Chapter Five
Calypso
There are some things in life I’ll never take for granted; the aroma of sea salt mixed with fresh produce and the combination of chattering voices from people visiting the farmer’s market are at the top of that list.
There’s also something special about being alone in a busy area. Some people hate the feeling. My youngest siblings, Vivi and Asher, would rather be in a room full of people to talk to. This is one of the few things Hudson and I are in complete agreement on.
People watching makes me feel less alone than I do in most social situations. For Hudson, it’s that no one expects him to add to the conversation. It still stands, so neither of us are ever lonely in a situation like this.
I’m also not as tied to Amada Beach in the same way as Vivi or Asher. Neither of them could ever imagine their lives somewhere else, but Hudson and I stay because this is where our mom and siblings are.
None of us would leave, but our reasons are different.
The weekly farmer’s market is a close second on my list of reasons to stay. It’s the largest in San Diego with over 200 vendors, and it’s a year-round event. Most of the vendors line up along the pier, but it bleeds out to the sidewalks and beach.
Brighter Daze doesn’t have a booth, but Lexi and I have talked about it a few times. We have a small staff, and I’m not ready to give up my Sunday mornings here to work them instead.
We schedule two days off each, but as small business owners, we often end up working six days a week. Our shift manager, Gavin, is truly a godsend, and has forced us out on Sundays. Even the other staff members know not to call us before him, unless it’s a true emergency.
Technically, today is still work in some ways.
A large majority of the vendors for the bakery are local—or at least within three hundred miles of Amada Beach.
It’s not always the most financially beneficial option, since a lot of the farms are smaller, family-owned ones.
They charge more than the large corporate options.
Don’t get me wrong, there are some things I have no choice but to outsource from commercial farms or different states.
Like sugar and flour, two of our most required ingredients.
So, I already have contracts with some of the vendors here. Others don’t grow at a quantity large enough for such things. Still, I come almost every weekend and pick up a few things.
I find most of my inspiration here. It helps to know what’s doing well this year, so I can curate my menu at Brighter Daze, as well as for the hotel in La Jolla.
I’ve already picked up lemons from more than one stall.
It seems like there’s been an abundance of that this year.
Now, I’m just trying to figure out what to pair it with…
Of course, there are raspberries, strawberries, and cherries.
My mom always said I take a liking for them because they’re red, my favorite color.
Maybe that’s true but my love for the berries—they technically aren’t all berries, but I digress—has intensified since I completed my culinary program.
There’s a versatility to them that’s often underestimated.
As I’m mindlessly walking through the stalls, stopping to sniff some homemade soaps I’d never use and sample some spicy honey that I end up buying, I almost don’t notice the hulking presence that walks up next to me when I stop at a small earrings stand.
“Those are pretty,” a low, gravelly voice murmurs right as I clock his presence next to me. Holding the small gold hoops up, I glance to my left, even though I know it’s Liam talking.
I would recognize his voice from our first night together, but it’s even more familiar after our dinner on Friday.
A horribly enjoyable dinner.
Focusing on the earrings, I take in the hoops, barely small enough to hook around the bottom of my ear lobe, but it’s the pretty, tiny heart that draws me to them. It dangles enough to add effect, especially for someone with hair as short and fine as mine, but it isn’t over the top either.
I nod in confirmation to Liam’s statement. “They are. How much?”
“One-fifty,” the young girl ruefully admits.
She winces at the price she set, and I don’t blame her.
It’s a huge reason why I’m reluctant to add our own stand.
My prices have to be higher than someone who bakes as a hobby.
There’s a certain profit margin I have to meet, especially with the extra labor time.
Trying to offer her a friendly smile—having been told it doesn’t come natural to me—I shake my head. “They’re gorgeous but I can’t.”
Pulling out his wallet, Liam hands her a card and silently nods toward the payment device. “We’ll take them.”
My gaze whips toward him. It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue with him but…
I do love gifts. Considering I saw the price of the bills both times we’ve been out together, have stayed in his nice ass hotel room, and clocked the two different Dior colognes he had with him, I get the idea that a hundred and fifty dollars really isn’t anything to blink at for him.
Seeming to feel my confused but hopefully intimidating glare, he side-eyes me as he grabs the small bag. From the way a smirk easily pulls at his lips, I get the impression that he’s not put off at all.
“Promise to wear them at Brighter Daze sometimes, and it’s really a gift for myself.”
Thanking the vendor, I gently tuck it into my overstuffed bag. “So, I should expect to see you there more?”
Easily falling into step with me, he says, “Of course—I need to know what goes best with my coffee orders.”
Rolling my eyes, I lead us to Miss Willow’s stand and grab Liam’s arm to stop him. I shouldn’t care if we continue our morning together, but for some reason, I suddenly don’t love the idea of spending mine alone.
Mentally shaking myself out of the conflicting thoughts, I wait for Miss Willow to be done talking to her current patron and examine the olive bunches she has for sale.
They wouldn’t be helpful for any of my pastries—and she doesn’t make large enough batches of olive oil to hire her as a vendor—but maybe Chuck could use them in a sourdough…
“Calypso,” Miss Willow greets warmly. “How’s your morning?”
“It’s going,” I say and gesture to my already-full tote bag. Liam stands to the side, quietly waiting, but Miss Willow gives me a knowing look. Not quite sure what she thinks she knows, I hold a hand out in his direction. “Miss Willow, have you met Liam? Stanley’s nephew?”
He takes a step forward and reaches a hand toward her. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
I want to roll my eyes at watching this big city man try to play a small town local.
Miss Willow, on the other hand, looks mischievous. “Oh, we have met, dear.”
That pulls my attention back to her, but I turn toward Liam just as quickly. He’s confused, but there’s a small blush to his cheeks. It’s comically endearing.
“I live around the corner from Stanley and Willa,” she adds wryly. “The house with the bougainvillea bushes that you and Lucas were caught urinating in a few summers ago.”
My mouth drops open slowly as I stare at Liam in shock.
Miss Willow is in a small gardening club with a few of the other elderly women in town.
It’s really an excuse for them to drink tea, argue over whose garden is the best, and gossip.
Those pink flower bushes in front of Miss Willow’s house are her summertime pride and joy.
Liam clears his throat and squints at the sun while running a hand down the back of his neck.
A few of his tattoos peek out from the sleeve of the linen button-down he’s wearing over a white t-shirt.
Even his leg tattoos—a snake wrapped around his right leg and the ring of flames around his left thigh—are on full display today.
Under the warm morning sun, and with the ocean breeze twirling through his hair, it’s a gorgeous sight to behold.
“It was sixteen years ago, ma’am,” Liam says, ready to crawl out of his own skin. When Miss Willow crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at him, he lets out a sigh. “I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Mhm,” she chastises. “It better not.”
Tilting my head, a mental lightbulb goes off. “Are you also the cousin who was caught stealing Lucas’s ex’s dad’s sailboat with them in high school?”
He groans and drops his head back as Miss Willow nods. “One and the same.” She points at Liam. “Don’t get this girl into trouble, or you’ll have a lot more problems.”
I shake my head, a mix of affection and exasperation for the old woman.
Liam stays quiet but holds his hand up in a scout’s honor gesture, even pulling a small smile from Miss Willow.
I step forward, taking the heat off of Liam, or we could be here all day. I buy a few olive bunches, as well as a bottle of olive oil for my own pantry. As she takes my payment, she reaches under her table and pulls out a cotton tote bag for me.
“Thank you,” I say, holding up the new bag because this is not the first time she’s provided me with one. I always give myself a budget, but I rarely ever stay inside of it.
With a quick goodbye, Liam reaches for the new bag in my hands and I pass it off easily. I may be independent and happily single, but I’m not stupid. If he wants to spend his morning following me around like a lost puppy and carrying my bags, who am I to deny him the simple pleasures in life?
Slipping the full bag off my shoulder, I hand that to him as well. He takes it while biting back a grin.
Ugh.
For the next thirty minutes, we stop at almost every stall we pass. Liam mentioned he’s having a hard time winning over the town, and it now makes much more sense why.
Liam was a little shit as a teenager, and everyone over the age of fifty-five seems to remember.
I didn’t expect anything to come from our morning together, but it seems like some people are warming up to him, even a microscopic amount. Carlo, who owns Tossin’ Tomatoes, laughed at the memory of Liam skinny dipping in their pool on a dare when he was fifteen.
Even Miss Polly, the grumpiest woman in town, told him to have a nice day after I introduced him as the friend who is holding my bags.
Not before she scolded him for dying her late dog, Patsy the Poodle, turquoise over a decade ago.
Liam doesn’t realize this, but if he can pull even a smile from that old hag, he isn’t as exiled as he may believe.
As time wears on, it’s less about helping him and more about my own curiosity about the town’s ability to hold a grudge. He and Lucas were creative, I’ll give them that.
Now we’re waiting in line for agua fresca—fresa for me and pina for him.
Liam turns to me and says with a boyish smile, “Thank you for this morning. I love my cousins, but it’s nice to spend time with literally anyone else.
” I snicker. “And I’m not expecting any dinner invitations or Christmas cards, but you’ve helped me make a better impression on half the town in just two hours. ”
Uncomfortable under his intense attention, I try to shrug it off. “It’s not a big deal. I come out almost every week, so you didn’t, like, get in the way.”
He snorts but doesn’t look offended by my nonchalance.
His cornflower-blue eyes linger on me for a long moment, appreciation swimming to the surface. He opens his mouth, a question on the tip of his tongue, but he’s cut off.
“Calypso,” a deep, nasally voice calls out, immediately grating at my nerves. It’s only gotten worse as he has aged, but I recognize it as my ex-husband’s immediately.
I don’t offer him any sort of greeting when I turn around.
My attention moves past him, instead, settling at his fiancée.
She’s younger than my sister—maybe even younger than Ana.
Her bright red hair reminds me of Vivi’s, but it’s a few shades darker, and her round face is partly hidden by the thick waves.
There’s still that exciting sparkle of womanhood in her doe eyes, but it’s dim.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her, and I can’t help but think the same thing I did when I first heard about the engagement. Then again, when I received the invitation.
That poor woman.
Never did I expect to be looking at a face so youthful, so full of light that is fighting to reach to the surface—wearing the same expression I did for nearly a decade of my life. This girl in front of me looks like she just reached twenty-five, if that.
If she’s six years younger than me, that means she’s ten years younger than Stefan.
My stomach begins to roil at the sight of her.
In most cases, I wouldn’t go into a frenzy about a big age gap, but it’s different when this is the man—the same one who met me at sixteen and married me at twenty.
When my eyes meet Stefan’s again, he sees my anger but mistakes it. The smug tug of his lips means he thinks this is funny, that he assumes I’m jealous. It couldn’t be further from the truth.
There’s no way Liam knows who this is, but like last time, he quickly jumps in. There’s a much higher chance I could be arrested today than there was a few months ago.
And I’d argue I look even better today than I did in that red dress.
“Hey, man. I’m Liam.” His voice is friendly, but that hard edge to his eyes is back. The one that I’ve only seen when he was talking to the creep at the bar.
Stefan gives him a long once-over, clearly unimpressed, and snorts.
Fucking bastard.
I open my mouth and take a step forward, ready to strangle him right here on the pier.
The surprise of Liam’s hand on my lower back pulls my attention away, making my breath catch. Furrowing my brows, I look up at him, confused but not angry about the contact.
Placing himself firmly behind me, he silently declares that I’m not alone. From looks alone, the man at my back is much more intimidating than my ex-husband. Standing a little taller, I press myself further into the warm protection of his skin on mine.
“Do you know him, honey?” Liam asks in a harsh, gravelly voice.