Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
florence
MARCH
My Vans smack against the sidewalk, wet from the melting snow. It’s way too early to be up and out of bed, but I’m on my way to kill one bird with two pebbles, or however it goes.
Armed with charm and a polished resume, I march down Robin Road with my sights set on Just Brew It, Quinn’s quaint little bakery and coffee shop. The reason for my visit isn’t for a shot of caffeine, and my skin tightens simply thinking about the speech I’ve been rehearsing all week.
Under my breath, I hype myself up. “You might not have balls, but vaginas are—Oh! Morning, Mrs. Stewart.”
I meet the scrutinizing stare of a woman who makes the tensest of ass cheeks clench. “Felicity. What a surprise.”
She damn well knows that isn’t my name. I bite back my retort. “Yes, it’s me. Felicity Sadler.”
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” she questions, as if it’s any of her business. The uptight councilwoman is a thorn in everyone’s side. When I was six, she complained to my parents I was making too much noise. In my backyard.
A long sigh escapes me. “I’m actually on my way to visit my lover in jail. Whirlwind romance. You know how it is. Anyway, he only murdered those hikers because the voices in his head told him to do it.”
Disgusted, she struts in the opposite direction.
Nosy witch.
Before I talk myself out of it, the bell jingles, and I step inside the bakery. Lemons and strawberries line the pale pink wallpaper, and with brightly colored pom-poms and vibrant pieces of art dotted around, it’s hard not to smile when you enter. A large bouquet of sunflowers sits on the counter.
It’s 8 a.m., so the doors have just opened, but my favorite little baker is nowhere to be seen.
“Hey, Quinn?” I call.
A crash sounds from the back, followed by a man cursing.
“C-coming,” a shrill female voice replies.
Ten seconds later, a disheveled Quinn appears, Graham hot on her heels, two spots of red dotting his cheeks.
Ew.
“Is now a bad time?” I smirk, folding my arms.
Graham looks anywhere but at me.
Bless her heart, Quinn’s a terrible liar. “No, no, take a seat. I’ll bring you over the usual.”
“Oh, can you make it decaf?”
“Sure.” She disappears behind the counter to prepare my drink.
Graham joins me, and we sit at a two-seater table by the window.
“No caffeine?” He eyes me over the rims of his glasses.
“I’m trying out something new.” It’s not a lie, per se. The wait time to see a psychiatrist is long, which is common when you live in a small town. In the meantime, I’ve been reading some online forums about ADHD. Cutting down on caffeine and increasing physical activity were popular.
You won’t catch me at the gym, but this is manageable, even if the withdrawal headaches are killer.
“You’ll survive,” Graham says, catching my pout. He also doesn’t drink caffeine or alcohol. The man has no vices apart from the curvy sunshine woman beaming at him.
It’s then I realize what’s in my hand. I’m not quick enough, and Graham spots the resume before I can flip it over.
“Is your employment history up to date? They do check the accuracy of it.” He reaches for the piece of paper. “Here, let me look it over.”
Snatching it up, I scowl at him. “For the hundredth time, no. I appreciate your help, but I don’t need it.”
“It’s been months, Flo. Why are you being stubborn? There are hours going at the restaurant.”
The paper crinkles in my fist. “I don’t want to work at the restaurant. The three of you are like broken records. I’m a big girl.”
Between him, Patrick, and Booth, I’m halfway to losing my mind. Their constant unsolicited advice, patronizing tones, and pitiful stares are reminders of how epically my plans to get my life on track have failed.
He frowns, debating his next words, when Quinn saunters over with our drinks, saving the day.
“You should get going,” she says to my brother. “You’ve got a meeting at nine.”
He jumps to his feet. “Yes, you’re right.” With a peck on her cheek and a ruffle of my hair, Graham makes for the door.
“Hey, Graham Cracker, your sweater is inside out,” I snicker. Even Quinn joins in.
He doesn’t utter a word; he just tucks his chin to his chest and sprints out of the bakery.
“You’re cruel.” Quinn laughs and takes a sip of her latte. “What are you up to today?”
Do it. Ask the question. What’s the worst that could happen?
My spine snaps straight, hands planted flat on the table. “I’m wondering if you’d consider hiring me. As a dishwasher, cleaner, anything. Baking isn’t my strong suit, but I’m a fast learner. I have great interpersonal skills, good with a cash register, and know you’re looking to expand soon.”
“Oh, Flo.” She rolls her lips over her teeth, her tone the farthest thing from promising.
My heart drops. Splat on the floor. My happy facade barely holds, the edges cracking.
“I would have hired you in a heartbeat, but you seemed so adamant about not working with family…” She trails off, mouth twisting, and I want to disappear.
Quinn didn’t ask me because I continuously turn my brothers down about working at Our Place, and now she thinks I don’t see her as family.
“One of my regulars has a daughter who recently graduated college and is looking for work. She’s starting next week.”
“Gosh, don’t be sorry.” My movements are shaky, and I almost knock over my mocha while reaching for my phone. Frantic, inside and out, I collect my things. My cheeks ache from the smile I’m desperately keeping in place. “I’m sure she’ll do a better job than me anyway.”
Quinn’s face falls. “Flo, no, that’s not what I meant.”
I hook a thumb over my shoulder, backing away from the table. “Thanks for listening to me ramble. Let’s do dinner soon, okay?”
A hand locks around my wrist, halting my escape.
Quinn is stronger than she looks. “I’m going to text you the contact for the recruitment agency I was going to use if local ads failed.
Call them.” She draws me into a tight hug.
“You’re not like a sister to me, you are my sister, okay? I’m always here if you need anything.”
I squeeze her tight, nose burning. “I’m lucky to have you.”
She waves at me through the window, smile sad.
I’ve never taken rejection well. Quinn was gentle, which somehow made the vise around my chest squeeze harder.
People pass by in a blur. I’m in no rush, with no direction. I meander the streets, my footsteps stopping when the boardwalk curving the length of the bay creaks under my sneakers. I collapse on a bench, sucking in air, only for the salty wind to get caught in my throat.
Coming home wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Life was meant to fall into place easily. My edges are bending, like a jigsaw piece being forced to fit.
I feel like an outsider with my own family. Patrick and Graham try, but they’re so busy these days. I’ve always been closest with Booth, and even with him living in New York now, we make the time to talk regularly. His stupid jokes are exactly the medicine I need.
After three rings, the voice that answers isn’t my brother’s.
“Florence, hey.”
“Aly. You’re home?” My mood picks up.
“It’s a flying visit. I’m on a redeye back to Berlin tonight. Booth left his phone, but he shouldn’t be long. Should I have him call you later?”
Confident and tenacious, Alessandra is who I want to be when I grow up. In the short time she was in town, we grew close, and suddenly, it’s her advice I want, not Booth’s.
“Actually, are you free?” I ask tentatively.
“Oh.” Surprise laces her tone. “Yeah, of course. Fire away.”
Ten minutes later, she definitely regrets answering the phone. It’s the worst case of verbal diarrhea ever reported. I tell her everything. The reasons why my travels ended early to every painful family dinner. Even what happened after the New Year’s party.
The line is quiet.
“Are you still there?”
She blows out a breath. “I’m processing.”
More silence, then enters Business Aly.
“First,” she finally says, “when you get home, send me your resume. I’ll look it over before you send it to the recruitment agency. I know you didn’t want Graham’s help, but I’m not your brother. I’ve experience in hiring people. And second…”
I brace myself.
“Dex? Wow. I totally get the appeal. Good job, Flo.”
Despite the crushing weight of the day, I manage a laugh. “You can’t tell Booth.”
She scoffs. “This isn’t my first rodeo. He’s more of a gossip than your mother and Lottie combined. Your secret is safe with me.”
The tension in my shoulders loosens. “Sorry to drop all that on you.”
“Oh, please.” Her voice turns soft. “It’s easier said than done, but don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Coming from a fellow youngest daughter, I get what it means to force yourself into a mold not made for you. It’ll happen. Have patience.”
I sniff. “Thanks. It feels good to get it off my chest.”
“Call anytime.”
We hang up, and the shame from earlier melts away.
Quinn’s heartfelt words and Aly’s wisdom help. They’re small drops of hope in an ocean of failure. I cling to them, my head barely above water, but for once, I’m not drowning.
The sun offers some reprieve from the chilly winds, and I sit and watch the fishing boats bob over the choppy waters.
A shadow appears from over my shoulder. Without turning, I know who it is.
“Can I join you?” a deep voice asks.
I shrug.
How is he everywhere? Anytime I’m close to crashing, he’s there, and while his presence is comforting, he’s the last person I want to witness yet another spiraling episode.
Dex lowers himself onto the bench.
Today’s flannel is dark green with thin lines of mustard yellow. He’s wearing a worn baseball cap and no hearing aid, which isn’t unusual.
“You want to talk about it?”
The same question I asked months ago. I wasn’t entitled to his answers that evening, but my misgivings bled out of me. I’m wrung dry, my mental capacity at its max, and rather than talk, I just want silence from the riot inside my head.
I jerk my head, angling toward him. “Not really.”
He doesn’t flinch at my sharp tone, just nods. “That’s fair.”
His gaze warms the right side of my body, and I want to shrink in on myself as he studies me. What does he see? A lost, irrationally emotional girl he probably regrets sleeping with?
We sit there while the tide changes, and the sun begins its descent.
Memories of his hand enveloping mine at dinner replay. The room was oblivious to the calming effect his touch had on me. Even now, on opposite ends of the bench, his presence is a balm. The issue is, every time he shows up, it nourishes the seed he planted in my chest.
He’s being kind, nothing more.
Fear of rejection eats away at me until my bones grow weary and eyes heavy.
A large arm engulfs me as the horizon tilts. The smoky aroma of oak encompasses me. From the ocean to the forest.
Through the wind, the chaos, and the edge of consciousness, deep words find me.
Lips press to my temple. “Your spark hasn’t gone yet, Trouble.”