’s in a parade.”

The shorter one claps his friend on the shoulder. “I better go, Billy. Portia wants to talk about wedding venues.” He nods to me. “I got engaged recently.”

I recognize the grin and the light in his eyes. I see it a lot as a wedding planner. He is a goner.

“Congratulations!” I say, already sizing him up for what type of tux or suit he might choose to wear.

It’s force of habit. Not that I’m going to be saying anything about my profession right now. All too often, when people discover what I do for a living, they launch into a discussion about their own proposal or wedding. Sometimes they even ask me to plan theirs. And right now? I’m feeling jaded—completely unable to talk about weddings. Besides, I just ran into Holden and McKenna. I cannot listen to any mushy love stuff tonight.

“Thanks. Glad you’re alright.” The shorter one offers a twitch of a grin and steps off the boardwalk and to his truck.

If I can just get to my car, I can drive to my moving boxes-filled four-plex rental and change out of my “Let’s impress my new town” clothes and into some baggy sweats. Which is exactly what I need to be able to reset myself for my new job on Monday.

Plus, I’m envisioning something cold and creamy in my future. Like ice cream to gently coat my stomach.

However, the attractive man to my left isn’t going to make this easy.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around. You on vacation?”

I toss a glance at him and his warm, golden-brown eyes. “What? The locals don’t make a habit of blood-curdling screams at Witty’s?”

A broad smile. “Not usually.”

“So, Billy, is it?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but I’m feeling brazen, so I charge ahead. “Why don’t you tell me, in ten words or less, what’s so great about Willow Cove?” I ask.

His brows go in the air. “Impossible.”

“Why is that?”

“There are too many to narrow it down.”

I slow my steps. “Brevity’s an important skill sometimes. Come on. Give it a try.”

He thinks a moment and then points across the street to Kingston’s Bakery. “We have the best baked goods in the state.”

“That’s only nine words.”

He counts silently on his fingers. “We have the best baked goods in the state, ma’am.” he amends.

I gaze out over the cars in the parking lot next to the beach, the ocean waves furling and unfurling in perfect cadence. “Funny how you mention the bakery when there’s this massive, incredible ocean right here. There you go, being a local who takes the ocean for granted.”

“I don’t take it for granted. Maybe some things are too personal to tell a stranger.” He follows my gaze to the water. “You a big fan of the ocean?”

I shrug. “It’s not without its charm.”

He takes a step off the boardwalk to the parking area, his handsome smile lighting up his face as he turns back to me. “I’ll show you charming.”

I open my mouth to protest because I’ve nearly reached my car and the pull of a very stretchy waistband, some sappy rom-com flick, and the mint chocolate chip ice cream in my freezer is too much to deny.

But he’s attractive. Very handsome. And I already had made up my mind that I was going to play nice here in Willow Cove so I can get back to my perfect five-year plan. I have to turn over a new leaf, so I can’t afford to be seen as a snob. He glances back at me, waiting for my reply.

“This better be good,” I say good-naturedly.

And in so not Dallas Olivia Cardon fashion, I even drop a flirtatious wink and rush to catch up to Billy, the intriguing local guy who’s making his way to the beach.