Chapter 7
Silvie
Two weeks ago, if you’d have told me I’d be excited about rolling out of bed to do yoga on the beach every day at sunrise, I would’ve laughed and ordered another latte. I’m a runner, not a yoga person. Also, a city girl, not a beach person. But now I’m surprised by how much I’m loving island life.
Now I’m at the door, itching to leave, before Birdie even finishes her tea. “Don’t rush me, Sugar Bean,” Birdie says, squinting at the clock. “My bones need a moment to wake up.”
I have to laugh a little, because yoga was her idea at first. I dragged my heels to it, but now I’m the one excited about it every day. It gives me a purpose and something to look forward to every day. Yoga has been good for me.
“Come on, we don’t want to miss the sunrise,” I tell her, bouncing a little.
She eyes me. “Who are you and what have you done with the woman who questioned yoga on day one?”
“That was the hangover,” I say. “And trauma.”
Birdie snorts and grabs her hat, “You’re going alone tomorrow. I’m sleeping in and meeting my Bees for coffee.”
“Okay,” I say cheerfully. “But I bet you’ll regret not doing it. It’s the best start of the day.”
Even though yoga makes me ridiculously happy, these past two weeks haven’t been worry-free.
I had to hide my phone in a drawer so I wouldn’t be tempted to look at it.
While work isn’t missing me, I know my friends and family are confused, and likely upset or angry.
Plus, there’s the tabloids and all their speculating. It’s a lot to obsess over.
And yet, I’m finding ways not to. I’ve been exploring the cute shops in town, taking long, reflective walks on the beach, cooking what I want versus what someone else wants for me, and prioritizing my wants and needs over anything else.
It’s strange, but nice.
“I’ve created a yoga monster,” Birdie says with a huff.
I sigh, feeling happy. “I’m finally sleeping and eating actual food. I might just be a human now.”
The sleep has been orgasmic. And not just because a certain handsome bartender keeps appearing in my dreams. I’ve finally been able to relax for the first time in forever.
Birdie studies me as if she’s trying to take it all in. She’s been doing that ever since I got here. Watching me closely as if I might break. “You’re glowing.”
That part is true. I am glowing. I don’t remember the last time I felt this rested. I feel like someone swapped my batteries.
She eyes my T-shirt and leggings, the same ones I have been washing and re-wearing. “You know I love you, sugar. But you’ve got to go over to Coral Moon and get yourself some clothes. You have been wearing the same thing on repeat.”
It’s so comfortable, though.
“Hmmm, not a bad idea,” I muse. “There were a couple of shops with cute things inside. Maybe I’ll check them out tomorrow.”
In New York, I admittedly had a stylist. She got me tailored suits and all my clothes.
I never had to worry about what to wear.
They just appeared in my closet. But now that I’ve been hiding out in Coconut Beach with an overnight bag that didn’t hold much, I do need to grab a few things.
It might be fun to go shopping for clothes that I actually like and pick out for once.
Maybe I’ll even get something daring that would have my mother clutching her pearls.
The thought makes me giddy.
Sunrise yoga on the beach feels less like exercise and more like permission to breathe again.
And not to have to think about anything whatsoever for an hour.
Just listening to Summer’s relaxing soothing voice and stretching and bending in ways my body isn’t used to.
And the best part is that I’m starting to physically feel better. Stronger.
And Summer is the actual best part. She’s pure sunshine in human form, always barefoot, laughing, and comfortable wherever she is.
I feel like I’m making a friend, and I love that.
I’m going to ask her if she wants to grab a coffee and go shopping later.
I can’t remember the last time I did something like that.
I’m embarrassed to admit that my only friend back in New York is Wilby, my assistant. And he was so mad that I left without telling him. He’s over it now, but when I got back to him after those first few days here, he gave me hell.
We’ve been texting whenever I fish my phone out and turn it on. Wilby is relieved I didn’t marry Tyler. I always knew that Wilby wasn’t a huge fan of Tyler’s, but he never said much.
Until now.
Now, every text insults my ex, and frankly, it’s therapeutic.
After class, Birdie wanders off to chat with someone, and I linger, watching the waves. That’s when I see him.
Cal.
And I try not to look. I do. The last thing I need is to crush on the cute, local bartender. He literally saw me at my worst. But he makes it really, really hard not to notice him.
He’s on a surfboard and wow...his body is beautiful. He’s in board shorts, shirtless, and effortlessly riding a wave. Afterward, he shakes out his hair and paddles out again. I watch him do it over and over, entranced by how gorgeous this man is.
Which is exactly why I need to stop looking. My pride is still tender and bruised from the beating it took a couple of weeks ago. Drooling over Cal complicates an already brittle situation.
I’ve seen him around, but I haven’t talked to him since he walked up on me talking to Iggy.
I’ve caught glimpses of him everywhere. At the marina.
At the market. Once at dawn, jogging along the beach in the opposite direction.
We never cross paths long enough to talk.
Which is for the best. I’m not sure what I’d say.
I certainly don’t trust myself. At least not yet.
With a sigh, I turn away from the stupidly gorgeous, distracting man to roll up my mat.
Summer flops down next to me like we’re already the best of friends. “Hey girl, how are you doing?”
I’m grateful to have something other than Cal and all his muscles to focus on.
“I was actually wondering if you were busy later?” I say, trying to act casual, as if this hasn’t been brewing all morning.
“Well, that depends. What are we doing?” she says with a grin.
“I didn’t bring clothes,” I say. “Like...any. Birdie is tired of me looking ragged and wants me to go shopping, and I need a partner in crime.”
She looks excited, “Oh, that sounds like a lot of fun.”
Relief floods me. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” she says. “First rule of Coconut Beach is you get fresh clothes.”
“Second rule?” I ask.
“We get coffee first.”
Relief hits me. I made a friend, and I’m finally going to dress decently. Win, win.
We meet an hour later at a little walk-up spot near the beach where there’s a coffee truck. Summer orders us iced matchas and tells me I’m going to love it. It’s green, so we’ll see. I don’t have high hopes.
“Trust me,” she says, handing one to me. “This will change your life.”
I take a sip and groan. “Oh no. This is dangerous. It’s actually good.”
She laughs. “It’s my favorite drink ever.”
Shopping with Summer is effortless. She hands me dresses, linen shorts, and flowy tops, as if she already knows what will work. I try things on. Twirl. Say yes to colors I’d never pick back home. Because most people here on Coconut Beach wear bright and happy colors, and I love it.
“This one,” she says, pointing at a sundress. “You look like you’re a local.”
I check out my reflection in the mirror and barely recognize myself in a good way.
“You’ve got a story,” Summer says lightly. “And, if you’re willing to tell it, I can be a listening ear.”
A part of me wants to blurt out every awful, sordid detail, but I refrain. I like Summer, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to explain what a mess I am. I’m just barely making sense of it myself. I don’t want to trauma dump on her and run her off after our first friend date.
“I’d like that,” I say and mean it before changing the subject. “Should I try on swimsuits next?”
“Heck yeah.”
By the time we’re done, my arms are full, and my cheeks hurt from smiling.
I didn’t just buy clothes. I bought a version of myself that feels like she might actually feel like me.
Not a tailored black suit in sight. I realize I don’t even think I liked those suits.
I wonder if I can get my stylist to help me pick out different outfits when I go back to New York.
Clothes that feel more like me. With color.
I’ve tried so hard to fit into the corporate world that I dressed like the men I work with.
I’m realizing it’s okay to be me in that world.
I can be bright. I can embrace being feminine.
“Earth to Silvie.” Summer grins.
“Sorry, I just got lost in my thoughts.” I chuckle and look at my watch. “I’m starving. Want to hit up a food truck I saw back there?”
She nods, eyes glimmering. “Hell yeah. I could legit order everything on the menu right now. I’m that hungry.”
We don’t end up ordering everything on the menu, but we do order street tacos and sit at a picnic table. The tacos are savory with just the right amount of spice and fresh veggies loaded on top. I’m glad I ordered three.
“So, what do you like to do back in New York City?” Summer asks around a mouthful of food. “See a Broadway show? Visit the Statue of Liberty? Stand in the middle of Times Square?”
I like that she’s a messy eater. It makes me feel less awkward about my own eating in front of my new friend.
“Hardly. I’m not a tourist.” I say with a snort and then sip my soda. “I basically just work.”
She arches a brow. “Sounds boring.”
“I mean, I don’t think it is,” I say honestly. “I’m a VP at my family’s company. It’s a private investment and asset management firm. We help people manage their portfolios. In simple terms, we help people stay rich.”
She leans in and whispers, “Are you rich?”
I laugh. “Sorta. I have money in investments. But not like a ton of money in the bank. I guess I do okay, though.”