Chapter Eighteen
Tabby
T he scents of fresh produce and wildflowers mingle in the warm breeze as I adjust one of my wind chimes, making sure the twine knot is secure. The little pieces of seashells clink together in a soothing melody whenever the wind shifts, and I can’t help but smile at the sound. I spent yesterday experimenting with my latest batch, tying them at different lengths so the sound they made was soft and musical instead of sharp and clattering.
The farmers market is buzzing today, even more than usual. Tourists filter through the stalls, their arms full of flowers, homemade jams, and handwoven baskets. But it’s the locals that keep the place alive—the same people who’ve been coming here week after week, who know that the best tomatoes aren’t on the front table but in the crate behind it, and who come as much for the conversation as they do for the shopping.
And for the flirting.
“You must be puttin’ something extra in that fertilizer of yours, Tabby,” Old Man Lyle drawls, leaning heavily on his cane as he eyes the last of my heirloom tomatoes. “Your produce tastes better than anything my wife ever grew.”
I arch a brow. “Now, don’t you go telling that lie to the missus, Lyle.”
The men standing around his regular group let out deep chuckles, and Lyle just grins, showing off a row of teeth that are surprisingly intact for a man his age.
“Ah, a little lie never hurt nobody,” he says. “Neither does a little sweet talk. You know, if I was thirty years younger …”
I laugh, shaking my head as I pass him a basket. “If you were thirty years younger, you’d still be married and still be too old for me.”
That gets another round of laughter, and Lyle claps a hand over his chest, as if I wounded him.
“Damn, girl. You’re tough.”
“And you wouldn’t have me any other way.”
He winks before dropping some crumpled bills into my cash tin and shuffling off, calling back over his shoulder, “Don’t break too many hearts today, Tabby.”
I shake my head, still smiling as I tuck the money away. This is how it is every Tuesday. The men of Sandcastle Cove come by, flirt outrageously, and leave with more produce than they probably need. And I let them because it keeps them coming back, and honestly? It’s fun.
I’m rearranging a few of my paintings when I hear my name called in unison.
“Tabby!”
I look up just as Avie and Amiya reach my stall. They’re so similar yet so different—Avie’s blonde hair is sleek and tucked into a high ponytail while Amiya’s slightly darker blonde hair is wild and windblown.
“You are entirely too talented,” Avie declares, running her fingers lightly over one of my canvases. “Seriously, this is incredible.”
The painting she’s admiring is one of my favorites—a dusk scene of the beach, the waves a deep blue black, the sky painted in streaks of pink and gold. It’s the kind of sunset you only get in Sandcastle Cove.
“She’s right,” Amiya adds. “You could be selling these for way more than you are.”
I shrug. “I like knowing people can afford them. Art shouldn’t be just for the rich.”
Avie sighs. “That’s very poetic and all, but I still think you should be charging more.”
I laugh, turning back to my display, but when I glance at them again, I catch a shared look passing between them. A look I don’t trust.
“What?” I ask warily.
“Well …” Amiya starts, drawing out the word.
“We came over because we have a little invitation for you,” Avie finishes, her smile bright and hopeful.
I narrow my eyes. “An invitation?”
Amiya nods. “We’re throwing a sip-and-see for our friend Eden. She and Wade—Lennon’s friend—had a baby girl six months ago, and we figured it was about time everyone got together to celebrate her.”
I blink. “A what?”
“A sip-and-see,” Avie repeats. “You know, where everyone comes over, sips some drinks, and sees the baby.”
I hesitate, glancing between them. I love babies and can coo over them for hours, but I haven’t met Eden or Wade. “I don’t know. They don’t even know me, and that seems personal.”
“Oh, come on,” Amiya presses. “It’ll be fun. All of us will be there, including Anson—”
At his name, something flickers in my chest. Not nerves exactly. Something else. Something I don’t want to analyze right now.
“It’s really casual,” Avie adds. “No pressure, no baby games or anything weird. Just an excuse to get together, eat, drink, and celebrate.”
I hesitate again.
Amiya, ever perceptive, sees my resistance and smirks. “You’re not scared of a little baby, are you?”
I roll my eyes. “No.”
“Then, come.”
I exhale, crossing my arms. “I don’t have a gift.”
Avie waves a hand. “Not necessary.”
I press my lips together, still unsure, but the two of them are looking at me with such hopeful determination that I know they won’t drop this.
And the idea of being around them—not just them, but this little group they’ve formed, the one Anson is part of—doesn’t feel as suffocating as it should.
“Fine,” I say, sighing dramatically. “I’ll come. When is it?”
Avie claps her hands together. “Yay! It’s Friday evening.”
Amiya grins. “You’ll love Eden. She’s great, and we’ve already told her all about you. She’s excited to meet you.”
They already told her about me?
“Okay. Um, let me find a pen so you can write your address down. I have one here somewhere,” I say as I glance around my table.
Amiya waves me off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just tell Anson to pick you up and bring you. Bring a bathing suit, by the way.”
“Okay.” I nod, but I’m already wondering what I just got myself into.
Avie picks up the painting she was looking at. “I want this one. It’s my mom’s birthday, and I was looking for something local to send her. This is perfect. A little slice of Sandcastle Cove she can hang in Atlanta.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Amiya says. “I should get the other sunset one for Eden. The baby’s nursery is beach-themed, and it would look great above her crib.”
She reaches in her bag for her wallet, but I stop her.
“No. I’ll bring it to the party. My gift,” I say.
“Are you sure? I wanted to pay you for it,” she insists.
“Positive,” I assure her as I wrap Avie’s purchase in brown craft paper and hand it to her.
“Okay. We’ll see you on Friday. Don’t forget the swimsuit!”