Chapter 9
Elsie
One week to go.
Somehow the spring came and went, and summer is closing in on Port Myles.
It’s only June third, but tourist season is in full swing.
Some people hate living in a town that’s swarmed with tourists for a few months every year, but I love it.
I love watching people experience this town for the first time.
I love the way their eyes light up at their first bite of a buttery lobster roll, and how their souls seem at peace as they walk along our beaches.
I love watching them snap photos of our rocky shores and lighthouses.
I get a kick out of watching them stroll out of What’s the Scoop with giant ice cream cones, a place that’s such a staple to us but a novelty to out-of-towners on their summer vacation.
I love this town with my whole heart, and I love watching other people fall in love with it, too. Sure, the traffic and parking can be a bear at this time of year, and the wait times at restaurants increase tenfold, but I wouldn’t trade it.
Especially during moments like this one, sitting on the beach with my two favorite people, having a late picnic lunch set to my favorite soundtrack of seagulls cawing and waves crashing against the shore.
The beach is full but not crowded, being too early in the season to actually enjoy swimming yet.
A handful of people stand ankle-deep in the cold water and one brave soul has waded out to his waist, but it’ll be another month or so before it’s warm enough for more comfortable swimming.
The water here never really gets warm; more like tolerable.
I close my eyes and inhale. There’s nothing like a deep breath of seaside air to fill your soul and soothe your heart. If I could bottle up this salty air and take it with me everywhere I go, I would.
“You good, Elsie?” Olivia asks. She’s sprawled next to me on the plaid sheet she snagged from her mom’s linen closet years ago and never returned.
On my other side, Grace has a plate of food artfully arranged in front of our picnic basket.
Her legs are posed just so beside it, so she can show off her sandals and the bottom of her pale yellow linen pants in the photo she’s taking.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned by hanging out with Grace, it’s that an influencer is never off the clock.
She doesn’t have a massive following – at least not by her standards – but her followers have steadily ticked up in the last year or so, and I know she’s hoping to hit a hundred thousand by the end of the year.
She’s found her niche in fashion influencing, specifically thrifted and sustainable fashion.
She started off with the mission of getting people to understand that being ethical about their fashion choices is important, and her following started to really take off when she began showing people how to do just that.
With her phone in hand she takes her followers on her thrifting adventures, walks them through her closet explaining where she got her favorite pieces, and wanders through her favorite boutiques, where she waxes poetic about supporting small businesses that use eco-friendly materials and ethical labor practices.
She’s anti-fast fashion and can convince anyone she talks to for more than five minutes to be more conscious about the impact they’re having on this planet with their fashion choices.
I’m so freaking proud of her.
“I’m good,” I finally answer Olivia. “Just thinking.”
“Thinking about how fucking rad it’s going to be running your own business like the boss bitch you are?” Grace says.
I laugh. “I don’t know about that, but I am thinking about the shop. I’m excited. And nervous. God, the nerves. I can hardly sleep at night, running through my mental checklist and counting down the minutes until I open.”
“We can’t wait to be there,” Olivia says, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “You feeling ready?”
“Ready as I can be. I haven’t been there much lately.
I’m trying to stay out of Matt and Mike’s way while they wrap things up.
They should be finished in the next couple days, then I’ll have a few days to get everything set up, decorate and get inventory moved in.
Deliveries are being made all day next Sunday, the day before we open. ”
It’s been a busy couple months getting to this point.
Aside from the building itself and all of the renovations needed to get it ready, I’ve also had tons of legwork to do on the business side of things: endless phone calls with wholesalers, visits to nearly every flower farm within a hundred-mile radius, drawing up a business plan for the first year, creating social media pages and posting teasers leading up to opening day.
It’s a process that really should have taken us at least three or four months, but we crammed it into two so that we could capitalize on the busy season.
Grace has been a godsend helping me build my social media following, between mentions of the shop on her own socials and giving me a rundown on all the latest trends and what kinds of things I should be posting.
She finishes with the picture she’s taking and moves her plate out of the way so she can scoot over and lean her head on my shoulder.
“We’re so proud of you, E. I know I joke around a lot, but I’m so in awe of you. You’re going to absolutely crush it.”
“I second that,” Olivia says, sitting up now but still clutching my hand. “We’re so lucky to be by your side while you follow your dreams.”
“Hey, there she is!” a male voice calls, interrupting our sappy moment. We all turn toward the voice and watch as a couple walking hand-in-hand approaches, stopping in front of our picnic blanket. “Port Myles’ newest business owner.”
“Hi, DJ. Hi, Mandy.” I give a little wave and Mandy waves back with her free hand, smiling as she snaps her gum.
“There’s my favorite couple,” Grace says. Anyone else in town would have been laying on the sarcasm thick with that statement, but not Grace.
DJ and Mandy have been an on-and-off couple for the last few years, and somehow, they always manage to make their business everybody else’s business.
It’s not unusual to see them holding hands in the morning and then see one of them making out with somebody else at the bar that same night.
Too many times to count I’ve witnessed them yelling at each other on the street over something minor – the way DJ looked at another woman in front of Mandy, the flirty voice Mandy used with their server at dinner – only to clash together in an angry makeout session that seemed to be their end goal all along.
They put the fun in dysfunctional, and toxicity seems to be their love language.
Grace loves them.
“Aw, shucks,” DJ chuckles. “You guys are great, too.”
I notice the side eye Mandy gives him and feel Grace’s elbow dig into my ribs. Calling three women great in front of his girlfriend? Rookie mistake.
To my surprise, Mandy brushes off the comment and turns back to us. “I can’t believe you bought that old dance studio. I used to take lessons there for, like, ten years.”
“Leased it,” I correct. Mandy stares at me blankly, still snapping her gum. “You should stop by and see it when we open,” I redirect. “You’ll hardly believe it’s the same place.”
“I totally will,” she nods. “I used to spend hours there just tapping away while my mom watched through that big window. I used to get in trouble for making goofy faces at her and making all the other kids laugh.”
“I’m gonna be checking out the other shop,” DJ says with a grin. He pulls up his T-shirt sleeve and flexes a freckled bicep. “Got a spot all ready to be inked with Mandy’s name.”
“Do you, uh, think that’s a great idea?” Olivia asks tentatively.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Mandy snaps, eyes narrowing on Olivia.
“Ignore her,” Grace assures her. “Our tatted queen just likes to make sure people are confident in their tattoo decisions.”
“Tatted queen,” Olivia mutters. I bite my lips to hide my smile. She really won’t live that one down.
“I’ll come check out the flowers while the love of my life,” she shoots another glare Olivia’s way, “gets his tattoo. Then I can pretend to be surprised when it’s done.”
“Sounds perfect,” Grace tells her, and she probably means it.
“Too bad the window won’t be there,” DJ says. “You could play with your flowers while you watch me get tatted.”
My spine stiffens, but I brush the comment off. He’s not the first person to not take the art of floristry seriously and he certainly won’t be the last. Grace, noticing the way my body tenses, presses tighter against my side.
“Well, it’s been fun, you two.” She waves, effectively dismissing DJ and Mandy. “We’ll see you both on opening day.”
“Later,” DJ says, throwing up a peace sign. Mandy waggles her fingers in a wave and drags DJ toward the wooden stairs that lead back up to Main Street.
“I cannot wait to see that tattoo,” Grace says wistfully, watching them go.