Chapter 8
Cal
I get to Cocktails & Chaos early because the paperwork won’t do itself. And if I don’t get to it before the bar opens, it’ll never get done, and I’ll get even more behind.
Lately, we’ve been slammed, and I’ve barely had time to think. I don’t mind it. Work is easier than downtime, because downtime leaves room for Silvie.
Ever since she got to Coconut Beach, she’s been stuck in my head.
I keep telling myself it’s just proximity, small town, same routines, but that’s not it.
She’s just… there. Talking to iguanas like they understand her.
Falling in with the Bees. Showing up to yoga with Summer every morning like she’s been here all along.
And I’ve noticed.
The sundresses are new. So is the way she carries herself, like she’s more relaxed, more sure.
It’s like something about this place unlocked her, and now she’s everywhere I look.
I don’t need that kind of distraction.
I stop short when I realize she’s sitting in an Adirondack chair in front of the bar when I get there, legs crossed, hair pulled up in a messy knot on top of her head, wearing another one of those sundresses.
This one is a pale blue and shows off the tan that she’s acquired since coming to Coconut Beach.
I certainly don’t notice the way the material creeps up her smooth thighs. Nope. Not happening.
What I do allow myself to notice is she’s holding two coffees like she’s guarding them with her life. She has a bag next to her chair.
She looks up when she hears my keys and smiles. “Oh, good,” she says, brightening. “You’re here.”
I try to play it cool and not like the weirdo who was just thinking about her. “Silvie. What are you doing here?”
She hops up and holds one of the coffees out to me like an offering. “Please let me work here. I promise I’ll sit in the corner and you won’t even know I’m here.”
I take the coffee because she’s pushing it toward me. And I desperately need that coffee right now. I’ve been sleeping like crap and working so many hours it’s not even funny.
“What do you mean?” I say, trying to understand. “You want to work at the bar?”
“I have work to do on my laptop,” she says, picking up her tote bag and putting it over her shoulder. “I promise I won’t disturb you. In fact, you won’t even know I’m here. I’ll be quiet as a mouse. Promise.”
Yeah, right. I don’t say it out loud, but the thought lands fully formed in my head. I couldn’t not notice her here. Even when she’s not around, she takes up my thoughts. That realization makes me clear my throat and focus very hard on unlocking the door.
“I thought you were on vacation,” I call as I turn and unlock the door. “Why are you working?”
She sighs. “I’m on vacation. But when you’re one of the bosses, do you ever really get a vacation?”
I realize I don’t actually know what Silvie does. And, somehow, I’m interested. More than I should be, probably, but not enough to admit it aloud.
“Okay,” I say, opening the door and holding it for her. She follows me like this is already settled, which I guess it is.
“Thank you so much. Birdie and the Bees are insistent I make a friend my own age. I think Birdie might be getting tired of me.”
I doubt that. Birdie is just meddling like she usually is, but I don’t tell her that.
“How’s your pet iguana?” I ask as I flip on the power behind the bar.
Her grin is instant. “Great. We’re having a birthday party for him next week.”
I freeze, turn slowly, and look at her. “What?”
She points at me and giggles, “A joke, Cal.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “You’re funny.”
She beams. “I try. Anyway, are you up for being my friend? That way, I can get the Bees off my back and tell them that I have three friends now. You, Summer, and Iggy.”
I snort at her joke.
She heads for a table with a great view of the ocean and sets up camp with practiced efficiency. Laptop in front of her chair, her coffee within reach, and phone flipped face down as if it might distract her.
Am I up for being her friend?
Right now, I can’t trust my mind when it comes to her. And I don’t like it. Being actual friends means more time spent together. That could be catastrophic for my whole “keep it casual” schtick. Friends means letting your guard down.
Can I even do that?
But it’s not like I’m going to deny her. She’s…happy. I don’t want to be the one to steal her smile.
“I can be your friend, Silvie,” I find myself saying against my better judgement.
It’s fine. I can keep my cool around her. Maybe this is better. I’ll get used to talking to her. Eventually I’ll even be immune to her pretty smile.
She sips her coffee and smiles at me triumphantly. “Thanks for being my friend, Cal. Questionable life choice, but I appreciate it.”
I grab my clipboard and settle in at the other end of the bar, pretending I’m not aware of her presence like gravity. “Don’t you have friends back in New York?”
She looks down and pretends to pick an imaginary piece of lint off her dress.
“Yes, my best friend is a guy. He’s also.
..my assistant. Which might sound weird, but we’ve been best friends for over four years.
It probably seems lame, but I work a lot and don’t have time for a social life. That’s why being here has been nice.”
I feel bad for her, but I get it. I, too, was once a city boy with big ambitions. It’s all too easy to get caught up with work and abandoning your personal life.
“Well, then, I’m honored to be your friend. You can come up here anytime I’m here if you need a quiet place to work.”
“Don’t worry.” She smiles, leaning back slightly, as if daring me to doubt her. “You won’t even know I’m here.”
I snort, glancing down at my clipboard, then back at her. “I don’t think anyone can go without noticing you.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, sharp and playful. “You won’t notice me. I promise.”
“I always notice.” I shift on my stool, trying to keep my posture casual, but my fingers tap the clipboard faster than necessary.
The words hang in the air a beat longer than either of us should let them. I shake my head, clearing my throat, and jab lightly at the paperwork. “I’ve got… paperwork anyway.”
“Oh yeah?” She leans forward just a fraction, tilting her head, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Paperwork?”
“Yeah,” I say, adjusting the clipboard like it gives me some kind of armor. “I manage the bar, too. Not just a bartender.”
I glance away because my heart is thumping louder than it should. Why does she do this to me? Why does one woman make me feel like I’m about to stumble over every word?
“Well, look at you, boss man,” she says, giving the chair across from her a sharp kick. It scrapes loudly against the floor in the quiet morning. She leans back, eyes on me, and I can’t help but read it as an invitation. Or a dare. “Let’s get our work done together, friend.”
I tell myself not to, that I shouldn’t. Still, against my better judgment, I pick up my coffee, head over, and slide the chair out, settling across from her. Somehow, despite every warning my brain throws at me, I’m drawn into the space she’s carved out.
“What do you do for work?” I ask, curious since she’s the boss.
She’s already started typing, her fingers flying, expression focused but calm.
She’s wearing glasses now, the kind that make her look capable, serious…
not just a girl in a sundress, but someone who could run a Fortune 500 company and make grown men cry.
And I can’t deny it, she’s even more compelling this way.
She looks up. “I’m Vice President of Montclair Holdings.”
I pause, letting the words sink in. Montclair Holdings. Holy shit. I’ve heard of them. Big players, and serious money. She’s not just another visitor here, she moves in a different world entirely.
She continues when I don’t respond. “It’s a private investment company. Real estate, tech, hospitality. The boring answer of what we do is manage portfolios and partnerships.”
There’s a tone to her words that I can’t quite pinpoint the meaning. Almost robotic. Detached. As if she’s reading from the company manual. From what I know of her so far, it doesn’t quite connect with her personality.
“Anyway,” she quickly says. “The honest answer is we clean up messes and make sure generational wealth stays generationally wealthy.” She grimaces slightly as if that last part frustrates her. I can understand that.
I nod and utter out something stupid, like, “Cool,” but she’s too focused to pay attention to my lacking conversational skills.
Her fingers are flying over her keyboard a mile a minute.
Every once in a while, she mutters something under her breath that makes no sense to me.
Deadlines. A call she doesn’t want to take.
She wasn’t kidding when she said she had work to do.
Once I realize we really are going to work, I get to doing what’s on my list. I file invoices and check inventory. I lose my place twice, though, because I keep glancing up at her.
Silence settles in, but it’s peaceful and relaxed. Sunlight spills through the open windows. The ocean hums somewhere in the distance. I make us both a breakfast burrito and brew some coffee in the back since ours are long gone.
I carry out the burritos and the fresh pot of coffee, setting them on the table.
She looks up and says, “Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” But she must be eager to eat because she eagerly snaps her laptop shut to make space for the food.
“Just made extra. It’s my routine. It’s nice to have a friend to share it with,” I say with a smirk at the friend part.
After a bite of her burrito, she closes her eyes and groans. “This is so good. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
I’m amused as I watch her eat. Every bite is better than the first based on the sounds she makes. And, for someone as ritzy as a VP from the city, she eats messily without a care in the world.