Chapter 5 #2
He points to the shop. “Clothing store’s there. Drugstore’s beside it. Right across the street is the Seaglass Saloon. I’ll wait inside. They’ll be playing the recap of last night’s Mariners game, so I’m in no rush.”
“Great.”
I climb out in my sweatpants, baggy T-shirt, and size-twelve men’s slides, envelope clutched tight and an extremely valuable necklace around my neck. Maybe Wild Rose Point has a pawn shop.
“See you in a few,” Ryan says.
“See you in a few,” I echo, tucking the money deep in my pocket before heading into the clothing store.
Inside, warm light glows and a sandalwood candle burns. There are no Theory blazers or Rag & Bone jeans here, just soft crewnecks, Patagonia shorts, and practical, unfussy clothes. After weeks of dressing up for pre-wedding events, the thought of slipping into anything here feels like heaven.
“Hey!” the woman behind the counter calls. “Need help?”
“Just a few things,” I say. Shorts, pants, a T-shirt, maybe a sweatshirt. Three hundred dollars suddenly feels insufficient…until I flip a tag and remember that normal people don’t spend a hundred bucks on a T-shirt.
After trying on a few things, I emerge with a small stack—underwear, a bralette, basic flip-flops.
Then I spot them: pink sandals with little strawberries across the band, the same ones I’d once wanted at the Dallas airport before Jack had raised an eyebrow and said, “You’re not ten, babe. ” I’d dropped them immediately.
“I’ll take these instead,” I say, picking up the strawberry slides and placing them on the counter.
The total comes to just over $150. I pause, then look at the white eyelet dress on the mannequin.
I should have an aversion to white dresses at this point, but this one is casual, airy.
The type of dress that serves many purposes, something you can pull over a bathing suit after a day on the beach or wear to a baby shower.
It would look perfect with the sandals. Budget be damned, I want to own it.
“Actually…I’ll take the dress too. I’m going to change into it. ”
Impulsivity seems to be my thing now.
A stop at the drugstore for toothpaste, face wash, lotion, the same coconut body lotion from my teenage years, and a hairbrush, and I’m set. Eighty-four dollars left. Enough to get by.
I’ve just crossed the street in front of the bar when a narrow path catches my eye.
It leads to another area of small shops.
I head down the path, and a display in a shop window beckons me.
Decks of tarot cards, collections of crystals in vibrant hues, candles of all shapes and sizes.
I glance up at the shop’s sign. The Water Witch.
Something about it feels as absurd as the situation I find myself in right now, so without thinking, I let myself through the door.
The shopkeeper looks up from the display she’s tidying by the far wall.
The space is packed to the brim. The shelves are stacked with books on astrology and tarot.
The air smells sweetly of sandalwood and something else I can’t quite place.
In the back, there’s a room that appears to be a fortune-telling space.
“Welcome,” the pretty copper-haired woman says.
“Let me know if you need a hand with anything.”
“Thanks.” I survey the shelves, which are all organized by color.
The section that houses everything violet catches my eye, lined with polished stones and crystals.
I pick up the first one, which is labelled on the shelf as amethyst. Intuition, protection, the small card reads.
There’s a rich royal purple stone, sugilite, which apparently is associated with spiritual growth.
But the one I’m drawn to the most is swirled with purple and black.
“Charoite,” the shopkeeper says. The woman appears beside me. Eliana, her nametag reads. “It promotes transformation.”
Transformation. The word catches somewhere in my chest. I clutch the stone in my hand, and suddenly I need it more than any clothing item or toiletry. “I’ll take it,” I say. Jack would have shaken his head at the sandals. What would he think of this?
With my new talisman safe in my pocket, I exit the shop and locate the Seaglass Saloon, an old building with nautical signs in the windows, which sits at the edge of the strip .
Inside, loud chatter and classic rock guitar bounce off the weathered wood floors. The bar smells like a mix of salt air and lemon oil, and there’s an ocean-inspired mural on the far wall. It’s charming, in its own way.
I find Ryan at the bar, sleeves rolled up, leaning in to listen to the bartender, an older woman with sun-bleached hair and a wide grin. Ryan listens like what the woman’s saying really matters to him. It’s…nice. He’d listened to me too, without judgment. At least, not out loud.
Ryan’s gaze shifts to meet mine. His expression changes as he takes in my new outfit. I suppress a flash of self-consciousness.
He’s a stranger. A kind stranger, but still. I’ll never see him again after I leave Wild Rose Point. Why should I care what he thinks?
“Come on in,” the bartender says. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I’m meeting him,” I say, looking back at Ryan, who’s still studying me, quietly curious.
The bartender smiles. “I’m Delia. Welcome to the Seaglass Saloon. You’re a friend of Ryan’s? I haven’t seen you in town before.”
Some wild impulse breaks loose inside me, except this one feels right.
“Sort of. I’m Ryan’s date to the wedding this weekend,” I say brightly. “Will you be there?”
Delia’s eyebrows raise. Ryan’s eyes flicker with confusion, possibly amusement. And something else?
“Of course I’ll be there,” Delia says. “Everyone will.”
“Everyone,” Ryan echoes, looking at me with an expression I can’t read. “Apparently.”
“What can I get you to drink?” Delia asks. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
Panic flickers. “Katie,” I say before I can stop myself. The Fordhams could very well be known around here, and in towns like these, news travels fast. The last thing I need is anyone realizing Jack’s runaway bride is holed up in Wild Rose Point.
“Okay, Katie. What’ll it be?”
“I’ll have what he’s having.” Pizza, grilled cheese, beer, why not? I’ve become a real “yes, and” person this week. Then I see the taps behind the bar. “Actually, what’s that?” I ask, pointing to a tap with an icon of a moon on it.
Delia grins. “Not sure you want that. It’s a full moon later this week.”
Ryan chuckles. “Nope. You sure don’t.”
I look between Delia and Ryan. “Is someone going to fill me in on the joke?”
“Mooncatcher Lager,” Delia says. “Legend has it if you drink one at midnight on a full moon, you’ll meet your soulmate.”
“Well, that’s days away, so I guess I’m safe.”
“Too close for comfort for me,” Delia says. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She winks, tips a pint glass in front of the tap, and moments later, places the pint in front of me before moving down the bar to serve another customer.
When I turn to Ryan, he’s looking at me with a bemused expression. “Katie, huh?” He nods at the empty stool beside him. “Have a seat.”
“It’s my middle name.” I put my bags down and climb onto the stool, strawberry-sandaled feet dangling.
Ryan leans in, the warm spice of his cologne filling the air. “What do you think you’re doing?” His tone sounds more curious than anything.
“You said the wedding would be tough, especially going alone. So I thought…why don’t I come with you? As your date?”
“And what, pretend you’re my girlfriend?”
I shrug, suddenly unsure. “Up to you.” God, was that insane? I’ve just committed myself to staying here until the weekend.
Ryan takes a sip of his beer, then chuckles.
“What?” I say, heat rising to my cheeks. “Sorry. That was probably a stupid idea.”
“You’re just…unexpected.” He studies me, eyes warm and unreadable.
Self-conscious again, I take a long sip of my beer.
“You sure about this?” Ryan asks.
“Do you really believe that kind of lore?” To be fair, I have a magic rock in my pocket. But he doesn’t need to know that.
“Not about the beer. I’m a scientist, remember? No, I was talking about the wedding. It’s going to be…quite the event.”
Am I sure? Not even close. A wedding, right after walking away from my own?
But Ryan’s been so kind. And I need a place to stay.
Offering to be his date buys me time to figure out what comes next.
It’s polite. And practical. And, given the little spark in my stomach at the thought of Ryan in a suit… .enticing.
“I figure if I’m stuck here for a few days anyway, why not make myself useful? I may need to borrow more money though,” I say. “For a dress.”
“That one’s nice,” he says, nodding toward the white dress I’m wearing. It’s clear by the flicker of interest in his eyes, and how his gaze lingers for a moment at the place where the dress dips slightly at the neckline, that he approves.
“I can’t wear this to a wedding.”
“Why not?”
“It’s white. And not dressy enough. If I’m going to be your ‘date,’ don’t you want me to fit in?”
“I don’t really mind what you wear, but I’m happy to buy you a dress,” he says. “No faux pas for you.”
The way he says it is gentle. Not show-offy. Not like Jack, who liked to be recognized for his generosity.
“I’m buying my own dress,” I say. “But we don’t have to figure that out now.” I lift my glass. “A toast. To weddings.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Surprised to hear you say that.”
“I have nothing against weddings. In theory. Just the one I was involved in.”
“I can’t promise you this will be much better.”
We clink glasses and seal the deal. I’m going to be Ryan’s fake date to his ex’s wedding, only days after my own was supposed to happen.
It should feel like a terrible idea.
Instead, I can’t wait.