Chapter 9
nine
SADIE
Groaning, I manage to roll myself out of bed, shooting a dirty look at my running sneakers that are definitely not getting an outing today.
Not just because I don’t want to bump into a certain asshole with thick ropes of muscles in his thighs and unfairly beautiful eyes, but because I got exactly zero sleep last night.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror and wince. Puffy eyes. Hair that’s auditioning for birds to take up residence in it. Why is it when you want to look good, nature always does this?
Apparently, the man you really want to hate finding out that you have a secret desire to be chased until you’re caught makes for excellent insomnia. I’ve been switching between sheer embarrassment and white hot fury all night.
And now I have to get down and open the shop. But first, coffee.
I shove my hair into a messy bun, pull on the first clothes I can find – a pair of faded leggings and a T-shirt that says My Safe Word is HEA from a set that Romy bought me for my birthday – and head downstairs.
She’s already there, camera set up in front of the bookshelves, ring light making her skin glow like she’s shooting a beauty ad. Not that any makeup brand would appreciate her saying, “What woman wouldn’t want six pairs of hands all over her body?”
I cough out a laugh and she hits pause on the camera, her eyes wide as she takes in my disheveled state
“Need coffee,” I tell her.
“And you’re almost speaking in full sentences. That’s impressive.” She grins at me. I look at the book she’s holding. It has an illustrated cover, with a woman in the middle of six guys. They’re all dressed in hockey gear and smoldering as they stare at her.
“This book isn’t even out yet and it’s already hit the top one hundred on ,” she tells me, wiggling it. “We got an advanced copy. Isn’t that great?” She lifts an excited brow. “And I’ll have an iced caramel macchiato with an extra shot since you’re about to ask.”
“Sometimes I wonder who’s the boss in this relationship,” I mutter.
She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I think we both know it’s me. Now go get my drink so I can get back to talking about crossing swords.”
“Crossing swords as in…”
“As in not swords.” She winks. “Her boyfriends have boyfriends. And it’s hot as hell.”
I press a hand to my forehead. “God help me,” I mutter. “If Mylene asks why I’m ordering a latte with a whiskey shot, I’m blaming you.”
“Tell her it’s for art,” Romy calls after me. “By the way, you got a package. I put it on the counter.”
“Thanks, I’ll check it later.”
I step outside into the early morning air. It’s a glorious day. The sun is out, the sky a perfect cobalt blue, and the ferry is pulling into port, steam rising from it’s funnel.
Main Street is just waking up. I wave at Ted who runs the general store, and then I walk into Brewed Awakenings, my body immediately relaxing at the smell of coffee beans.
“Ooh,” Mylene says, as she fills up the glass display with mouthwatering pastries. “You look like you spent all night reading.”
Ha. Chance would be a fine thing. Because somebody took my book. I try to push him out of my mind. “My body is suffering from a caffeine deficiency. Please help me.”
“The usual?” She smiles.
“Yes please. And Romy wants…” Crossed swords, mostly. I frown, trying to remember what she asked for. “A caramel macchiato I think.
“Iced caramel macchiato with an extra shot. She just sent me a message because she knew you’d forget.”
Of course she did. She’s never anything but ruthlessly efficient.
Mylene leans on the counter, her bracelets clinking. “By the way, did you hear the news?” She loves to gossip, as long as it doesn’t involve her. Or her estranged twin sister, Eileen.
And the least said about their constant enmity the better.
“What news?” I ask.
“Zach Fitzgerald resigned from the Art Trail Committee.”
Something tightens under my ribs. I tell myself it’s caffeine withdrawal. “Where did you hear that?” I try to keep my voice light.
“Jesse mentioned it this morning. Before the first ferry left. He heard it last night from somebody at the Salty Dog. Who overheard Autumn telling Skyler. Or something like that.” She shrugs.
“I can’t say I’m surprised. He never stays here for long.
The man’s too busy flying first class or on a private jet to gorgeous places.
I guess he’s too important to hang around here and organize a little art show. ”
I let out a breath, ignoring the annoyance rushing through me. Or at least that’s what I’m calling it, because disappointment isn’t something I want to feel when it comes to him. “Is he leaving then?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” She smiles and hands over the coffees, then leans closer. “Is Romy recording another podcast? I saw her hauling in some equipment.”
“Something like that.” I nod.
“Ooh, you’ll have to tell me when it’s live.
” She leans across the counter, lowering her voice.
“The one about the praise kink was very enlightening. I nearly coughed up my tea when I heard that the phrase ‘good girl’ can be foreplay. I’m pretty sure Hudson knows all about it.
Every time Skyler walks in, it’s all ‘good girl, sweetheart’ this, ‘thank you, baby’ that.
I thought he was being polite. Turns out he’s been talking dirty this whole time. ”
I almost choke on a laugh. “Mylene, please tell me you didn’t tell him that.”
She grins. “Of course not. But I might have winked at him.”
I take the coffees and head back to the bookshop, trying not to think about praise kinks. Because, quite frankly, I have enough to deal with. Luckily Romy’s winding up her recording when I walk back in, and I put her coffee on the counter as I take a long sip of mine.
The package she talked about is waiting for me next to the cash register. It’s weird, because the mailman hasn’t been by yet. Nothing comes from the mainland until after the first ferry arrives. There’s just my name on the front of the brown envelope, so I open it and peek inside.
And see a book.
Not just any book. But The Hunting of Red. I don’t even have to take it out to know it’s my copy. I can see the post-it-notes.
Oh my God, he read the post-its.
It’s like he’s read my diary. And now he knows all my deepest, darkest desires.
“What is it?” Romy asks, walking over and grabbing her coffee.
“And thank you.” She takes a long sip from the straw, her cheeks hollowing.
“Seriously, nobody makes coffee like Mylene.” She leans forward.
“Hey, is that The Hunting of Red? Why’s somebody sending that to you? Haven’t you read it already?”
“It’s a long story,” I say, pulling it out. “But this is my copy.”
She blinks, taking in the post it notes. “Did you lose it?”
“It was stolen,” I say, ignoring the pang in my chest. A little note is attached to the front. Long, looping words inked across it.
I’m sorry I took this. And for overstepping the line. I regret it deeply.
ZF.
Romy takes the post-it from the book and reads it, her brows scrunched. “ZF,” she murmurs. A beat later she frowns. “Zach Fitzgerald took your book?” Disbelief colors her voice. “Like, actually stole it?”
I sigh and sink onto the stool behind the counter. “Yeah.” And it almost feels like a relief to be telling somebody about it. Like I’m not so alone. I know she won’t judge me. She’s based her podcasts on not being ashamed after all.
Even if I am ashamed. A little bit. My sexual confidence is obviously a work in progress.
Still, I tell her about Zach taking the book the other night, about him running after me and his hand curling around my wrist, and that low “I thought so,” that confused me until I realized exactly what he’d done.
When I get to yesterday, to our argument in my office, she frowns.
“He really challenged you to a race?” She presses her lips together.
“He really did.” I feel my cheeks blush. And now I’m thinking about him counting to ten again, dammit.
She looks at me, like she’s seeing me in a whole new light. “That’s… okay, yeah, that’s not great behavior. But also—”
“Don’t,” I warn. “Do not tell me this is romantic.”
She lifts her brows, all innocence. “I wasn’t going to. I was going to say it’s complicated. I mean, he’s clearly an asshole. But it’s also a little hot.”
I glare. “Romy.”
“What?” She shrugs, sipping her drink. “You’re allowed to have fantasies, Sadie. Everyone does. You think mine don’t get weird sometimes? Half of my podcast is me normalizing stuff women are too embarrassed to admit turns them on.”
I fold my arms. “It’s not the fantasy that bothers me. It’s him knowing it.”
Romy’s voice softens. “Then take it back. Own it. Fantasies aren’t shameful, they’re power. You decide who gets to touch them, and who doesn’t. That’s control.”
Her words hit something deep inside of me. I look away, pretending to rearrange a stack of bookmarks. “Yeah, well, right now I’d settle for controlling my temper.”
“Why should you control your temper?” she asks. “Because we were brought up to be good girls? Because society says it’s okay for a guy to be hot-headed but not a woman?” She wrinkles her nose. “Don’t let him take away your power.”
That reminds me. “Mylene loved your praise kink podcast by the way.”
Romy grins, momentarily distracted. “Ooh, what part?”
“The bit where she gets off listening to Hudson call Skyler a good girl.”
“Oops.” She grimaces. “She’s going to love the next one I have planned. It’s all about…” She shakes her head. “Sorry, let’s get back to you. So what are you going to do about this? How are you going to take your power back?”
“I’m not. He resigned from the committee. He apologized. It’s done.” But for some reason I feel worse. Like he thinks I’m some kind of delicate flower he’s damaged. And that’s somehow more annoying than him taking my book. Or challenging me to a race. At least then he was treating me as an equal.
I’m so, so tired of being treated like my words don’t count.
“You okay here?” I ask Romy. “I just need to go and do something.”
“Sure.” She nods, looking at me carefully.