Chapter 2
TWO
SAVANNA
I wake up drenched in sweat with the sunrise peeking through the sheer curtains. I kick my soaked sheets off my bare legs. Through heavy-lidded eyes, I turn my head, glancing over at my nightstand—searching for the alarm clock.
I already know what it’s going to say, and I’m dreading it.
My eyes focus, registering the clock’s two flashing dots working in sync, screaming at me to go back to sleep.
That I shouldn’t be awake yet.
But just as the sun rises each morning, I can count on my fatigued twenty-four-year-old body to do two things. One, wake me up forty-five minutes before my alarm sounds each day. And two, sweating out the same recurring dream I’ve had the last few years, as if I fell asleep in a sauna.
One is worse than the other.
Dalton, implementing himself every single night in my dreams, like a damn mirage. As if he’s a paid actor, whose job is to torment me with memories of us wrapped up together the night of the bonfire six years ago.
Huffing out a yawn, I rub the sleep from my eyes and stretch my arms over my head. As I slide out of bed, my toes hit the hardwood floor—testing its coolness. A slight chill rolls through me as I slide my feet into my knee-high socks, wrapping my robe around my body.
As I descend the stairs, the early morning glow dances across the living room. Light spills over the shiplap walls, brushing against Drew’s scattered princess toys in shades of purple and pink. I smile to myself.
It’s just like Drew.
A rambunctious, bright splash of color in my otherwise plain-colored life.
I make my way into the kitchen, take down a mug from the cabinet, and prepare my espresso machine—a generous, over-the-top gift from Hudson three Christmases ago.
He hand-delivered it to me one evening after babysitting Drew when she had a serious case of the terrible threes.
He threatened he wouldn’t make the trek back home from college to help babysit Drew again without it, which I know was just an excuse, because that girl has him wrapped around her delicate little finger.
I’m pretty sure he felt bad for me, and that shiny silver machine that sits on my kitchen counter was his way of saying good luck raising a threenager.
I’m not complaining, because three years later, Drew has outgrown that devilish stage, while I’m still over here reaping the coffee benefits like my life depends on it.
Once the last drip from the machine fills my cup, I take the first glorious sip of the day—relishing the warmth from the steaming liquid that begins to spread throughout my body.
Taking my liquid gold out onto my front porch, the sound of the waves crashing ashore in the distance surrounds me.
I take my seat on the wicker couch overlooking the view, wrapping the burgundy knit blanket (that Mom gifted me for my birthday last year) over my shoulders.
I take note of the thin marine layer, already fizzling out by the sunrise—revealing another mild August day here on the island.
I keep my eyes focused on my own sliver of ocean between the cabbage palms as I relish my small piece of heaven, letting the steaming mug of coffee relieve the slight chill in my hands.
With the rental being in a prime location, one would think the landlord would want to put a little TLC into it.
But sadly, that hasn’t been the case—leaving it to myself to fix things when needed, and caring for it as if it were my own the last few years.
At the time, it was all I could afford, being a single mother on a bartender’s salary.
Over time, it’s grown on me, being the first place Drew and I got to call home.
It’s been worth it, though, because the rent is what I would consider a bargain for living on Tybee Island.
I can put a little elbow grease into this place if it means I can stay living close to my parents and Hudson.
Exhaling a deep breath, I blow the steam from my mug and take a sip, letting the vanilla almond flavor coat my tongue.
I slide my finger over my phone, unlocking it, and tap the calendar app to look at my schedule for the day.
My meticulously scheduled life flashes back at me.
My days are planned down to the hour, between raising Drew and wanting to keep her on a routine, to working at Salty Sailors.
My eyes continue to roam the calendar app on my phone, reading it as if it were a book—landing on the extra shift I’m picking up to make up for Drew being sick.
Glancing up, I stare off into the distance, watching a flock of seagulls circle the Atlantic—frolicking and shrieking—enjoying their freedom in the early morning dew.
Huffing out a breath, I bring my coffee to my lips, contemplating whether I should ask my mom or Hudson for help with Drew this week.
Or if they’re feeling the burnout of my life, too.
My reckless decision to have a child at eighteen has woven and weaved its way into their very own lives. A tightness pulls in my chest as guilt consumes me, suddenly making me lose my morning coffee appetite.
I consider dumping my remaining coffee into the potted petunia Drew and I planted over the summer when I hear tiny footsteps come down the stairs. I turn my head, glancing through the front screen door to find a sleepy Drew making her way into the living room.
“Good morning, little bean,” I call into the house. “Would you like me to make you pancakes for breakfast before we get you ready for school?”
I cock my head sideways as I wait for a response. Drew gives me a sassy look, propping her hand on her hip. “Yes, please, Mommy. But only if it has strawberries and whipped cream on top.”
We know who the negotiator is in the family.
I smile, knowing darn well she inherited her sass from me. The same sass I learned to perfect with having an older brother to spar with my whole life.
“Of course. We need you properly fueled for your day at school, don’t we?” I wink, heading back through the screen door to hug her.
“Exactly, Mommy!” Drew exclaims in my arms, jumping up and down in her little nightgown. She clutches one of her many stuffed animals to her chest as she follows behind me into the kitchen.
And I melt.
Because reckless or not, I wouldn’t trade her for the world.
After our daily battle over what’s considered appropriate school outfits for first grade, I finally got Drew dropped off before the second bell rang.
Once I maneuver my Jeep out of the school traffic jam, I drive toward downtown, savoring the calmness of the morning before the restaurants and shops open.
Now that it’s late August, most of the summer tourists have left for the season, leaving mostly only locals and the occasional wanderer to keep this place afloat.
Pulling into the parking lot of Salty Sailors, I slide the key out of the ignition.
Doing a quick visual, I scan the lot for Hailey’s car, but I don’t see it.
Before I get out, I glance down at my phone to see if I have any missed messages from my boss letting me know she is running late, but I don’t find any.
Dropping my phone back in my purse, I hop out of my Jeep, my Chucks hitting the pavement as I make my way quickly to the bar’s front door. My keys slide into the giant white seashell doorknob that’s surrounded by a fishing net as I make my way into Salty’s.
Once I’m inside, I turn on the lights and flip over chairs as I walk through, in preparation for the lunch rush in a few short hours.
Thankfully, since Drew started school, Hailey has been understanding about scheduling my shifts to line up with her school hours, bartending at night or weekends only when necessary.
After roughly thirty minutes to myself in the vacant bar, Salty’s front door flies open, and Hailey makes her way through. Frazzled, she drops her purse on the bar top with a loud whack.
My head whips up from where I’m re-shelving the glassware from last night’s shift. The sudden commotion of my boss’s dramatic entrance ricochets off the aged wood panel walls—shocking the early morning stillness of the bar.
“I am so over men! Like. Completely. Fucking. Done,” she enunciates each word, wiping her hands clean. “Like enough to want to join a convent and become a nun and never have sex again.”
I sputter a laugh, setting the glass tumbler in my hands aside.
I give her a pointed look. “That’s a pretty powerful statement coming from you, Hails,” I tease.
“What happened with your online date last night? Was it that bad?” I ask, pressing back against the counter for support.
My white Chucks cross at my ankles—giving her my full attention.
“Well, let’s just say, he texted me a dick pic during dinner while I was sitting right across from him,” she scoffs, appalled.
I slap my hand over my mouth, stifling a gasp, while my face scrunches up in distaste. “He didn’t!”
“Yup! He even had the nerve to wiggle his eyebrows at me as I opened the text. I about screamed in the restaurant and dropped my phone in my pasta when I saw it.” The look on Hailey’s face tells me she isn’t exaggerating.
Her gaze lands blankly on the pink flamingo sign flashing on the wall, like she’s lost in a trance.
When I raise my arms in the air, Hailey snaps out of her daze, turning her attention back toward me. “See! This is exactly why I don’t date, Hails. I don’t need any unsolicited dick pics in my life. I’ll stick to my vibrator, thank you very much.”
An unladylike snort falls out of Hailey’s mouth, shaking her head as she proceeds to walk toward the discreet safe behind the counter for last night’s money drop. “Yeah. Well, it’s a tragedy. I mean, what do you even say back after being texted a dick pic in person like that?”
I take the rag that’s slung over my shoulder and wipe down the sticky barstools. “Hmm, maybe nice dick?”
Hailey stops spinning the combination for the safe and claps her hand like a light bulb went off in her head.
“Oh, I know. How about…wow! What a gorgeous cock you have,” she swoons, the back of her hand landing on her forehead for theatrics.
She continues in a mocking tease, clutching her hand to her chest. “Please, sir. Please send me a picture of your cock on the first date. I don’t think my poor, cobwebbed vagina will survive another second without it. ”
My head falls back in a cackle, my blonde ponytail grazing down my back. “Oh, that would be just so perfect for their egos,” I say, rolling my eyes. Meanwhile, I internally wince—embarrassment engulfing me—because I’m the one not having sex.
Truth is, I don’t have a lot of experience in that department.
After all the horror stories I hear from Hailey, I’m not sure I want that particular experience.
I continue to add my two cents anyway—even with my lack of guy knowledge.
“Honestly, if men only knew the way to a woman’s heart was a backward hat photo.
It would make things a lot easier. I’d take that over a dick pic any day. ”
Hailey glances up from the safe, where she’s entering a code, and sighs dreamily.
“You are so right, Sav. There’s nothing hotter than a man with a backward hat.
” She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Romance is dead, Savanna.” She gives me a pointed look to drive the message home. “Fucking dead. I’m telling you.”
I sputter a laugh but quickly rein it in when the feeling of sympathy overcomes me at Hailey’s run of bad dates. She can’t catch a break after finding out her boyfriend of two years was sleeping with his co-worker, especially since she was anticipating a proposal was in the works.
“Well, I’m sorry your date was awful, Hails. I’m sure you will meet someone great one of these days. There’s no way I could handle the current dating scene right now,” I confess.
Hailey bobs her head, counting the till. “Yeah. That’s true. You have enough on your plate as it is with that sassy little six-year-old at home. Don’t worry…I’ll weed them out for you.” She winks.
I scoff. “Please do. I don’t need another child to take care of.”
Hailey cackles, tipping her soft brown hair back. “Well, hey! Drew can have a playmate.”
Giving her a playful glare, I fist my hands on my hips. “Yeah, no thanks.”
Hailey lets out a mischievous laugh, like she’s concocting an evil plan. “You have to get out there eventually, Savanna. You can’t keep locking that hot body away!”
A snort escapes me as I walk to the back of the bar to take inventory. The rustic saloon doors swing closed behind me—Yeah, not going to happen.
“If not for your sake, then Drews,” she shouts after me. “She needs another man in her life besides your brother and all his macho athlete energy!”
I let out a groan—not wanting to add to the conversation. Sometimes, Hailey needs to let buried things lie—because dating and me?
Never works out.
Analyzing the alcohol that needs restocking from last night’s shift, my mind wanders to the possibilities of dating again.
It would be nice to meet someone organically.
Maybe. I have had a few dates over the last few years since Drew was born, but nothing serious enough to warrant any meaningful relationship.
My mind drifts to a case of “what ifs” like it so often does, but I shut that down and continue to get the bar ready to open.
I don’t need the distraction of thinking about my brother’s best friend right now.