Chapter 4
Cal
I’ve carried a lot of random things and people in my life.
A drunk fisherman. A raccoon taking up residence in the bar that absolutely didn’t want to be relocated.
A Christmas tree for a tourist that was wider than the doorway, and the tourist insisted it would fit.
It did not fit, but I made it fit anyway, much to their dismay.
But, carrying a beautiful yet broken woman who had the worst day of her life is definitely the most enjoyable.
Not the pain she went through. That shit sucks.
There’s something sacred, though, about her letting down her guard enough to trust me with such a task.
I’m just grateful she landed in my bar and not at someplace shady.
Not everyone would have handled her situation with respect.
Life hasn’t been kind to her today. And that infuriates me.
Drool soaks into my shirt and I stifle a grin.
Again, not the first time I’ve been drooled on, but certainly the best. Up close like this, I can smell her expensive perfume, but can’t name what it is.
When I stopped the truck, she protested for about ten seconds outside the vehicle, insisting she was mostly fine and could walk, before gravity won, and she melted into me like her body finally gave up.
Your shitty day is almost over, Silvie.
Birdie’s porch light is on when I reach her cottage.
That woman is one of the older women of Coconut Beach who meddle and look out for everyone.
I turn the knob and nudge the door with my hip, letting myself in.
Birdie looks up from the couch, a TV glowing in front of her, and she takes in the scene without missing a beat.
I am carrying a beautiful woman, who’s wearing nothing but her underwear, and wrapped in a towel. It doesn’t look great.
She stands and asks me calmly, a frown marring her features, “Where are my baby’s clothes?”
I clear my throat. “She was in her wedding dress.”
An insanely expensive wedding dress. One that probably cost more than my truck. I think the way she looked at me when she said she needed that dress off will haunt me for a while. It was as if the dress was hurting her physically and emotionally when she begged me to help her get it off.
Birdie squints. “What happened to the dress?”
“She had a panic attack,” I say carefully, “Wanted it off. I think it was sewn on her. That dress is now no longer operational.”
Birdie exhales long and slow, as if this confirms something she already suspected.
“Lordy, Lou,” she mutters and heads down the hall to her guest room. “This girl has been through it.”
I nod and carry Silvie down the hall after Birdie, her blonde hair spilling over my chest, her breath slow and even. She murmurs something, and her fingers curl in my shirt. My chest tightens in a way I didn’t plan for.
Birdie opens the door to her guest room and flicks on the lamp.
The space fills with warm light. Worn and faded quilts are neatly folded at the bottom of the bed.
Everything looks ready, as if Birdie had lovingly prepared this room for her.
Silvie clearly means something to Birdie and is so special to her.
I gently lay Silvie on the bed and pull a quilt up around her. She murmurs a little and curls onto her side. “Thanks, Cal.”
I give her a little pat and then follow Birdie to the living room.
Her face softens. “Thank you for bringing her home.”
“Of course. So, this is your Silvie?” I ask quietly.
Birdie nods proudly. “This is my Silvie.”
Silvie is beautiful in a way I can’t put my finger on.
She seems fierce but soft around the edges.
And you don’t fall asleep in a stranger’s arms unless you’re exhausted all the way through.
You don’t beg them to rip you out of your dress.
It makes me care a little more than I should, which honestly, makes me a little uneasy.
I don’t get attached to tourists.
But she’s not a tourist, is she? She’s Birdie’s Silvie.
Birdie crosses her arms and tilts her head at me. “Did she tell you what happened?”
“She didn’t say much,” I admit. “She ate and hung out with a group at the bar to wait for you to be done with bingo.”
There was a lot more than that, but I’m not going to spill all that to Birdie. It’s her story to tell. Not mine. I still can’t seem to shake from my mind how raw pain morphed Silvie’s expression whenever no one was looking. No one but me. I’m a bartender, so we notice these things.
Keep telling yourself that, pal.
“I would have left bingo when she called me,” she huffs.
“She said she didn’t want you to do that.” I gesture toward the back of the house. “I don’t know what happened with her groom. Seems like he let a good thing go.”
“You have no idea,” Birdie murmurs. “Oh, honey. We should be celebrating that she didn’t marry the tool bag.”
That’s something we can both agree on. I barely know Silvie, but I know enough that the man who let her go is a douchebag.
“How come you didn’t go to the wedding?” I ask with a slight frown.
I shouldn’t care. Normally, I don’t. At least not past a surface level. It’s unnerving to worry about someone I barely know. Birdie is clearly someone very important to her. Not having her at the wedding must’ve been hard.
Birdie frowns and she shakes her head. “Her mother doesn’t care for me and wouldn’t have me at the wedding. I told her I would celebrate with her later. I didn’t want to go and make a fuss.”
There’s clearly history there.
“Her ex sounds like a piece of work,” I blurt out, even though it’s truly not my business. Still, I’m curious. I don’t want to be, but I am.
You’re going to get yourself in trouble with this one if you’re not careful.
“Oh, he is,” she says, scowling. “Anyone who fumbles Silvie is an idiot.”
It was more than a fumble. The woman ran from her wedding. She was barely holding it together.
“She seems sad,” I say softly.
Birdie studies me for a long beat. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the inspection, but she eventually gives me a reprieve and looks away.
“I don’t know all the details, Cal, but she ran out of the wedding and came here.
So, it can’t be good.” She pauses, then adds with a conspiratorial wink, “Or it is. Now she can find someone who deserves her.”
I give her a pointed look. Birdie is a meddler and loves to play matchmaker in this small beach town of ours. My curiosity and eagerness to help Silvie doesn’t play well in my favor. It makes me appear interested. Which I’m not.
Liar.
“It doesn’t seem like she wants to be fixed up,” I say to Birdie. “She seems like she wants to be left alone.”
She scoffs and waves off my words as if they’re silly.
“Well, if either of you need anything,” I say, clearing my throat and hoping to redirect this awkward conversation, “you know where to find me.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” she says with a grateful smile. “We’re gonna get my girl right.”
I’m not sure about this whole “we” thing, but I do believe if anyone can help Silvie, it’ll be Birdie.
I nod slowly. That feels right. Like, wherever she came from pushed her exactly where she needed to land.
Birdie studies me, eyes sharp and knowing. “You did good, Cal.”
“I just helped her get home,” I say with a chuckle.
“You looked after her. You’re a good man. Love you, son.”
“Love you, Birdie,” I say kissing her cheek and giving her a hug. “Sleep well.”
She smiles and reaches for the door. “Get on out of here. I’ll take it from here.”
As I step into the starlit night, something sticks with me. I can’t explain the feeling. A premonition maybe. Whatever it is, though, I can’t seem to shake it. It’s imbedded in my bones, buzzing with warning.
I walk home slower than usual on the beach, taking in the moon in the sky. The air is warm, carrying a salty breeze, and the quiet of Coconut Beach fills me with a sense of calm.
What a weird night.
For the first time in years, something stirs in me. Curiosity, interest, maybe more. I have a rule. Never take anything seriously. Never have more than fun here in Coconut Beach. Serious relationships aren’t for me. I’ve got too much on my plate.
But tonight felt different, and that’s freaking me out. I want to know Silvie. I want to know where she came from, what she ran from, and how she ended up here. What made this kind of woman run in lace and heels and land in small town Coconut Beach?
Birdie’s words echo in my head. My girl.
She’s talked about Silvie so much that I practically felt like I knew her.
Silvie, the woman who never forgot Birdie’s birthday.
The one who sent her flowers just because.
Birdie’s always bragged about her like a proud mama.
I didn’t know her name, but I knew she existed.
That always made me happy for Birdie because she deserves that. Birdie has been a huge part of our town since she moved here over ten years ago. She fit into this town like a local, and everyone thinks of her as a local now. She loves with all of her heart.
I reach my place and let myself inside, the quiet evening enveloping me. I strip off my clothes and step into the shower spray, letting the water wash away the salt, sweat, and lingering scent of Silvie’s perfume. Regret fills me at that last part.
Get it together, man.
My mind takes a while to settle when I lie in bed with the fan humming softly overhead.
I close my eyes and see that honey blonde hair spilling over my arm.
The way she trusted me without even knowing me.
The peaceful way she looked while she slept, like she was finally able to rest here in Coconut Beach, her safe haven.
Whatever or whoever she’s running from, I’m glad she’s away from them. I have a feeling she’s landed exactly where she’s meant to be.