16. Vivian
sixteen
Vivian
“ T here you are.” Amanda Ratchack’s saccharine-sweet voice slides beside me in Dotty’s compact freezer aisle.
I barely trap my ragged exhale. I’d wholly underestimated how many people would want to talk to me—someone they never engage in conversation with—after being out with Finn last night.
The second I opened my shop this morning, folks rubber-necked while passing my glass door.
Bolder citizens, like Carol Cook, barged right through.
When she asked if I was dating Finn, I almost stabbed myself with a needle. How absurd! There’s no world in which a man like Finn would be interested in me. I assured her that we’re not dating, sticking to my story that I was simply correcting my sister’s bad reconnaissance.
After Carol left, I expected Brynn to charge into my shop, wanting to talk. With Seabreeze Beans being the mecca of town gossip, it’d been shocking that my sister didn’t pull me out of bed before my alarm went off at nine. People certainly spoke to her more than they were stopping in my store.
But Brynn never came by, not even after the coffee shop closed. And after her nap, she silently stewed, making our dinner awkward. I get that my sister hates being wrong more than she loathes adjusting her rigid schedule, but the cold shoulder?
What are we, ten years old?
I couldn’t take the tension in our small apartment a second longer. That’s why I’m staring at Dotty’s limited frozen section, hoping ice cream will solve everything. It has an eight out of ten success rate, so I’m optimistic.
“I’m so glad I caught you,” Amanda says, every word dripping with insincerity. “I’m still waiting on my alterations. Or have you forgotten?” A sharp, fake laugh punctuates her sentence, and I have to fight the urge to flinch.
Every generation has what my aunt likes to call a duplicitous charmer since she says a wolf in sheep’s clothing is uninspired.
I’ve had the good fortune of my high school bully living abroad for the last few years, but Amanda popped into my shop a few weeks ago, announcing her return to Wilks Beach, with an armful of dresses that are too big now that she’s lost weight from living a healthier lifestyle in Sweden.
“I haven’t forgotten, but since you said ‘no hurry’ on the return time, I prioritized the prom dress clients,” I say, debating between getting The Tonight Dough or Phish Food. It’s been such a weird day I should get both.
Amanda’s overfilled lips pout before the corner of her mouth quirks in a devious smile. “Is it that time of year again? Remember our senior prom? So fun. I loved the masquerade theme and trying to figure out who was behind the mask. Of course, it was easy to pick you out with that dress.”
Amanda’s thinly veiled insult doesn’t land because my prom dress was incredible.
While everyone else had worn store-bought dresses, I’d constructed a Victorian-inspired gown from midnight-blue velvet.
Miss Wendy and I had worked on it for weeks after school.
It’d been in the quiet moments of working on my mentor’s dining room table as sunlight shone through the large windows when she’d asked if I’d be interested in taking over her tailoring business.
Seeing she’s missed the mark, Amanda taps her cheek with her index finger. “Who did you go with again?”
My face stings as if I’d been slapped. Amanda knows full well that I played the unwilling third wheel to Brynn and Noah.
I’d planned on staying home after Zach Hineman stood me up, but Brynn would have none of it.
Instead of enjoying a romantic evening with her then-boyfriend, she’d insisted the three of us remain inseparable.
The only thing that’d kept my twin from joining me at the hip had been my hoop skirt.
My heart clenches. Even with Brynn’s childish behavior tonight, she’s always looked after me. I snag a pint of Cherry Garcia—Brynn’s favorite—as a peace offering.
“No matter,” Amanda continues. “I wanted to ask you about your friend. I’ve seen him running since he moved here.”
“Atticus?” My stomach sinks to my exposed toes as I let the freezer door shut.
Brynn commenting on how she passes Atticus in the evenings was how I learned he was also a runner. Over the past year, I have occasionally—in a completely non-creepy way—snuck into the living room to watch his long, confident strides eat up the asphalt.
“Who?” Her forehead creases before she actively smoothes it out—almost as if remembering that facial expressions cause wrinkles. “I’m talking about the new library manager.”
Oh. I didn’t know Finn ran.
I must have put too many red pepper flakes in tonight’s pasta aglio e oilio because a flare of heartburn surges in my chest. I rub at my sternum, but the stubborn sensation persists.
“Finn.” Why does his name taste like sawdust?
Amanda lights up. “Yes. What can you tell me about him?”
“He…uh…” I pause as my brain spirals.
Amanda is exactly the type of woman Finn should be with—gorgeous, confident, athletic.
She doesn’t even sweat like normal humans.
She gets this preternatural glow after running.
Meanwhile, I end up with goggle impressions around my eyes and streaks of red on my shoulders from where I misapplied sunscreen after my open-water swims.
The spiral continues, unrelenting. Amanda is wearing bike shorts too, but she doesn’t need them under everything to evade chub rub.
Her elastic waistband doesn’t accentuate existing rolls since there isn’t an inch of squish on her.
They effortlessly pair with her sports-bra-as-a-shirt and her ultra-sleek ponytail.
Mentally, I pinch myself.
I shouldn’t compare myself to Amanda.
“Everyone is given exactly what they need.” My eyes close as Aunt Tammy’s words reverberate through my brain.
And besides, it’s not like we want the same man.
Before I can stop myself, the memory of Finn’s kiss slips over my vision. The tender way his fingers grazed up my arms. The approving hum each time I mimicked the delicate actions of his tongue. The way his eyes looked almost black, staring at my fingertips as they rested on his chest.
“He’s…” I pause to collect myself, opening the freezer door again and dropping The Tonight Dough into my hand basket. “He’s great. Really outgoing. Very passionate about the library.”
Inexplicably handsome.
Not helpful, brain!
“He, uh…he’s a...”
An incredible kisser.
STOP THAT!
“He smells amazing, if you like books.”
Amanda’s serene expression wavers with that last description, and my cheeks blaze as I push past her toward the register. “You should stop by the library and talk to him.”
“I will.” She gets in line behind me, unloading nothing but carrots and celery, but blessedly leaves me alone as I quickly check out with Cliff.
When I return from the market, Brynn is locked into her room—either avoiding me or already asleep.
Since it’s only eight, I assume the former.
I put away her pint of ice cream with a heavy sigh.
My eyes fixate on the condensating lid of The Tonight Dough before adding it to the freezer.
The only emotion I can’t eat through is sadness.
Sugar helps quell nervousness, boredom, irritation, but sorrow hollows out my stomach every time.
Suddenly, I miss Aunt Tammy with a fierceness that shortens my next inhale.
No one deserves to be living her best life more than our aunt, but I miss her not being a short walk away.
When she transferred the business over to Brynn, Tammy moved in with her long-term boyfriend.
The two of them were married last fall and are still enjoying their global honeymoon, currently sailing off the coast of Spain.
A deflated sensation zaps what was left of my energy.
Collapsing on the couch, I tap my phone against my thigh and think about Finn.
I shouldn’t. I should only be thinking about Atticus, but thoughts of Finn’s lips, the soft noise he makes in his throat, and the scratch of his beard scruff have haunted me all day.
I wonder what kind of day he had. What did he eat for lunch? Things I have no right to know.
There is one thing I can ask him, though.
Vivian
When should I expect Atticus to text me?
Finn doesn’t respond immediately. He’s probably at The Garage Gym for his evening workout.
Loneliness sweeps from my collarbones to the tips of my unpainted toes. I curl beneath the pink couch throw, clicking on the TV. I’m usually alone, but I don’t feel lonely. Tonight, the sensation is disintegrating my bones.
Before my misty eyes spill into unnecessary tears, I cue up my favorite Netflix show—mine and eighty-two million other’s. Since the television series’ second season is scheduled to drop mid-July, now is the perfect time for a rewatch of season one.
I’m fifteen minutes into the second episode when Finn answers my text.
Finn
Probably Friday. If you don’t hear anything by Monday, let me know.
My fingers race, typing things I don’t intend to send.
The first season of Worthingon is centered around young Jane from an up-and-coming society family becoming the unfortunate scapegoat for sinister Lady Fitzroy’s scandal.
That is, until the eldest Worthington—his grace, the duke—swoops in and rescues Jane by way of a fake proposal, becoming fiercely protective of her.
Vivian
Duke Worthington boxes to relieve stress from his marriage-minded mama. Why do you? To punish yourself? Who hurt you, Finn? Who? I’ll tear her eyes out.
I chuckle to myself, rereading my message, but then the image of Finn boxing in buff breeches and a rolled-up linen shirt makes my smile fall.
My imagination runs wild, envisioning sweat sliding down that distracting notch between Finn’s tanned collarbones, his black hair flopping over his forehead, and his toned shoulders heaving from exertion.
He’d saunter toward the ropes after winning, his gaze possessive as it rakes me from head to toe.