Seventeen
Sadie
M y old sweatpants might as well be a chastity belt.
They hang off my hips, big and baggy, as I stretch out on the lounge chair by the pool.
It’s my day off, which means I have plenty of time to let Alex’s insults and Beckett’s disappearing act after I fell asleep run laps around my brain.
I tried. I failed. Maybe I am bad at sex.
I push the thought away. It circles back anyway, taunting me.
My sunglasses shield my eyes, not from the sun, but from my own bruised pride. The real bitch of it? Beckett doesn’t even seem to want to be my practice partner.
I roll onto my stomach, pressing my cheek against the rough towel.
A breeze skims the water, and I try to let it carry the thoughts away.
The day is warm, not a cloud in sight. It should be perfect for lying out here, soaking up sun.
But I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. That I’m wrong.
He told me I wasn’t bad at sex, yet he left me right after. Why would he go sleep in his own bed?
If I’m bad at sex, does that mean I’ll always be bad?
Was last night a huge mistake?
I groan and bury my face in the crook of my arm.
Of course Beckett would turn out to be incredible while I’m left floundering, second-guessing every move I made. I wish I could say it didn’t matter. That I don’t care.
But it does.
And I do.
The worst part is, it’s not even about the sex. Not really.
I sigh. When Tarryn offered, a day off work sounded great.
Between the fundraiser and the tasting room, I needed some time to rest. But now it just means more time to overthink.
I roll onto my back and drag my fingers through my hair.
It’s a mess of tangles, but I leave it that way, too tired to fix it.
Last night, it was messy for different reasons.
I wasn’t expecting what happened between us, but now I know exactly what I’m missing.
This morning, I found Beckett in the kitchen, and he asked if I regretted it, like he already knew the answer. I told him it wouldn’t happen again.
What else was I supposed to say? He wouldn’t have left me if he didn’t regret it.
I’ve never had a one-night stand. I guess I can check that off my bucket list.
I keep playing it over—the feel of him, the heat of his skin, the weight of him above me. The way he whispered my name.
I thought we were both feeling the same thing.
But apparently not. God, I hate him.
I let him in, just for a moment, and now I don’t know how to shut the door again.
The pool glitters like it’s mocking me. I wish I could dive in and wash the last twenty-four hours away. Hell, the whole of last year. Alex’s voice creeps back in, sharp and cruel. “You’re too uptight. Stuck in your own head. No wonder you’re bad at sex.”
He’d said it like a fact, not an insult. Like I should’ve already known.
But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
And now I’m sprawled out on this chair, trying to convince myself it doesn’t matter what Beckett thinks, that I’ll survive this the same way I survived Alex.
But it feels different.
Because this isn’t just some guy I was biding my time with. It’s him . Beckett. The one who took me in. The one who arranged a job for me and is encouraging me as I get on my feet.
And maybe that’s the real problem.
Later that afternoon, I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to decide if I look casual or like I’m trying to look casual.
Crisp white capris, a T-shirt just fancy enough to say “I planned this,” not “I gave up.” A small pair of earrings, mascara, and a swipe of lip gloss round it out, like a little extra effort will somehow prepare me for what’s ahead—coffee with Ginny and family dinner tonight with the Paradises.
I should be excited—and part of me is—but mostly I’m nervous. It’s the kind of nerves that tighten the closer you get to something you’re not sure you can handle.
Ginny and I were close once. Really close.
Years ago there were whole months where Ginny was the only person I could talk to without falling apart.
Her family was a mess. Her grandmother, Evelyn, ruled the Dempsey house like a dictator, and Ginny bore the brunt of it.
There were screaming matches, slammed doors, and so many nights she’d sneak out just to breathe .
We held each other up while everything around us crumbled. How we finished school was a miracle. But we did it. We worked crappy jobs and lived in an apartment together and tried to forget about our families.
But her family wouldn’t let her go. They called, begged, and threatened. And then she left.
She packed her bags and moved to Vancouver. She promised we’d stay in touch, and we tried. I visited once. But she already had a new rhythm—new friends, a new life. I felt like an afterthought, a shadow from a part of her past she didn’t want to remember.
Eventually, the calls slowed. The texts stopped.
And I let it go because it hurt too much to hold on.
But now she’s back. And I have no idea what that means.
When it’s time, I slip into sandals, grab my bag, and drive across town with a stomach full of nerves and a heart full of things I haven’t said out loud in years.
The café where we always used to meet is exactly the same—the same chipped blackboard menu outside, the same smell of espresso and sugar drifting out the front door.
For a second, I’m sixteen again, waiting on the front patio for Ginny to show up in her battered blue hatchback with that reckless grin and a stolen six-pack of light beer in the trunk.
I take a breath and walk inside.
And there she is.
Sitting at a small table in the back corner, her long legs crossed, a half-empty mug of coffee cupped in her hands. Her hair’s pulled into a messy bun, sunglasses perched on top like she just stepped off a plane. She hasn’t seen me yet.
But I see her, and for a moment, I just watch.
She looks older. Sharper around the edges.
But there’s still something so familiar in the curve of her shoulders, the way she taps her fingers against the ceramic, like she’s keeping time to a song no one else can hear.
All the old memories rush in—late nights, whispered secrets, shared grief—and it makes my throat tighten .
Then she looks up, and our eyes lock.
Ginny Dempsey smiles like nothing’s broken. Like no time has passed. “Sadie,” she says, rising to her feet. There’s something soft in her voice. Hopeful.
I walk toward her, heart thudding, unsure what to say. But before I can overthink it, she wraps her arms around me.
“God, it’s good to see you,” she murmurs.
“You too,” I say, my voice rough.
We sit across from each other, a little hesitant now that the hug is over, now that there’s no formal agenda to guide us. Her coffee’s already half gone, and I haven’t even ordered. I glance toward the counter, but she waves a hand.
“I got here early. Guess I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
I smile, a little wry. “I almost didn’t.”
“Why?”
“I wasn’t sure if this would be awkward.”
“And is it?”
I hesitate, then shake my head. “Not yet.”
Ginny laughs, and it sounds like it used to—easy, unfiltered. “Give it time.”
Something inside me loosens. I lean back in my chair, finally taking a breath. “I’ve missed you,” I admit.
She nods. “Me too.”
And just like that, we’re not strangers anymore.
We ease into conversation the way you do with someone who used to know you by heart, carefully, testing the temperature. It’s not like it was, not yet, but the rhythm is still there, buried under time and hurt and everything we never said.
Ginny wraps her hands around her mug, eyes dancing. “So…” she says, drawing out the word. “Imagine my surprise when I opened the Black Bear News yesterday and saw you in the social pages.”
I blink. “What?”
“You didn’t know?” Her grin widens, and she reaches into her bag, pulling out a folded copy of the local paper. She slides it across the table .
There we are. Me and Beckett. Frozen mid-laugh on the dance floor. My head tipped toward him, his hand on my back like it belongs there. The headline underneath reads, “Paradise’s Newest Flame? Dr. Beckett and a Mystery Brunette Light Up Fundraiser.”
“Oh my God.” I press a hand over my face. “No.”
Ginny laughs. “Yes. And look at you. Glamorous, glowing. That dress? The hair? You look like you two belong together.”
“I look like I was holding on by a thread,” I mutter. “That dress had a slit up to my soul.”
Ginny snorts. “You’re ridiculous.” But she’s smiling, soft and maybe a little wistful. “Well, it worked. You and Dr. Perfect looked cozy.”
I lower the paper. “We live under the same roof, not in the same bed.”
Her brows shoot up, and she gives me a look that says, Okay, sure, and I was born yesterday.
“Just the guest room,” I add quickly. “I showed up on his doorstep after walking out of my ex’s house.”
“Ex-boyfriend?”
“Yeah. Alex Tremblay.”
She nods slowly. “Let me guess. You walked in on him and someone else.”
“No. I don’t think he was seeing anyone else. He had pot dick.”
Her sip of latte almost sprays me. She dabs at her mouth with a napkin. “What is pot dick?”
“It’s a version of limp dick. You can’t get it up because you get stoned too often.” I take a sip of my drink. “But I left because the lies had stacked too high and I was always afraid. He and his brother were up to something, and I didn’t want to find myself an accessory.”
Ginny winces. “Oof. That’s a good idea.”
“Is walking in on your boyfriend with someone else what brought you back here? ”
Her eyes pool with tears, and she takes a deep breath and nods.
My eyes widen. “Wait—really?”
She lifts a shoulder, casual but not unaffected. “Caught my fiancé in bed with his so-called business partner. In our sheets. Wedding was in six weeks.”
“Oh, Ginny…”
“Yeah. I packed a bag and drove straight home. Didn’t even stop to tell my family I was coming. Just…left.”
I reach for her hand across the table. She lets me take it, her fingers warm in mine.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t keep in touch,” I whisper. “You needed me.”
She shrugs again, but her eyes are still glassy. “Life got messy. But I’m glad we’re here now.”
I squeeze her hand before letting go. “So what are you going to do back in town, besides dodge future heartbreak?”
She perks up a bit, her smile returning. “You saw me doing it. I took over the gift shop from my mom.”
“Really? That’s great.”
“I like it more than I thought I would. I put together the basket you picked up, since my mom was busy with Evelyn.”
Ginny started calling her grandmother by her first name when we were in high school, mostly because it irritated her.
“That basket was fabulous. Clearly you have a gift for working in the gift shop.” I complete my statement with a ridiculous face.
She giggles. “Yeah. I actually love it—organizing inventory, helping tourists find the perfect overpriced tea towel. It’s weirdly satisfying.”
I smile, because it sounds like Ginny—capable, creative, and determined to build something on her own terms.
“That’s amazing,” I say. “I feel the same way about the Paradise Hill tasting room. I love how with a few preference questions, I can find someone a wine they’ll like enough to buy a few bottles. ”
Her eyes widen again. “Wait, I just put it together. You’re living with Beckett and working for his family?”
“Temporarily. It just…happened.”
Ginny leans back, crossing her arms with a knowing look. “You really are cozying up to the enemy.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not like that.”
She grins. “Sure it’s not.”
And somehow, just like that, we’re back. Not completely or perfectly, but enough. Conversation falls into a lull, quiet but comfortable, and then I clear my throat again. “There’s something else,” I say softly.
Her gaze lifts to mine.
“I’m worried about Rosie,” I continue. “She’s been in the hospital for almost a year, and they still can’t find a match.”
Ginny freezes. The color drains from her face. “A year? Why is it so hard?”
“Her blood type is AB-negative. It’s the rarest one.
Then they have to match her size and some health factors.
She’s stable right now. But when they admitted her, she was in terrible shape.
She lived alone and needed constant medical care.
She’s a real trooper, though. We’ve been working on a bucket list of things to do and places to go once she gets her heart transplant.
You should check it out and go with us.”
Tears fill Ginny’s eyes so fast I almost reach for her again. Her lips tremble as she exhales the words. “Sadie, I’ve been a terrible friend.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“I left her, and I didn’t look back or call. I didn’t even try.”
“Rosie doesn’t care about that,” I say gently. “She just wants to see you. Honestly, she’ll probably cry happy tears and then make some snarky comment about your outfit.”
Ginny lets out a shaky laugh that breaks into a sniffle. “That sounds like her.”
“I’m going to stop by there after this,” I tell her, making a snap decision. I’m not a Paradise, so there’s no reason I’m required to have dinner at their house. Beckett can handle that without me, like he does everything else. “You want to come with me?”
She hesitates. Swallows hard. Then nods. “Yeah. I do.”
We head out to the Jeep, and I unlock the doors with a beep that echoes. Ginny climbs into the passenger seat while I toss my bag into the back. But as I round the front to the driver’s side, I catch sight of someone across the street.
My stomach drops. It’s one of Alex’s friends—Dwayne, I think. One of Alex’s shadows. Always lurking, always watching with those cold and calculating eyes. He’s leaning against a truck, arms crossed like he’s been waiting.
He sees me. Smiles. Then he lifts his hand. He forms a finger gun and aims it straight at me, pulling the imaginary trigger.
I freeze, breath caught in my throat.
Ginny’s already inside, struggling with her seatbelt. She doesn’t notice.
My skin prickles, heat rushing to my face, but I force myself to move. To act normal. I open the door and slide in, my hands trembling as I grip the steering wheel.
I try to tell myself it’s nothing. A stupid gesture from a stupid man. But it doesn’t feel harmless. No matter how hard I try, I can’t pretend I’m not afraid.