47. Marnie
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Marnie
The following Thursday, the team and I work on last minute tasks to prepare for G&G’s Memorial Day Extravaganza. Peter and Marigold hang outdoor lights along the railing of our freshly stained gator observation deck. Roy posts the necessary signs, warning customers not to “feed, fondle, or otherwise fuck with” the gators—his description, not mine. The sign reads more professionally than that. Christie hangs colorful banners over our new picnic and dining area, stretching from the “smoking” porch to the side of the store. Wren runs the store (busy for lunch) while Wade gives Mom, Tilly, Elena, and Carmela a register and canteen tutorial—they’ve all agreed to help with our upcoming weekend.
I check in deliveries—the beer guys, the soda guys, the local farmers and artisans here to restock for what’s expected to be G&G’s biggest weekend ever.
The billboards are up and causing buzz. The mayor has agreed to kick off our festivities tomorrow at noon. We’ve booked a band and installed a life-size chess board and an extra-large Jenga set, adding more fun—I couldn’t plan an Extravaganza without games and music. The newspaper gave us a full-page spread. And my Instagram’s been on fire this week. The event promises to be a huge success.
Today’s already busy, with locals coming by to enjoy the store before the big rush.
Even so, the last person I expect to see today (or any day) is Ashe.
I don’t see him initially—just Wade, Christie, and Roy quickstepping in my direction from the dock like Bessie might be sneaking up on me for an afternoon snack. Wade fumbles with his phone, walking while talking.
I turn from my conversation with Alice Harvey, our soaps, candles, and teas vendor, to see what’s gotten them so serious, and there’s Ashe.
He pulls off his aviator sunglasses, looking dapper in his dark blue pants, striped button-down, and silky blue tie. His curly blonde hair is tamed with product, and somehow matches his cocky smirk.
I turn to Alice. “Hey, how about a fountain drink, on me? I need a minute.”
Despite her obvious curiosity, she obeys. The boys move in behind me, pinning me in the middle.
Ashe opens his mouth to speak, but Wade cuts him off. “Sullivans aren’t welcome here.”
“Wade, that’s not true. Everyone’s welcome here.” I retort, though I understand his disdain. Cora’s launched her own campaign against us with Sunny’s Beach Party—a week-long celebration highlighting forty-seven years in Seagrove. There’s everything from live music in the gazebo to free samples and door prizes. They’re advertising the best prices I’ve ever seen from them, almost on par with Food Lion. On top of that, our health inspector mysteriously kept delaying giving us the all-clear—it took weeks to get him to check out our Canteen. Some suspect his delay was Cora’s doing.
Still, I smile widely at Ashe, trying to set a better tone. “Sorry, Ashe, he doesn’t mean that.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Ashe says, “just to talk to Marnie.”
“Maybe Marnie doesn’t want to talk to you,” Roy blasts back, zip-zipping the electric screwdriver he’s holding like a gun.
I take a cleansing breath, pushing my notebook and clipboard at Wade. “Guys, it’s fine.”
Wade, Christie, and Roy exchange bothered glances until Wade leans in, “We’ve got chainsaws, hungry gators, and alibis.”
“Yeah, we’re watching you,” Christie chimes in, his red fingernails pointing at his eyes and then at Ashe.
“Dudes, back off. I come in peace,” Ashe tries, half-laughing at their efforts. “Please, Marnie. Five minutes.”
I step away from my protectors with a stern look, telling them not to follow. They should know by now that I can take care of myself, however sweet their intentions. Peter and Marigold finish their work on the lights and head toward the store. I direct Ashe toward the dock for privacy.
Ashe glances at the swamp but doesn’t seem interested in the swaying moss, the sunlight prism through the trees, or even Bessie, lingering in the green water nearby. Her eggs have hatched, and her babies scurry over her head like they’re playing tag. Few things are as strangely cute as that.
When he hesitates, I think to switch into old Marnie and help him along with pleasantries and guiding questions. But why should I do anything for the man who told me to get out of his store? My arms fold over my chest, and I plaster on a polite smile. “Well, what do you want, Ashe?”
“Granddad sent me. He’s pissed.”
My brow crinkles, trying to understand. Cora’s Dad, Bill Biggums, founded Sunny’s and would often pop by for white-gloved inspections after handing it over to Cora. I found his visits fun—he never found a speck of dust on my watch—but he stressed Cora out every time. Being handed a legacy as incredible as Sunny’s would be overwhelming and stressful, I suppose.
“Pissed about what?” I ask.
“What he’s calling The Great Sullivan Cock-Up,” he groans. “He sent me here on behalf of Sunny’s to apologize.”
“To me? And he sent you ? I’m surprised Cora didn’t step in and do it for you.”
He nods, shuffling on his feet and looking extremely uncomfortable. “I deserve that. After what happened at the restaurant, what you said, yeah, I realized I owe you an apology. Many apologies.”
The new decking must’ve fallen into a black hole, swirling us into oblivion, because I am flabbergasted. Dumbstruck. Confused.
“I’m sorry for how I treated you, Marnie. It was shocking at the time, having everything ripped out from under us. I’ve always looked up to Mom and how she handles the business, trusted her to tell me what to do,” he says. “So, when she said go, I went. When she said your notebook belonged to Sunny’s, I believed her. I didn’t fight for us when she said I should end things. I couldn’t even do it myself. I fucked up everything.”
He glances everywhere but at me as if struggling with every word. I don’t think he’s ever said so many things without inserting a laugh or joke. “I appreciate that, Ashe. Granddad must be furious.”
A smile cuts through his anguish. “Livid. He’s come out of retirement.”
“What?” I gasp. “Isn’t he like… almost eighty?”
Ashe nods. “Yep, but he’s made Mom take a step back from operations at Seagrove. We’ve had to cut staff. The new store manager is terrible. Granddad’s worried that a damn convenience store might put Seagrove’s Sunny’s out of business. Our profits are down twenty percent, and that’s before your grand re-opening.”
I gasp so sharply that I choke on a bug. “Twenty? Seriously?”
“I’ll deny that outside of this conversation,” he says. “But yes. We’re hoping things’ll pick up with the tourists, but for now, the locals prefer you.”
I do a shameless happy dance on the dock—I can’t help it.
“Don’t get too excited. The beach store is doing great, and Grandad’s tasked me to revitalize the Seagrove branch. We won’t be down long.”
I grin widely. “As part owner of the G&G and soon-to-be business consultant, I look forward to the competition.”
He smirks. “Yeah, I heard about that... This might help.”
He pulls out his phone, swipes the screen, and shows me a picture. It’s the front wall of the beach store, where the managers are listed with their pictures under the beach mural and bold Welcome to Sunny’s!
Beside Sunny’s Store Manager portrait is a picture of me next to the words Store Designer & Concept Creator .
“Eep!” I gush, my wide eyes going from his to the picture and back again. “I can’t believe it! Are you responsible for this?”
With a sheepish shrug, he says, “What you said at Rebellion about getting credit for your ideas and being valued as you are. That’s on us, too. I’m sorry.”
“You should be, but it’s on me, too—I should’ve insisted. But thanks, Ashe. That means a lot.”
“Least we could do.” He shrugs, smiling in a way I once loved. Only now it feels fake. My eyes narrow as his apology ping-pongs in my head, and my defenses rise—I know the Sullivans, and they’re never generous without a reason.
“You want something,” I decide finally. “What is it?”
He rolls his eyes, clearly irritated, but he swallows it. “Come back to Sunny’s,” he says, looking nervous again. “I promise, you won’t be devalued again.”
My mouth drops, but then I remember the bugs and close it again. It’s like I have a brain freeze, though I haven’t eaten anything cold. “Come back to Sunny’s?”
“Granddad wants you to manage the Seagrove store. Full benefits. Full control. Profit sharing. He said he’d move Mom’s office elsewhere. He’s offering six figures, Marnie. You’d make as much as me, more if you haggle.”
“That’s bold, considering what your family’s put me through. What makes you think I’d want that?”
“Just consider it. He wants you to join him for dinner at the club to discuss it. A future with Sunny’s would be easier and more lucrative than resurrecting places like this .”
My brow cocks at his tone change. I glance around at the gorgeous swamp, the alligator nursery, and my three protectors watching from the smoking porch. Wade now has a shovel to heighten his intimidation factor. I chuckle at them and take in the old store with warm admiration.
“Places like this have character,” I say, smiling. “Tell Bill thanks, but no thanks, and good luck to you both. I predict a dreary summer ahead for Sunny’s.”
“Yeah, told ‘em it’d be a long shot,” he says with a small shrug. “Thanks for hearing me out, though.”
“Oh, my pleasure.” I stick my hand out for him to shake, but he yanks me to him instead.
“It’s really good to see you,” he says near my ear. A show for the boys or just typical Sullivan entitlement—I don’t know. But I push him away, having none of it.
Behind him, The Beast tears around the corner and whips into the parking lot.
“Oh, hells bells. They called Grady,” I say.
Grady exits The Beast, slamming the door, eyes locked on us. He’s in his scrubs, and I suspect some poor puppy or kitten has been left with Aunt Elena mid-examination at Wade’s urgent call. He beelines toward us, eyes narrowed and fists tight.
“Tell me something,” Ashe says, seemingly unworried about my angry boyfriend. “Does he make you happy? Truly happy?”
A wide grin stretches over my face with the question, sweeping me into a memory of just this morning, when Grady woke me with coffee and said, “Here or outside?” just as he’s done every morning since I moved in. I’ll never know why I dragged my feet over moving in with Grady. Fear, I guess. Or maybe I was just too set in my lonely ways. Whatever the case, I have settled into our place in no time. Like this morning, when, to answer his question, I said, “Here and outside?” just as I had every morning. He took his cue, putting the coffee aside and climbing into bed with me for our other wake-up tradition. Then, our shower. Then, fresh coffee on the porch or at the dock. Already, we have this beautiful routine that’s easy and entirely us. He’s where I belong, a truth I’m assured of every time I see him.
Even when he’s in jealous, protective, grouchy mode.
“I couldn’t be happier,” I say, almost dreamily.
Ashe meets Grady at the foot of the deck and extends his hand. The men shake, though Grady looks suspicious. Then, Ashe turns to me with a coy smile. “Glad for you, Marnie. Hope I never need a business consultant, but if I do, you’ll be the only one I call.”
“I’ll be waiting,” I chuckle.
He leaves then, brushing by Grady carelessly as he approaches me. I greet him with a big smile and a soft embrace. “Everything’s fine. Relax, Grady.”
“What the fuck did that mean? Why would he call you?”
“We did it, Grady. We rammed our pirate ship right into them, and now, they’re sinking,” I say, beaming. “Sunny’s is sinking . Cora’s already gone down with the ship.”
I rattle off my explanation, wide-eyed and animated with excitement. Justification, validation, true comeuppance—these are precious rarities in real life, and I can’t help but do another victory dance as I explain it all to Grady. I hit him with terms like twenty percent and Store Designer and Concept Creator , which I will, of course, be adding to my new business cards.
“He offered me the store manager job. Six-figures! And I turned him down. Do you know how badass I feel right now?”
He laughs. “As you should. As you deserve.”
“So, see?” I give him a playful slap on his arm. “You left that poor Chihuahua on the exam table for nothing.”
He looks sheepish. “It was a beagle, actually.”
“Did you really think I couldn’t handle Ashe myself?” I turn to my three dads, still watching from the smoking porch, and repeat the question to them.
Christie shrugs. Roy scratches his head. Wade leans his shovel against the side of the shed, defeated.
“Go back to work, you numpties!” I order, shooing them along.
“Okay, you made your point,” Grady says when my attention returns to him. “I overreacted.” He slips his hands around me. “Sorry.”
“Well, maybe don’t be at Wade’s beck and call next time. I can handle myself.”
“Don’t I know it?” He leans into me, lips coiled coyly. “Congratulations, Captain.”
After a tongue-laced kiss, I relax against him. “Well, thanks, and it’s not such a bad thing, your surprise visit. Jealous rage is sexy on you.”
He laughs. “You’re sexy on me. Have I told you lately how proud of you I am?”
“Um, no, actually.” I tap my chin thoughtfully. “I don’t think so.”
He nuzzles my nose with his, leaning closer. “I’m so incredibly proud of you. You are the baddest badass I know. I fucking love sailing the high seas with you.”
Laughter fills the small space between us. “Oh, my. I can’t wait for home.”
He slaps my ass and gives me another short kiss. “Me, neither. Don’t be late.”
Then, he leaves me for the poor beagle needing his attention.
The Extravaganza goes off without a hitch, well, except for the long lines and parking—we had to think on our feet to alleviate those issues. We invited extra vendors to set up their wares outside, creating a farmer’s market. Peter sold four rocking chairs and got two orders from customers wanting a “door porch” for their backyards. Marigold sold six swamp landscapes and dozens of handmade cards and postcards—she’s embraced the swamp theme. We sold out of hot dogs twice, leaving us scrambling to get more from our distributors—a good problem to have. The G&G profited more in one weekend than Wade’s entire last year.
And, with a promise to continue the farmer’s market on weekends and all of our extra amenities for traveling families a huge hit, we expect our numbers to keep rising all summer. Suck it, Sunny’s.
We end the weekend’s events with fireworks Sunday night. Locals come out in droves carrying picnic blankets and lawn chairs. The lot is full, and the store is busy.
Grady finds me, wrapping his arms around my waist as the professionals I’ve hired ready their display. I lean into him, tired but exhilarated. “You’re chilly,” he says, rubbing my arms. “Want me to grab you a hoodie from The Beast?”
I almost say yes. But looking around at the full, happy crowd, and seeing everyone doing such a great job at handling the event, I’m overrun with deep satisfaction. My work here is done. I don’t want the hoodie. I want to go home.
So, I twist in his arms, catching the soft blue of his eyes in the twinkle lights overhead. “Let’s sneak out of here, okay?”
“Definitely.” He takes my hand, pulling me gently through the masses and behind the building. We climb into The Beast and go home.
We watch the fireworks from our dock, curled under a blanket to keep the evening chill off, and see most of the show just over the tree line. I text Wade, letting him know I left early and congratulating him on the store’s success. He answers:
It’s so perfect that my eyes fill with tears.
I’m okay with tears these days. It’s like Grady once said. Frowns, fears, and tears are human necessities. Someone to share them all with is another. Grady is and always will be that person for me. He holds my hand across the armrests of our chairs, butted next to each other, twiddling with my fingers and warming me while fireworks reflect in his eyes. It’s a strange, beautiful moment, knowing nothing is missing.
“Keep staring at me like that, and we won’t finish the show,” he says, keeping his eyes on the fireworks overhead.
I giggle. “Fireworks, eh. Who needs them?”
Then, he pulls me into his arms for our own fireworks.