Chapter 12
Cal
“Morning!” I call as Wilby and Silvie cross the sandy beach to me.
When I asked them yesterday if they wanted to surf this morning, Wilby lit up like I’d offered him free drinks for life at Chaos.
I didn’t sleep much last night. I was excited to see Silvie again.
And Wilby seems cool. The waves are clean, the air feels great, and there’s no way I’m missing another morning with Silvie.
Silvie smiles at me, looking hesitant. The other day she fell more than she surfed but I have to hand it to her, she stuck with it. “You already got the boards?”
“All set.” I nod toward the lineup. “You guys ready?”
Silvie smiles at me, and yeah, that makes the lack of sleep worth it.
Wilby cracks his neck. “I was born ready. I think so, anyway. To be honest, I’ve never actually been surfing before. But it looks really cool. I’ve always wanted to learn.”
“It’ll be fun. Silvie’s pretty much a pro now,” I tease.
“He’s lying. I’m terrible. Trust me, no one is worse than me,” Silvie says as she picks up her board.
“Hey, now! A for effort!” I call as we head down to the water, boards tucked under our arms.
The sun is already starting to rise, and the beach is still quiet, the perfect time of day to come down and find peace before the chaos of the day.
Silvie paddles out as I showed her last time, confident and smooth. I’m proud of her for trying again, even though I’m not sure how much she enjoyed it last time.
God, she looks stunning in that bathing suit.
Wilby follows, just as determined as Silvie. Those two are competitive I’ve discovered. He does a few rounds with me and gets the hang of it and stays upright.
At the end, he pops up, laughing and sputtering. “I love it here. I’m never leaving!”
Silvie attempts again and wipes out spectacularly. I laugh and swim to her, and she pops up laughing. “I’m trying!”
“You’re doing great!” I call cheerfully.
We surf for a while, and Wilby and I catch a few good ones. He’s a good sport, and we cheer each other on. Silvie whoops and finally lands one that she rides all the way in, her grin wide.
“Did you see me?” she calls, excitedly.
“I did!”
Wilby walks through the shallows and lets out a scream that makes Silvie and me both turn instantly.
“Oh, my God,” he says, his voice high with panic. “No, no, no, no.”
“What?” Silvie says, panicked. “What happened?”
“Something bit me!” Wilby gasps. “I stepped on it!”
He hops on one foot, slapping at his foot.
I scan the water. “Oh, shit. Jellyfish.”
Wilby squeals. “I’m sorry, what?”
Silvie’s eyes go wide. “Oh, no. That’s bad. That’s really bad.”
Wilby limps toward me, starting to panic. “What do I do? Somebody help me!”
Silvie grabs his arm. “I know what to do!”
“Do it!” Wilby moans.
I open my mouth to offer advice, and Silvie beats me to it.
“I can pee on him,” she blurts. “I read that you’re supposed to pee on it.”
There are a few seconds of intense silence amongst us.
Wilby stares at her in horror as if she’s lost her mind.
“You’re not peeing on me!” he says, his voice cracking.
“I’m serious,” she insists, looking at me for confirmation. “I think that’s what you do.”
I lose it and bend over laughing, trying and failing to breathe.
She’s completely serious when she offers to pee on her friend.
She’s ready to help. And damn, if that’s not a good friend, I don’t know what is.
But she’s absolutely not peeing on him. Contrary to what people believe, that doesn’t actually work.
“Oh, my God,” Wilby says. “You were serious!”
“I just want to help you,” she says and adds lamely. “I’m a helper.”
Wilby yelps and dives behind me, clutching his foot. “Don’t let her pee on me, Cal. I’m begging you. I draw the line. You don’t pee on your best friend and assistant!”
I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts, and my whole body is practically shaking so hard I can barely get the words out. “I won’t let her pee on you, Wilby.”
“Thank you,” he says breathless, looking relieved.
“She’s not peeing on you,” I finally manage. “You’ll be fine. It’s a mild sting, but we can stop by the first aid station. This happens often at the beach. Just part of beachside living.”
Wilby sniffs. “I can’t believe you tried to pee on me.”
“I didn’t try. I just offered,” Silvie huffs. “I was just trying to save you. That’s what friends do.”
“I appreciate the effort, just keep your pee away,” Wilby cries in disgust.
I help him rinse his foot and promise he won’t get peed on or lose a limb. Eventually, his panic fades. “Well, look at it this way. It was a memorable first surfing experience.”
“It definitely was a memory, I’ll be telling this lore forever,” he says.
We get Wilby cleaned up, and the first-aid helper laughs at the pee and says it’s from a Friends episode and not accurate at all. Wilby is still horrified, and Silvie looks relieved she didn’t have to do it.
She teases him by saying, “You’re ungrateful for my love and devotion for you.”
I wipe my face with a towel, still grinning. “You guys want to get breakfast?”
Wilby nods emphatically. “Yes, I’ll even buy. I’m not touching the water ever again. I’m a land type of fella.”
Silvie chuckles, and I smile at her. Yeah, I like Silvie. And Wilby.
By the time we get semi-cleaned up and head to Iggy’s Grill, I’m starving.
“I’m so hungry,” Wilby says as he walks like a man who has been victimized by a jellyfish and the ocean now personally offends him.
“I was trying to save you.” Silvie grins.
“You were trying to traumatize me,” Wilby says. “There’s a difference.”
“Can I give you a hug?” Silvie offers.
“No.”
“Please?”
Wilby looks as if he’s considering it, then gives her a hug and holds her tight.
I’m slightly jealous of their connection. I want to hug Silvie again.
“Why are you hugging me like that?” Silvie mutters.
“I’m trying to measure you, so I know how big of a hole to dig if I have to bury you if you ever try to pee on me again,” Wilby says.
I choke on a laugh. “Dude, you are funny.”
“I try.” Wilby grins and playfully squeezes Silvie’s shoulder. “This crazy lady keeps me on my toes.”
By the time we get down the street to Iggy’s Grill, the place is already buzzing with the breakfast crowd. It looks like a mix of tourists and locals. The smell of bacon and coffee hits us as we get closer.
Wilby squints up at the sign. “Are you kidding me? Is this place named after the iguana?”
Silvie snorts and looks at me for confirmation. “Maybe? I’m not entirely sure.”
“Iggy’s has been here for decades,” I tell them. “I don’t think Birdie’s iguana has been around that long. But that would be funny if it were.”
“I can guarantee you that by the end of your trip, you’re going to love Iggy.” Silvie smirks knowingly.
“Doubtful,” Wilby calls.
We grab a booth by the window, and Silvie slides in beside me, her blonde hair still damp, hanging in two braids, looking relaxed in a way that makes my chest tighten.
She’s got a smattering of freckles across her face that feel new.
Everything about her is adorable. Wilby slides in across from us, sunglasses still on like he’s protecting his pride from the jellyfish incident.
The server drops our menus and a thermos of coffee with cups and says, “Morning.”
We all greet her in return.
“I’ll give you a minute,” she says cheerfully and saunters off.
“What’s your favorite thing to get here?” Wilby asks.
Silvie laughs. “Wilby is a foodie. He loves trying new places.”
“You do, too. We have been simultaneously eating our way through all of the restaurants in New York since we’ve worked together,” Wilby says, examining the menu.
“You have spreadsheets,” Silvie adds.
“I do.” He shrugs.
I wish I could take Silvie to more places to eat.
Damn. Am I really getting jealous of her assistant, who seems completely platonic?
I couldn’t dislike the guy if I tried. He’s hilarious and devoted to Silvie.
I’m glad to see she has a guy like him in her corner.
Hell, I want him to be my best friend, too.
And do I even have a right to be jealous of Silvie? She’s a friend, nothing more, I remind myself.
I clear my throat and answer the question. “Breakfast burritos.”
“Oh, yes, I need that,” Wilby says immediately, reaching to pour a cup of coffee.
“Pancakes,” Silvie says.
“I’m so glad you’re eating carbs again,” Wilby says with relief.
She nods. “Same.”
“Yooohooo,” we hear, and we turn to see Birdie, January, and Lucille waving from another booth.
“The Bees have arrived.” I smile and nod.
Wilby asks over his mug, “Who are the Bees?”
Silvie grins. “Birdie’s friends. You’ll love them.”
They hoot and wave and laugh about something.
“Where have you guys been off to this morning?” January calls.
Lucille eyes me. “Cal. Honey, you look good. Damp.”
This makes the others laugh. Jonah was right. They’re weirdos.
I clear my throat. “We went surfing.”
Birdie gasps dramatically. “Without inviting us?”
“You were asleep,” Silvie says, looking smug. “Just like every other morning that you skip yoga.”
“That’s fair,” Birdie says, then leans closer. “We’re about to go stir up some trouble.”
Wilby’s eyes light up, and he whispers to Silvie, “You’re right. I adore them.”
Lucille calls out to him, “You’re new.”
“I flew in yesterday,” Wilby says proudly.
“Welcome,” January calls. “We’re headed off to cause chaos.”
“Where?” Silvie asks, throwing concerned frown at Birdie.
“We’ve got errands,” Birdie waves, looking like they’re definitely not off to run errands.
They clatter out as loudly as they came in, leaving the place buzzing and laughing.
Wilby exhales. “I’d go cause chaos with them. They look fun.”
Silvie smiles, reaching for her coffee. “Told you this town was special.”
I watch her for a few seconds longer than I should. Sun-kissed and happy. Silvie is special.
Wilby’s phone rings while we’re still laughing about the Bees, and the shift in him is instant. He glances at the screen and stands. “I need to take this.”
Like he switches from friend hat to assistant hat and makes his way out front of the restaurant.
“I hope everything is okay,” I say, pouring myself some coffee.
“Me, too,” Silvie says as she frowns.
We watch him through the window. He paces and stops and then runs a hand through his hair. He says something and motions with his hands as he says it, clearly worked up on whatever conversation is taking place right now.
Whatever is happening, it doesn’t look good.
Silvie watches, her shoulders tense like she senses this, too.
Wilby ends the call and kicks a pebble, clearly pissed. He takes a deep breath, then comes back inside.
“It must be bad,” Silvie mutters.
Wilby slides back into the booth. Silvie and I watch him, concerned.
Silvie leans across the booth. “What happened?”
Wilby shakes his head. “We can talk later. It’s not good.”
Silvie looks at me, then back at him. “Just tell me.”
Wilby leans in and whispers, “Your sister and Tyler are getting married this week.”
Silvie blinks and practically hisses. “What?”
“They filed the paperwork this morning,” Wilby says. “Quietly and strategically. They’re trying to secure the company before you do.”
Silvie is still staring at Wilby. The air feels heavier all of a sudden. Is her sister marrying her ex? Low. What a piece of shit.
Wilby continues, his voice dropping even lower, “Silverlyn, you need to get married. Fast.”
Silvie looks out the window and shakes her head, “There has to be another way. What does the lawyer say?”
“That was the lawyer. And we’re out of options. You’re going to lose this if you don’t.”
Silvie closes her eyes. “Crap.”
“Yeah,” Wilby bites out. “Crap.”
Wilby looks at me and looks back at her. I feel it, then, what he’s pushing her to do. She needs a fake marriage.
Silvie barks out a nervous laugh, which doesn’t sound like humor. “No. I’m not getting married just to save the company.”
“Silv,” Wilby says, urgently now. “They’re moving on this. And your father knows. Your mother is backing this. This is not a drill.”
She pushes her cup back and whispers, “I’m not marrying someone just to win a power play. That’s...so wrong.”
Her eyes flick to me for half a second, and she looks embarrassed and apologetic.
I don’t say anything. I just watch it all play out. It’s seriously the craziest thing I’ve heard in a long time.
Wilby exhales slowly. “Then they take everything. They win. You lose. Everything you’ve worked for. Gone.”
Silvie swallows. “No.”
Wilby looks at me and then out the window. Our server drops off our food, and no one says anything except a murmured “Thanks.”
Our food sits before us, neither of us touching it. Both of them seem to be having a conversation with their eyes.
She says it again, quieter but firmer. “No.”
I casually pick up my burrito and take a bite, watching this play out. I don’t say anything. I want to. A curious person probably would. But my brain is still stuck on the words “get married fast,” replaying them over and over.
Fake marriage. That’s what this is, I realize as I watch them strategize and argue about it. I see both sides. I never saw myself getting married, ever. I’ve got too much going on.
None of this should have anything to do with me. And yet I catch myself wanting to offer to help, anyway.
I picture it without meaning to. Her being my fake wife. Standing next to me while someone takes photos of us. Pretending something while everyone else thinks it’s real.
I could do it. That thought hits too quickly. Then I feel sad when I realize it’d be fake. If I did want to be married, it would be because someone chose me. Not because I’d be a solution to a problem.
The idea of a fake marriage doesn’t scare me. Losing someone like her would undo me.
I glance at her and see a steely expression on her face, like she’s thinking and daring the world to push her. Because I have no doubt that she’ll push back harder.
She doesn’t need saving. She needs backup.
I could be backup, I reason.
Because if she’s going to choose someone to help her do this, I want to be the one standing beside her, backing her up.
I look at her and say, “I’ll do it.”