Chapter Eight
The Seaglass Saloon was quiet, the kind of rare silence that Willa knew only happened in those early hours before opening.
The chairs were still flipped on the tables, the scent of last night’s beer clinging faintly to the air, and Willa was balancing on a stool, hanging a crooked string of cardboard turkeys above the bar.
Her mother, Delia, stood below, sorting through a box of paper pumpkins and fake fall leaves.
“Are you still avoiding Cal?” Delia asked, her voice light but not letting it go.
Willa sighed and pressed the tape harder on the turkey that kept peeling off the wall. “Yeah. But it’s not easy,” she quickly added. “I’ve run into him at Abe’s, at Molly’s Mini Mart, on the beach, at the post office, outside the bait shop, and twice at the same coffee cart in the park.”
She paused, thinking about it. “It’s like the universe is mocking me. I can’t even buy a bag of pretzels without bumping into him.”
Delia smirked. “Or maybe the universe is trying to tell you something.”
Willa shot her a look. “Yes. It’s telling me to start using grocery delivery.”
“Sweetheart,” Delia said gently, “there’s really no good reason why you should be avoiding him at all.”
Willa didn’t argue. She climbed down from the stool and grabbed another roll of tape, keeping her hands busy.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Cal.
She wanted to see him so much that it was starting to wear her out.
She was guarding her heart, keeping it locked tight, reminding herself that she’d only known him for a few weeks.
Not even a full month. It wasn’t long enough to know what any of this really meant.
But her body didn’t seem to care.
Her body remembered every brush of his arm, every look, every kiss like it was branded on her skin.
Heat. So much heat.
Heat that was apparently still burning on her side.
It was possible Cal had been burning it off somewhere else.
Like maybe with Eden. Oh, yes, Willa had heard all about Eden inviting him to dinner when they’d been in the booth at Halloween.
Four different people had overheard it and passed the info along to Willa.
Maybe the dinner with Eden had gone well. Maybe it went really well.
Willa forced the tape to stick and moved to the next turkey, doing her best not to think about how easily he could have chosen the woman he came here for in the first place.
“Well, I think you should talk to him,” her mom went on, as if she hadn’t just dropped that into the air like a challenge. “Maybe ask him out on a date.”
Delia rummaged through one of the boxes of leftover decorations and pulled out something sparkly and completely ridiculous.
It was a tiara, but not the kind anyone would want to be seen in.
The cheap rhinestones were arranged in the shape of a turkey, the tail feathers fanning out like a lopsided crown, with a pair of googly eyes glued just off-center.
One of the rhinestones was already missing, giving the turkey a slightly deranged, one-eyed look.
Before Willa could protest, Delia plopped it right on her head. “There. Perfect.”
Willa crossed her arms and shot her mom a flat look. “This is tragic.”
Delia grinned. “It’s festive.”
“You mean mortifying.”
Her mom just patted her cheek and said, “Well, now you’re seasonally mortified.
But seriously, you should talk to him. You’re a fighter, Willa.
You always have been. Just don’t fight the wrong thing this time.
In fact, not only talk to Cal, give some thought to that date idea, and oh…
invite him over for Thanksgiving dinner. ”
Willa didn’t have a quick comeback for that. She only adjusted the crooked tiara and tried not to think about how much she wanted to go find Cal and issue that dinner invitation, along with kissing the daylights out of him.
A sharp tap sounded on the glass door. Willa looked up from the paper leaves she was pinning to the wall and groaned out loud.
It was Brent.
Of all the people to darken her door first thing in the morning.
“Want me to deal with him?” her mom asked, her voice light but her eyes sharp, like she was absolutely willing to throw down if Willa gave the nod.
Before Willa could answer, Delia rummaged through the box of leftover decorations and pulled out a giant plastic turkey leg.
It was comically oversized, the color a little too shiny, the fake bone end exaggerated like it belonged in a cartoon.
Delia gripped it by the bone and gave it a practice swing through the air, testing its weight like it was her weapon of choice.
“I could club him with this,” Delia offered, a wicked grin tugging at her mouth. “Really make it a Thanksgiving to remember.”
Willa let out a snort, despite herself. “You’re terrifying.”
Delia rested the turkey leg on her shoulder like it was a perfectly reasonable accessory. “Terrifying, but festive. Big difference.”
Willa shook her head, but the knot in her chest loosened just a little. Leave it to her mom to make even Brent’s unwelcome drop-in almost funny. Almost.
She stomped to the entrance and threw the door open so hard Brent actually jumped back, as if the very air from the Seaglass might trigger the infamous curse of itching genitals.
“What do you want?” she asked, not bothering to soften it.
Brent smoothed his shirt and made a visible effort of collecting himself.
And looking at the tiara. Judging from the little smirk he made, he thought it was as ridiculous as it truly was.
That’s why Willa didn’t take it off. She wanted to do nothing, nada, that would make this cheating scumbag believe she cared one flying fig—or in this case, one deranged turkey tiara—what he thought of her.
“I was just chatting with Sawyer and Lark from Chasing Fire,” Brent said after clearing his throat. “I’m sure you’ve heard they’re in town. They want to do a vlog on the Seaglass. You know, about the soulmate legend. They think it would make a great story.”
Willa crossed her arms. “Why didn’t they come ask me themselves?”
Brent shrugged. “I’ve been handling some of their business matters while they’re in town. Coordinating stuff. Local rentals, events, that sort of thing.”
She thought of the couple in the window. The role-play. The masks. The show they had unknowingly put on.
Her eyes narrowed. “Are they renting the Driftwood Manor?”
Brent looked a little taken aback by her question. He scratched the back of his neck, like maybe he wasn’t expecting her to know about the house.
“No,” he said slowly. “They’re actually renting another one of my properties.
Roseview Cottage. The smaller, more romantic place over on Harbor Street.
” He paused, his gaze flicking past her into the quiet bar.
“But I did tell them they could use my other rentals while they’re in town.
Gave them free rein, you know? Security codes, whatever they needed. I wanted them to feel welcome.”
Willa’s jaw tightened. She didn’t say a word about the little show Sawyer and Lark had been putting on through the second-floor window at Driftwood Manor.
She folded her arms and studied him, her thoughts sliding right back to that night.
The night she and Cal sat side by side, watching something they probably shouldn’t have.
For a minute, she wondered if that was the spark that had lit the fuse between them.
If maybe the heat had needed something to nudge it along.
But no.
That wasn’t it.
The heat hadn’t needed a trigger.
Well, other than the way Cal looked in those jeans.
Brent shuffled his feet, his hands in his jacket pockets, his eyes darting everywhere but at her. He cleared his throat, then blurted out, “I just don’t want you to ruin things for me.”
Willa arched a brow. “Ruin things how? By cheating on you?” She let that hang there for half a second. “Oh, wait. You’re not my fiancé anymore. And you did the cheating.”
Brent’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back off. “That’s exactly what I mean. You could say something. About me. About what happened. You could hurt my reputation. And… Misty’s.”
“Misty?” Willa asked, folding her arms. The name didn’t ring a bell.
“She’s Lark’s assistant,” Brent said. “Misty and I… we’ve been seeing each other. And Lark wants to do a vlog on us. You know, about second chances. Love after heartbreak. It could be huge for the business. It could let me expand through the state. Maybe even the country.”
Willa felt the burn rise hot in her chest. She wanted to unleash all the hurt he’d caused her. She wanted to tell him to go straight to hell. She wanted to swing the giant plastic turkey leg that her mom was still twirling like a baton behind her.
But instead, she let out a long, tired sigh.
“I’ll keep the badmouthing to a minimum,” she said, her voice cool, her patience threadbare.
Then she stepped back and shut the door in his face.
Brent’s voice called out from the other side of the door. “But what about the vlog? Sawyer and Lark still want to do the piece on the legend.”
Willa rolled her eyes and looked at her mom.
Delia gave a slow shrug, the plastic turkey leg still balanced on her shoulder like she was ready to use it if necessary. “Your call, sweetheart.”
Willa pulled the door open just a crack. “Fine. They can do the vlog. But only if you don’t step foot inside the Seaglass. Not for this. Not for anything.”
Brent’s face lit up with quick relief. “Deal. Absolutely. I’ll stay out of it.”
He left in a hurry, almost jogging down the sidewalk like he was afraid she might change her mind and chase him off the property with that turkey leg after all.
Willa closed the door and locked it, then turned to her mom. “You think I’m making a mistake?”
Delia spun the turkey leg in her hand. “Nope. I think you just made the holidays a whole lot more interesting.”
Interesting was not the word she would use for it.