3. Vivian
three
Vivian
C ome on! I know I made a wish, Ocean, but give a girl some grace. Because of course Atticus is standing right beside us, pointing toward the latest spy thriller that I and this….this infuriating stranger are blocking.
He’s exactly as Brynn described when she dropped off a cinnamon roll earlier—self-centered and over-confident.
My sister said the only reason he’d caught my fall was to use it as a strategic maneuver to gain town approval.
My teeth had remained clenched all afternoon.
I may not be able to communicate as effectively as others, but that shouldn’t make me a helpless pawn in someone else’s game.
The mainlander recovers before I do, stepping aside. “Excuse me.”
Atticus reaches for the thick hardcover while my mind reels through what he could have heard.
It takes everything in me not to pat my cheeks.
My blush always makes me look ruddy and splotchy, and I’m sure I’m redder than Webster’s Dictionary at the moment.
Atticus glances at me as he leans back with his book, doing a subtle double-take.
For a second, I think I’ll finally get my moment.
“Oh, it’s you.” Atticus smiles. “I saw you this morning as you gracefully averted that coffee spill. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Then he’ll glance at the books in my tote. “Are you an Annie Ardent fan? Me too! I love how she brings modern feminism into Regency romance while—”
“Miss, are you alright?”
Miss. Atticus’s manners and gentle voice almost assuage the fact that, any second now, I’ll die of embarrassment. Because instead of speaking to my crush—who’s right in front of me—I drifted into another daydream.
A desolate sigh leaves my mouth. At least I’ll die in a place I love.
I think of all the hours I spent curled up in the window nook as a child, luxuriating in every book I could.
Since the nook faces the dunes of the wildlife preserve and not the ocean, it was always unoccupied and, in the afternoons, delectably sunny.
The memory sends a pang of longing through me.
It’s been three years since I’ve done that.
Since the creation of my shop, I’ve spent my time trying to prove that it wasn’t a waste of money to carve out essential real estate from our family’s coffee shop for my business.
Now, I only come to the library to rent a study room and go over my finances.
It’s a task I hate, but being surrounded by books makes it less soul-sucking.
If I stayed in my shop, I’d sew until the sunlight waned instead of confirming that my fellow islanders have paid me for my work.
A determined inhale fills my lungs. If I make it through this, I’m going to take an afternoon off and read the newest Wellington novel in the window nook.
Annie Ardent’s Wellington series isn’t as popular as the famed Worthington novels, but I try to help out the North Carolinian indie author as much as possible by subtly relocating her books from the stacks to the display tables whenever I’m in the building.
The Worthington series, though older, has resurged in popularity thanks to the trendy Netflix show by the same name.
“She’s fine.” The stranger’s cold tone makes me bristle.
Though I’m not usually bold, my instinct is to glare at this man.
How dare he speak for me even though everyone else in town does it all the time?
It’s different when the people who raised me help me get my words out.
They know about what happened, how there was half a year of silence afterward.
When they help me, it’s out of kindness.
This mainlander doesn’t have a benevolent bone in his body.
“Oh.” Atticus looks at me again, an indiscernible emotion sliding over his cheekbones. “Okay, then.”
I open my mouth to protest, but like usual, nothing comes out.
Atticus watches me for half a breath before striding away.
I don’t have the strength to peek over the edge to see him check out his second book.
Instead, I collapse against the bookcase, defeat bowing my shoulders.
All I want is to dissolve into the ancient carpet, just like the grains of beach sand that people have tracked in.
For a long moment, I think the stranger will take pity on me and finally leave me alone.
“Well, gorgeous. I’ve got good news. I just figured out a way we can help each other.”
He’s smiling when my chin snaps up. It should be distracting, how handsome he is leaning against the bookcase with those muscled forearms crossed over his chest, but now that I’ve confirmed the rumors that he’s a massive jerk , the sheer darkness of his playful hair and the pooling amber of his eyes are less disorienting.
I prefer Atticus’s blond hair and blue eyes, anyway.
I’d planned on giving him one of Brynn’s death stares and walking away but impulsively ask, “How’s that?”
“Easy.” His deepening smirk makes me want to claw at something the way Pepper demolishes her cat tower. “I need the people of this town to like me. You seem as local as they get. Am I right?”
I relinquish a small nod.
“Excellent.” He picks an invisible piece of lint from his shirt sleeve. “You help me get on the good side of your fellow townspeople, and I’ll teach you how to talk to him.”
Having my sister’s prediction confirmed is almost banal. Of course this man would only be interested in what I can do to serve his agenda. Except…if I agree, I’ll be getting something out of this deal too. And if all the rumors of his love life are true, I should be receiving excellent instruction.
“I don’t know…”
“Why don’t I call Atticus back, and you can take another crack at it on your own?”
When he tries to lean past me, my movement is instinctual. My only thought is to keep us hidden. It’s bad enough that I’ll have to recover from my first two blunders. I’m not sure my battered heart can handle a third.
Rooting my feet, I push both palms against the mainlander’s chest to keep him in place.
He sucks in a surprised inhale as the fluorescent bulb above us flickers and then burns out.
The gentle rustling of other library patrons hushes to silence.
We’re both staring at my sprawled fingers on the brushed wool of his vest. The weightless moment hovers for three thudding heartbeats until my thumb automatically rubs to appraise the wool’s weight.
When he jolts back, I barely catch myself from tumbling forward.
“So, um…” He tucks his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat. “Do we have a deal?”
My brows pinch as I blink rapidly, confused as to what just happened.
“I don’t need help talking to Atticus.”
It’s a lie, but somehow I feel the need to defend myself, which is also something I never do. If only I’d been this bold a minute ago when Atticus had been in front of me.
“Yes, you do, gorgeous.” The smarm he sends my way makes my nose wrinkle. “If you don’t, then explain why you’re able to have this conversation with me but can’t utter a syllable when he’s within earshot?”
I honestly don’t know. Normally, I can’t converse with strangers like I’ve been doing with him. My words are usually stilted as I constantly worry about saying the wrong thing.
“Because I don’t like you.”
That must be why. It’s the only explanation.
Something unreadable flickers across his face before he raises a sardonic eyebrow. “Either way, you still need my assistance. With my dating experience, I can help you control those distracting, fluttery feelings that keep you tongue tied.”
It’s my turn to cross my arms. “And teach me to be a Casanova?”
His laugh sends a fissure of energy crackling through my bones, and I shift my shoulders to dissipate the sensation.
“If that’s your term for someone who can be around a person they like without clamming up, then I have my work cut out for me.”
“Would you prefer I call you”—I check off on my fingers—“a lothario? Libertine? Rogue? Knave?” All while I’m listing off names, he’s shaking his head, a hint of a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. “A debauched rake?”
His large hand covers both of mine, stopping me. “Finn.” That weird, fizzy sensation skips over my skin before he pulls his hand back. “My name is Finn. Finn Reynolds.”
I tuck my fingers into the pockets of my dress and hesitate. “Vivian Hutchinson.”
“Vivian.” The smile on his face is more fascinated than conniving.
My shoulders tense as the events of the last few minutes catch up to me.
I should walk away.
I should walk away and chalk this whole interaction up to some odd swell of the tide. Because surely I’m not going to make a deal with this devilish man to win Atticus’s heart. The sea is already throwing my crush at me. I just need to garner the confidence to strike up some small talk.
All that comes out of my mouth is, “How exactly would this arrangement work?”
Finn rubs his beard scruff, looking up and then scowling at the broken lightbulb. “It’ll be an even exchange. One dating lesson for each time you convince a local that I’m not some sinister monster trying to destroy all they hold dear.”
A chuff leaves my nose. My mentor and surrogate grandmother, whom I still call Miss Wendy even though I’m grown, might have used a very similar phrase to describe Finn when I delivered her weekly flowers yesterday morning.
All the snark leaves Finn with one large exhale. What’s left behind is deceptively vulnerable. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
I roll my lips inward. “People around here don’t like change. It didn’t help that after being here for two days, you defunded bingo snacks.”
“This is a library.” His tone hardens as he straightens, the glimmer of what I thought I saw gone. “It should serve the community. Providing snacks for a Friday night bingo game when that money could go toward something more important is reckless.”
I meet his gaze, trying not to get distracted by the liquid quality of his irises.
“Our library does serve our community. It’s the center of our town.
Most of us are readers and use the library in its strictest sense, but it’s also where we gather.
It’s where we pass neighbors and catch up in addition to borrowing the latest bestseller.
Many of the older islanders don’t have a computer and use the media room to pay bills or email their grandkids. ”
“That’s why I eliminated bingo snacks.” He slides his hands into his pockets again, but this time, the stance is unmistakably powerful.
“I want to update the computers, but that money has to come from somewhere. Not providing chips and soda on a weekly basis was an easy way to work toward that goal.”
“I understand you believe that’s the best option.”
His dark brows raise. “What other option is there?”
The answer materializes instantly, but I don’t show my hand. Instead, I close my eyes, taking a long, slow inhale. The potent scent of books and the lingering ocean brine flitting through the front door settles the buzzing at the base of my skull.
What if this arrangement worked? I know exactly how to help Finn Reynolds reach his goal.
What if he really could help me win over Atticus?
Having a dating coach sounds ludicrous, but it’s certainly strange to run into Finn twice in one day after never seeing him before.
What if my wish sent this man to help me?
I know better than to ignore a gift from the sea. All islanders do.
When I open my eyes, Finn is watching me with a curious head tilt.
“You moved into the rental three houses down from the auto shop, right?”
“The auto shop?” he asks.
“Sorry. It used to be an auto shop. It’s a…gym or something now.”
“How…” Finn pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. The boyish gesture undermines his carefully coiffed appearance. “How do you know where I live?”
I shrug. “Small town.”
“Right.” He shakes his head. “I still need to get used to that.”
I hoist the tote bag higher on my shoulder, an unfamiliar flush of confidence saturating my skin. “I’ve decided to take you up on your offer. Tonight, you can teach me how not to freeze in front of Atticus, and I’ll give you a crash course in Wilks Beach history. I’ll come over at sunset.”
Before I can second-guess my brashness, I stride toward the exit.
Remembering the books in my bag, I place two of my favorite Regency romances prominently on the central display.
The theme is Hot Summer Reads , so these will fit right in.
I give Patricia a quick wave goodbye as I pass the circulation desk.
The desire to look back at Finn is a tangible thing, but I channel my inner-Brynn and march straight into the early evening sunlight.
We’ll see each other soon enough.