Chapter 15
CARTER
The boardwalk is packed for a Tuesday afternoon.
Tourists in neon swimsuits crowd the storefronts.
This kid, probably no older than five, drops his ice cream cone on the sidewalk.
A big strawberry scoop splatters, and he cries like the world is ending.
As soon as the tears come, the mom lifts him up and promises another one. The tears stop.
I walk with no destination, which is new for me. In New York, every step I took was backed with purpose because of schedules. Yesterday, I finished my last paperback, and this morning, I donated it to a book bin near the B&B.
The Salty Pages van sits at the end of the boardwalk near the beach access. The side door is open, and several shelves are set up in front. I’ve passed it several times, but I wanted to finish what was on my To Be Read list and donate them before buying more.
I’ve seen the woman behind the counter with Josie at the B&B, but we’ve never officially met.
She hums along to Ed Sheeran from a speaker on the dash.
The silver bangles on her wrists announce her every move as she arranges a stack of bright pink books on a folding table.
Based on the thirty seconds I’ve been standing here, she’s the kind of person who has never met a stranger.
“Hey, you! Welcome to Salty Pages. Searching for something specific?” She beams at me.
“Just browsing.”
“Famous last words.” She moves toward me. “I’m Mia. You’re at Seaside, right? I’ve seen you around.”
“Carter. I’m staying at the B&B for the summer.”
“Really? Bet you’ll miss it when you’re gone. What do you like to read?” She moves beside me, scanning the shelves like we’re shopping together.
“Anything that can hold my attention. I typically like thrillers, but I’m not a genre snob.”
“Good to know. How do you like Coconut Beach so far?”
“I’m not bored. The weather is nice. Great food. People are friendly. Five out of five. Highly recommend it.”
“You’re much different than when you first arrived.” She smiles, then pulls a book from the shelf, glances at the back, and shakes her head.
“Valid assessment,” I tell her as I glance over the covers in front of me.
Buying books based on a cover is reader roulette.
“Maybe it’s the B&B. Most who show up grumpy leave with a smile. It’s a haven for heartache.” She says it casually, like she’s talking about the island.
I chuckle, but she doesn’t laugh.
“You’re fucking with me,” I tell her.
“It’s a known thing with the locals. People who stay there usually end up changed in some way. Lots of divorcees show up. Those suffering from grief. Burnout. There’s magic in those walls, and those who need healing get it.”
I glance over at her, remembering what Reese said to me—about how she visited after her divorce. “Sounds very woo-woo.”
“Ask Josie the next time you see her. Ask Gale. Actually, ask Wendy.” She tightens her ponytail. “Why do you think she’s staying there? Could it be because her broken heart needs repairing?”
“Or could it be because she’s running the place and needs to be on-site?” I throw her way with a chuckle. “I’m not falling for this.”
Mia moves to another shelf, pushing books together to make room for others that she’s pulling from boxes.
“Wendy is a good person. Growing up, she was a role model to Josie and me. Our friend group always looked up to her. During nesting season, Wendy had us all volunteering with the sea turtle rescue. She organized beach cleanups monthly and got local businesses to donate supplies.” A soft laugh slips out.
“The woman has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met, and every guy she’s been with has treated her like she’s temporary. ”
She pulls a book out, reads the back, and returns it to its home. The whole thing feels like she’s browsing, but the silence she leaves after that last sentence is purposeful. It’s my warning.
“That’s unfortunate,” I say, keeping the rest of my opinions to myself.
“It really is.” Mia turns to me. “She has seemed happier lately.”
“Has she? I’ve seen no difference since I arrived.”
She holds my gaze a beat longer than necessary. “You wouldn’t. That’s when it changed.”
Mia reaches into the middle shelf and pulls a paperback with a guy standing in front of a house on the cover.
“Before you judge it, this book is incredible. It’s the perfect summer read that’ll wreck you in the best way.
Savannah Collins is an incredible author.
Bases all her books on her real-life experiences. Tons of Easter eggs everywhere.”
“Really?” I flip it and read the back.
She booked a vacation to disappear. He was the one person who wouldn’t let her.
The lines of the temporary fling blur.
Keeping him a secret means losing the only man who’s ever seen the real her.
I read it again. The second pass is worse. Either this woman knows exactly what she’s doing, or the universe has a sick sense of humor, and given the look on Mia’s face, my money is on both.
“Sounds great, doesn’t it?” She tilts her head, easily reading me.
I blink at her, handing it back. “Romance really isn’t my cup of tea.”
She taps her finger against the cover, and her bracelets jingle. “You could learn a thing or two. Unless you’re a chicken.”
My brows furrow as she pushes it back toward me.
“Or, what, you believe you’re too intellectual to read it? All men should be required to read one romance book per month. The world would be a much better place.”
“Damn, okay. I’ll buy it. You don’t have to hassle me,” I say and reach for another book with an old, creepy house on the front, but she smacks my hand.
Her smile doesn’t falter. “You’re only getting this one and reading it. Then you can come back and choose your own adventure. Should only take you a week.”
I scoff, flipping through the pages. “I can finish this in a day.”
“Want a gold star?” She shoots me a wink, then grabs the book to scan it. “That will be twenty dollars. Best investment you’ll make this week.”
I hand her a fifty. She gives me the change, and I drop it in her tip jar, covered with seashells. It reminds me of the lamp at the B&B.
“Josie made that. She has a seashell art business. You should chat with her,” she says, tucking the novel into a small paper bag with the Salty Pages logo on the front.
“Why?”
“Because she could help you. But anyway, happy reading!” She waves as I walk away. “And, Carter? If you hurt Wendy, her friends will make you wish you’d never vacationed in Coconut Beach.”
“You have nothing to worry about,” I tell her.
“I’m not worried,” Mia says. “Nice seeing you again, Carter. Have a good day.”
Mia basically just interviewed me, warned me, and bullied me without breaking a smile.
I take the beach route toward the B&B with my shoes in one hand and the bag in the other. The sand is hot under my feet, and the sun blasts down on my shoulders, but I can’t help but smile. Life is so fucking good, even if the entire island is conspiring to ship Wendy and me together.
First, it was the baristas at the coffee shop who harassed me to pay sixty bucks for silence and drew hearts on Wendy’s cup. Now, there’s Mia, who seems to know more than even I suspected.
Once I’m back in my room, I shower and change into shorts.
The afternoon sun hangs lazy in the sky.
I open the romance book and realize the hero is keeping who he really is secret from the heroine.
It hits a little too close to home, and I wonder if Mia has figured out who I really am. My nostrils flare. Fuck, I hope not.
“People who stay there usually end up changed in some way. Lots of divorcees show up. Those suffering from grief. Burnout. There’s magic in those walls, and those who need healing get it.”
I read for two hours, and the book is better than I expected.
Downstairs, the house thumps with its usual sounds from guests. The plumbing squeaks—something that usually happens when the hot water on the second floor is used. Someone doesn’t catch the screen door, and it slaps closed.
Time passes, and a knock on the door pulls me away.
“Come in,” I say over my shoulder.
“Hi.”
Wendy steps inside, carrying a stack of fresh towels. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail that’s haphazardly on her head. The purple Seaside polo is tucked into the front of her shorts. She sets the towels in the bathroom and moves to the balcony doorway.
“I thought you finished your last book yesterday?”
“I did. Made a stop by Salty Pages.” I close the book and show her the cover. “Mia recommended it.”
Her brows lift. “A romance book?”
“A vacation romance book. I was bullied into it and was threatened on the way out.”
Wendy closes her eyes. “I’m going to kill her.”
“She’s good at what she does. I didn’t realize I was being interrogated until it was too late.”
“That’s Mia. And to think, Josie makes her look like an amateur. My sister will have you spilling your entire life story without even realizing it.”
I place the receipt in the book and close it.
Wendy glances at it. “Is it good?”
“Actually, yeah. Have you ever heard of the author? Apparently, a lot of her books are based on her real-life experiences,” I explain.
Wendy glances down at the name. “Oh, yeah. I’ve read one of her books before. Massive fan base.”
She presses her lips together, and she holds back a laugh. “Never expected you to be reading romance.”
“To be fair, I read a lot of different genres.”
“It’s kinda hot,” she admits.
I grin, meeting her eyes. She looks relaxed, comfortable even.
“She mentioned something about this place.”
“Oh, I’m dying to know.” Wendy steps onto the balcony and leans against the railing, facing me, waiting for me to continue. The wind blows hard, and she twists her ponytail into a messy bun.
“Mia said broken people come here, and many leave healed. She’s convinced there’s magic in the walls.”
This makes her chuckle. “That’s the rumor.”
“Right. But usually, with rumors, there is some truth to it.”
“And?”