Chapter 8
Opinion: Unless you’re a baby, there is no such thing as new beginnings and fresh starts.
—Delilah Dune, opinion writer
T he next morning, Lyla shuffled down the hall toward the kitchen, desperately seeking coffee. She stopped midway into the kitchen and blinked heavily, her brain processing the empty space on the granite countertop.
Right, no coffeepot. Ugh. She had no desire to get dressed and venture out, but it appeared she didn’t have much choice.
After dressing and pulling her hair into a ponytail, she got in her car and drove to the only coffee shop in town. Maybe after last night’s Dinnerware Party, Bernie wouldn’t be so cold to her. The cool air conditioning hit her skin as she stepped through the entrance. Keeping her head ducked, in case any more former teachers were hiding in the shadows, she headed straight to the counter. Instead of Bernie, a young man with black hair and an expander earring greeted her.
“Hello, what can I get you?” he asked in a much friendlier tone than Bernie used the last time Lyla stopped in.
“Um.” Lyla glanced beyond the young man, looking toward the back area. “Is your boss here?”
“Boss?” He furrowed a pierced brow. Peeking out from his white T-shirt and dark brown apron, Lyla noticed a detailed tattoo that crept up his neck and down his arms. It looked like a giant gecko of some type, which she found curious. She had a tattoo of her own, and she’d researched the significance of various creatures before making her choice. She wasn’t sure about this one, though.
“The owner of this coffee shop,” Lyla clarified. “Is Bernadette here?”
The man cleared his throat. “Actually, Bernadette and I own it together. We’re a mom-and-pop shop.”
“Mom-and-pop?” Lyla repeated. The man in front of her was maybe twenty-one. She glanced at his left hand, and sure enough, there was a black onyx band on his ring finger. “You and Bernie are married?”
“In spirit, not legally. But we don’t need papers to prove our commitment.”
Lyla let that sink in for a moment. Bernie had her own business and a guy who was willing to wear an apron for her. Some part of her was a little envious.
Opinion: A man who wears an apron and cooks is a keeper.
“So, do you want a coffee or are you looking for Bernadette?” he asked. “She’s in the back doing admin stuff. She’s the brains, and I’m the pretty face who pours the brew.” He winked and offered his hand to shake. “I’m Eric.”
“Lyla Dune.”
Something seemed to register in Eric’s expression as he pulled his hand away and bounced a finger in her direction. “Hey, I’ve heard about you.”
Whatever he’d heard probably wasn’t favorable. “The whole sloppy joe thing was an accident,” Lyla said. “I never, ever would have done that to Bernie on purpose. I wanted to be her friend. I thought she was cool and talented. You have to believe me.”
Eric didn’t appear to judge her. In fact, he seemed like the most easygoing guy in Echo Cove. “You gotta admit, that was a pretty brutal experience. Freshly dumped. Brown stains on her backside. An entire class laughing as she read an important paper.”
Lyla grimaced. “Yeah.”
“It took her a whole year to even divulge the story. That’s how painful it was to her. It still is.”
Lyla wanted nothing more than to fix that situation, if she could. “How do I go about being her friend?” she asked, feeling completely vulnerable.
Eric seemed to assess her. “Bernadette is kind of like an ice cube. Not saying she’s cold. She’s actually one of the warmest people I’ve ever known, but you have to melt off those protective layers, a little bit at a time.”
“I have to melt her?” Lyla wasn’t planning to be in town long enough to melt anyone.
“Eric, can you—” Bernadette walked into the front area and stopped when she saw Lyla, her features tightening. “What are you doing here?”
Lyla glanced between Eric and Bernadette. “I couldn’t stay away. This place has the best coffee I’ve ever had.”
Bernadette folded her arms over her chest. “Really?”
“Truly,” Lyla said. “I was just about to order a Blondie with coconut milk.”
Bernadette nodded slowly. “I’ll make it.” She looked at Eric. “We have a delivery out back. Can you handle it?”
“Sure, babe.” Eric kissed Bernadette’s temple before walking through a metal swinging door.
“Your husband is nice,” Lyla offered, watching Bernadette work.
She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m sure you have an opinion on older women dating younger men with tattoos and piercings.”
Lyla heard the bitterness in Bernadette’s tone. “I do, as a matter of fact.”
Bernadette placed Lyla’s coffee on the counter and lifted her chin as if waiting for Lyla to throw a verbal punch. Lyla knew that feeling all too well from her experience with Joe. Always bracing.
“My opinion is that you’re a badass and I’m happy for you. I’m also a little jealous, if you want the truth.”
Something warm flickered in Bernadette’s eyes. She pushed the coffee closer to Lyla. “On the house.”
Lyla debated whether she should insist on paying, but something told her that would be an insult somehow, and Lyla’s goal was to melt a few layers off her old classmate before leaving town. It was a summer bucket list–worthy goal. “Thanks. See you later.” Grabbing her coffee cup, she turned to walk away, talking over her shoulder and not pausing to give Bernadette time to respond when she said, “Maybe you’ll join me next time.”
A blue pickup truck sat in the driveway as Lyla turned in and parked. She looked around, noting the ladder. Was Travis on her roof?
“Trav?” she called up as she approached and he came into view. “What are you doing?”
He looked in her direction. “Checking out the patch job to make sure it’s still sufficient.” He was on all fours with a hammer in hand.
“And?” she asked.
Travis slid the hammer into his belt loop and stood, taking slow, deliberate steps toward the ladder. “Of course, it is. I’m good at what I do.”
Lyla placed her hands on her hips. “You need to work on that self-esteem though.”
As he neared the edge of the roof, he turned his back to her and started to descend the ladder, and whoa— In those jeans . . .
She tore her gaze away and waited for him to reach the ground before facing him again. “So it looks good?” she asked.
Something playful flashed in those caramel-colored eyes. “You tell me.”
Her face immediately got hot. “I’m sorry?”
He gestured at the roof. “Want to go up and see for yourself?”
“Oh. No”—she shook her head quickly—“I don’t do well with heights.”
“I remember. That’s why we put height stuff on our last bucket list.”
She jabbed a finger into the side of his arm, unable to ignore the firmness of his muscles. “That’s why you put height stuff on the list. It was unusually cruel, if you ask me.”
“I was trying to help. And since you’re still afraid . . .” he trailed off as he grinned.
“I’m not afraid. I just don’t like heights.”
He wiped the sleeve of his shirt over his forehead where a bead of sweat was making its way south. “Right. Well, you need to get over that because it’s still on our final bucket list. Along with watching Sleepless in Seattle for the fourth time and jumping off the Pirate’s Plank into Memory Lake.”
“The Pirate’s Plank?” Ever since she was fifteen, she’d been having a recurring nightmare about the day she’d tried and failed to jump off that plank. Knees shaking, head spinning, she’d fainted as she edged herself on the end of the plank. If not for some kind Samaritan, she might never have made it past that fifteenth birthday. “I wish you hadn’t put that on the list. Call me chicken, but I can’t jump off the Pirate’s Plank.”
“Here’s an opinion for that column of yours: No one likes chicken.”
“That first time was a near-death experience,” she said, putting her hands on her hips.
“There were at least fifty people at the lake. No one would have let you drown, Ly.”
“You weren’t there,” she shot back.
He blew out a small breath. “And I regret that to this day. I’ll go with you this time. I’m here for a couple weeks. Plenty of time to check off the rest of our list.”
Just the thought of jumping off the plank again had her heart racing. “I’m very busy this summer. I have deadlines, and there’s a lot to do to sell this house. Otherwise, I’ll be stuck in Echo Cove longer than I bargained for.” And her parents might not get the funds needed for the rest of their trip.
“I can’t write, but I can help you with the house.”
“What?”
“I’ll help,” he said, one side of his mouth quirking. “On one condition.”
“I don’t like conditions. They’re like verbal contracts—not legally binding, but the guilt is way worse than a lawsuit.”
“This condition isn’t so awful. I need a date to my sister’s wedding.”
“Date?” she repeated.
The other side of his mouth lifted to make a full smile. “Not the kissing kind of date. Just the kind who enjoy each other’s company.”
It was a tempting offer. She was a little in over her head with cleaning and packing the house.
Travis waved a hand. “Forget the condition. You don’t have to be my date. I’ll help you anyway. That’s what friends are for, right? What do you need?”
She pulled in a breath, still hung up on the date idea. “Well, someone was supposed to come pick up all the boxes in the living room for donation, but the truck never came. I need to donate all that stuff before the house starts showing.”
“You’re in luck. I happen to have a truck that’s perfect for moving boxes. Let’s get the stuff in my truck right now and haul it to the thrift store.” Travis was always a “now” guy. When he got an idea, it didn’t have time to burn out. The list was the only thing he took his time with.
“Now?”
“It’ll be one less thing you have to do on your own.”
“You’ve already fixed the roof. I hate to ask you to go out of your way to help me with this too.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered. And afterward, we’ll check off one of those bucket list items. It’s bad luck not to finish,” he said for the hundredth time.
“I’m not superstitious.”
Travis narrowed his eyes. “Delilah’s unpopular opinion: People who believe in superstitions are lying to themselves.”
That was one of her opinions from last year. “I can’t believe you read my column.”
“Of course, I read it. You’re my best friend, even if I’m no longer yours.”
Ouch. She actually didn’t have a best friend. Since leaving for college, she’d focused on her career and success.
“You don’t want me to have bad luck, do you?” he pressed.
“I’m serious. I’m not superstitious, and I don’t believe in luck.”
“What do you believe in these days, Ly?” His tone wasn’t critical. It wasn’t judgmental. In a way, it felt like he was pitying her.
“I’m . . . I’m not sure anymore.” The question took her by surprise.
“Then we’ll add that to the existing list too.” He nodded resolutely. “Find something for Lyla Dune to believe in. Right after jumping off the Pirate’s Plank.”
“You know what else is on that old bucket list of ours?” She waited as he seemed to think on his answer, coming up blank.
“What?” he asked.
“Skating.” She watched his expression drop in an almost comical way. “So, if you want to check off that list, at some point this summer, you’ll have to pull on some skates.” She could almost see the memories of the doughnut seat cushion he’d had to sit on flashing across his mind. “Rethinking that thought about finishing the list?”
He was no longer smiling. “Nope. We face our fears together, right? Wasn’t that always how it worked? And if we go down—”
She held up a hand and stopped him right there. “I went down after falling off the plank. You didn’t catch me.”
“I’ll catch you this time”—he pointed in her direction—“if you agree to catch me when I fall on my butt in those skates.”
After loading up Travis’s truck with boxes, Lyla climbed into his passenger seat.
“Why didn’t your parents just have a yard sale?” he asked, as he reversed out of the driveway and headed past Ms. Hadley’s house. Lyla glanced into the yard curiously, looking for her neighbor’s new little dog. She hadn’t seen him for a couple of days.
“Yard sales are so much effort.”
“This is a lot of effort too,” he pointed out.
“I know. And I appreciate your help. I could not have done all that without you.” She watched her old street pass by in the side window, remembering how she’d ridden her bike up and down until the sun set and the streetlights lit up. “This street brings back so many memories. This truck too.”
He curled and released his grip on the steering wheel, wrapped with silver duct tape now. “For me too. My first summer with a license. I can still taste the freedom this truck gave me.”
“We had some fun times in this truck.” Travis had only been a few months older, but she wasn’t in a rush to get her license. She was always content to just ride shotgun with Travis. “Tell me about that first year after high school.” She looked over at him. “What was it like?”
“Not great.” His playful grasp and release of the steering wheel turned to a steady grip that whitened his knuckles.
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“I don’t know. You left, and I guess I felt lost without you. I watched my dad make a joke of my sister for being pregnant and not married. The last straw was one Sunday sermon where my dad tried to compare Bailey to Mary in the Bible.”
Lyla nearly pulled a muscle yanking her head in Travis’s direction. “Jesus’ mother?”
“He was only referencing what people would have thought of Mary if they’d discovered she was pregnant before marrying Joseph. I think his exact words were: “kind of what you all think of my own daughter.” Travis pressed his face into his palm momentarily. “It was one thing for him to do that kind of stuff to me, but watching him do it to Bailey was unbearable. I begged Bailey to come with me when I moved, but she wasn’t convinced that RV life and a newborn were a good idea. She was a single mother and, regardless of how my parents treated her, she needed them.”
Lyla reached out and touched Travis’s arm. “Must have been hard.” And she was sorry that she hadn’t been there for him.
“Yeah, but every mile, every town, it got a little easier for me to breathe. I kind of understood maybe a little bit of why you never looked back.”
“My parents weren’t like yours.”
“No, but sometimes shedding the skin of your hometown make you a whole new person.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know some might not find being a handyman all that glamorous, but my life is one of freedom. I like what I do. Sometimes, when life is rough, it’s paving the way for something good. That’s the way I see it.”
“Wow, you’re like a Yoda trapped in a handsome handyman’s body.”
Travis’s gaze cut from the road to her. “Handsome handyman?”
She looked away. “I was going for alliteration, okay? I’m a writer. That’s what I do.”
“Handsome and handy. I should put that on my business cards.” He chuckled quietly as he pulled into a parking lot and cut the engine off in front of the thrift store.
“It might not get you the clientele you’re looking for.” She pushed the passenger door open with a groan. Her arms were already sore from loading the boxes in the back of the pickup. Now they needed to unload them too.
Travis walked around to the back of the truck. “I’ve got this, if you’re tired.”
“I’m younger than you, remember? I can handle a few boxes.” She stepped up beside him and held out her arms for Travis to place the first box.
“There you go,” he said.
She ignored the sensation of his skin brushing over hers. “What’s in these boxes anyway? Did my parents pack bricks?”
He grabbed a box in each arm, acting like they weighed nothing. Then he led the way to the store’s entrance and managed to open the door for her to walk through. It was little things like that Lyla wished Joe had done. Little things built into bigger ones, and those bigger things had certainly come.
“Delivery!” Travis called to the man behind the counter. “These are the boxes from the Dune house.”
“Oh, wow. Sorry we couldn’t come get these boxes ourselves. The delivery truck needs a new engine,” the thrift store owner explained.
“Not a problem,” Travis said. “There’s more coming. And if you need someone to pick up donations around town for you, me and my truck are available for a while.” Travis handed the man his business card.
“The Handyman, huh?” The thrift store owner looked at him. “That’s you?”
“Yes, sir. Handsome and handy.” He glanced in Lyla’s direction.
Lyla watched Travis interact with the store manager. Travis was proud of his business and his reputation. He had made something of himself from the preacher’s son who’d grown up stirring up mischief in Echo Cove. She was proud of him too.
“Can you fix shelves?” the store owner asked. “I have a couple that have fallen apart.”
“I can help with that,” Travis said.
“Great. I’ll be calling you then.” The man shook Travis’s hand.
After unloading all the boxes and getting back into the truck, Lyla glanced across the center console. “So that’s how you get your work, huh?”
“Pretty much. There’s always more than enough jobs to cover my expenses.”
“Sounds kind of nice.”
“It’s freedom. I suppose your work is similar,” he said.
Lyla fidgeted with her hands. “I guess. I can work from anywhere at any time. In the past, I’ve been bogged down with mortgage bills and utilities, but after my breakup with my ex, I no longer have a mortgage.” And her apartment lease ended right around the time her parents asked her for their paramount favor. “Maybe I should get an RV like you.”
“RV life isn’t for everyone. Most people like to put down roots.”
Even though she’d had big-city dreams, Lyla had always envisioned a house and family one day, after building a satisfying and stable career. Now she had none of those things. “So,” she said, changing the subject to one that didn’t invite panic, “remind me, what else was on our final bucket list?”
“You’re agreeing to finishing the list?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, I’m exploring the idea. If we tried, we’d have to make it quick. Because neither of us are committed to staying in Echo Cove.”
“We have plenty of time to check off those last items, and maybe even add a few.”
Laughter bubbled out of her. “I thought I was the overachiever in this friendship.”
“That’s the thing about growing up. Some things change.” He pulled up to a red light and glanced over. “And thankfully, some things never do.”