4. Vivian
four
Vivian
I ’ve been body snatched.
That’s the only reasonable explanation for my erratic behavior this evening.
It’s why I lied to my sister about going for a swim, walking past Dotty’s market and the library before meandering down the beach.
Then, like a madwoman—or a poorly trained spy—I buried my face beneath a hoodie, cut between houses, and dashed across the two-lane road that runs the length of Wilks Beach before trespassing through three bayside yards, ending at the dock behind Finn’s.
Sweat drips down my temples as I strip off the hoodie and use the sleeves to mop my face.
Our summer season doesn’t officially start until Memorial Day, next Monday, but it’s been unseasonably warm in the mid-eighties with high humidity.
The instinct to jump into Back Bay is nearly as strong as the impulse to hustle home instead of marching up the grassy backyard toward Finn’s rental house.
I’m wearing my swimsuit beneath my shorts and graphic tee to corroborate the lie I sold Brynn, making the bay’s siren song even harder to resist.
Turning my back to the seductive, glistening water, I study the asymmetrical roof of the quaint one-and-a-half-story house.
Its yellow siding could use some work, but it looks like Rebecca, our resident realtor and rental property manager, has recently repainted the expansive deck leading to where I’m standing.
A mature magnolia presides over the north side of the home, its sturdy branches brushing the exterior and obscuring the second-story window.
My sandals feel stuck to the thick centipede grass, but if I don’t move toward the house, someone will see me.
I’ve probably already been spotted. I hadn’t thought about how easy it is to be witnessed, because I’d never had to hide before.
I waved hello to no less than seven locals on the beach before ducking behind a seaside home’s outdoor shower stall to pull the hoodie out of my tote.
A maniacal laugh bubbles from my throat, thinking of this whole escapade.
Clearly, I’m not cut out for covert operations, because I’m losing it.
It’s just…the idea of people’s heads exploding over me—reserved, quiet Vivian—creeping toward the house of the dreaded new librarian for a secret rendezvous is oddly satisfying .
Unlike my sister, I never snuck out of the house as a teen or gave anyone a reason to worry.
Fortified by my small act of defiance, I march up the deck, pushing the hoodie into my whale-printed canvas tote. The sleeve of the sweater drapes down, covering the waving flipper of the cartoon humpback and his “Whale hello there!” speech bubble.
You’ve got this sails from my lips in rhythmic repeats as I raise my hand to knock on the sliding glass door leading to the backyard. With my shadow cast on the glass, I can finally see through it instead of the reflection of the rose-gold glimmers of the setting sun behind me.
My eyes widen as my movement halts. Actually, halt isn’t a strong enough word. I freeze. A full and complete whole-body paralysis. Even my cells cease wiggling, my blood screeching to a stop in my veins.
Finn—completely oblivious to my presence—looks up and does the same thing. And thank goodness, because prior to seeing me, his hands were unbuckling the black leather belt on his slacks. It’s bad enough that his vest and shirt are already unbuttoned, showing a distracting sliver of tanned skin.
I know I’m in the wrong here. Okay? Finn is halfway through the single-story, open-concept living room, on the way to the stairs where his bedroom must be.
He probably expected me to knock at the front door like a sane person, not surprise him through a pane of impeccably transparent glass.
Not a streak mars the slick surface, not a single smudged fingerprint.
Finn blinks a handful of times before my stomach flips at the slight quirk of his lips.
My brain screams at me to do something—close my eyes, turn my head.
Something. But a devious flick in the back of my skull keeps my gaze locked on Finn’s.
I expect him to saunter over to me and prove he’s the shameless flirt he’d hinted at at the library.
Maybe puff out his chest and slide his hands into his pockets to accentuate the alluring gap in fabric.
When Finn slowly pulls on the buckle, the belt beginning to slip from its loops, I flip and crouch like I’m at the air show and an F/A-18 Hornet just shocked me with a low-altitude fly by.
All those frozen body parts jump into action—blood rushing in my ears, heart scaling my windpipe, lungs working double-time.
My eyes are still squeezed shut when I hear the sliding door unlock behind me.
“Calm down, gorgeous. It’s just a belt,” Finn calls from the other side of the glass.
When I make absolutely no movement, he says through a laugh, “Count to ten then come in. I’m going to get changed.”
I count to twenty—okay, forty—and then I take a series of deep breaths.
By the time I let myself into Finn’s rental, he’s busying himself in the kitchen, wearing black exercise shorts and a snug, dark-gray t-shirt, running shoes on his feet.
Varied powders enter a mixing cup before he begins shaking them with water.
“I’ve got an hour before—”
“Don’t do that again,” I blurt.
Fighting the urge to wrap both hands around the straps of my tote to steady them, I set them on my hips. Brynn once told me as kids that standing in a Superman pose before undertaking difficult tasks helps one to feel more confident.
“Do what?” He cocks a single eyebrow.
“You’re not going to play games with me. I don’t want to be at the receiving end of whatever you think women are interested in. This is a business arrangement. Don’t forget that you need me a lot more than I need you.”
I wish Brynn were here right now. I’ve never spoken to anyone this way, and I desperately want my sister to not only witness it but to give me a congratulatory high five. My skin is buzzing like it’s lit within from thousands of sparklers.
Finn’s eyes widen as something resembling pride wisps over his perfectly dark brows. A warm sensation ribbons through my chest before I give myself a mental shake. I don’t need or want this man’s approval.
“I apologize for startling you, but I thought it would be best if I wasn’t seen knocking on your front door. People talk in small towns, and I don’t want anyone knowing I’m meeting with you.”
A shadowy emotion flickers over his amber irises before Finn uncaps the bottle he’d been shaking and drops a weird little metal ball into the sink.
“Understandable.” He takes a gulp of the beige liquid. “Can’t have our precious little lamb frolicking with the big bad wolf.”
That description grates, even though I’ve received some version of it my whole life.
I should be used to being the soft, sweet half of the Hutchinson twins, but lately, the idea of everyone thinking of me as a docile nobody makes my skin itch.
For years, I’d been happy to be coddled, to be given the easy way out of conversations or social engagements, but now everyone thinking I’m helpless makes bile creep up my throat.
I need to prove to the town—to myself—that I’m not.
Talking to Atticus is just the first step. The secrets I’ve been hiding in the closet of my shop are a mountain-sized leap.
“I’m glad you understand the situation,” I say, lifting my chin.
Who even am I right now? I’ve never been so brash in my life.
Instead of apologizing for the biting remark, I change the subject.
“I spoke to Dr. Prescott while he was walking his three Great Danes on the way here. He and his wife routinely donate to the library, and I told him you were looking to update the computers in the media room to better serve our community.”
“Oh, really?” Finn sets one large hand on the counter, leaning sideways into it. The casual position shouldn’t be enticing, but his raw magnetism forces me to look away.
I focus on Rebecca’s interior design instead. Finn hasn’t added any personal touches to the space, but that’s not entirely unexpected since he’s recently moved in and is an unscrupulous bachelor.
“Really,” I say with a casual shrug. “If you want to succeed in getting people to like you, then you should get to know them. Dr. P’s benevolence is why my teeth are straight.” I run my tongue over them automatically.
“He gives a significant discount to local kids. Most of us wouldn’t be able to afford orthodontics otherwise.
Dr. P should have retired years ago, but he loves his job so much he keeps driving to his practice on the mainland every day.
He’s also Santa at the annual Christmas tree lighting ceremony.
” I drop my bag on the galley countertop separating us.
“His wife, Lidia, is an equine therapist.”
“A what?”
“She helps kids with autism and cerebral palsy gain confidence through working with horses at a ranch in Pungo. The therapy riding program also works with veterans with PTSD.”
Finn blows out a breath. “Starting strong by getting on the good side of the saints of Wilks Beach.”
I bristle at his mocking tone. “Most of the people here are just as giving as the Prescotts. It’s a good community.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you since I haven’t exactly been welcomed with warm hugs.”
My lips twist to the side, considering—definitely not because I’m fighting a smile.
“The town’s history does make us standoffish toward mainlanders.
” He scoffs, rolling his eyes while taking another gulp.
“You’ll understand once you’ve heard the stories of how outsiders have tried to take advantage of Wilks Beach residents. ”
When Finn opens his arms wide, it’s a challenge not to fixate on his firm pecs. “I’d love to hear them.”
“Our bargain was one wooed townsperson for a dating lesson.” I tap my fingernails on the counter in what I hope is a nonchalant way. “I did my part.”