12. Vivian
twelve
Vivian
“ H ow is it?” Finn’s eyes seem darker beneath the string bulbs and starlight, more intense.
I need to be careful, to remember it’s only a trick of the light.
Because the focused way his gaze traces the column of my neck as I swallow the sweet, strawberry-flavored cocktail is more intoxicating than the light splash of vodka within.
“It’s tasty.”
“You’re sure?”
I sigh as dramatically as I can. “A most delightful creation. It’s been many years since I’ve had such an exemplary libation.”
My use of Regency wording seems to break whatever weird spell we’re in. Finn’s grin grows in mesmerizing degrees, reminding me of the blur from blue to dusty pink to bright orange as the sun rises. He leans back in his chair, undeniably satisfied, his fingers loose around his plastic cup.
“Then let’s get down to it. Do you want to practice first-date conversations?”
That isn’t exactly why I asked him here, but it’s a good idea.
I take another sip of my delicious drink. “I had something else to discuss, but maybe we can do both? I can talk to another townsperson on the way out to make it even.”
Finn shakes his head, and I’m disappointed when his hair doesn’t shift from its styled position. I want it to tumble over his forehead like it had earlier today. “Let’s just focus on you right now.”
I pull my phone out of my dress pocket—because of course it has pockets!—unlocking the screen before handing it to Finn. “It might be easier to show you. Just don’t say what you see out loud. I want to keep it a secret.”
His brows pinch upon seeing the webpage for the Oceanside Artisan Fair that happens every summer.
Artist tents cover the entire boardwalk of Virginia Beach while various musical acts play on stages every few blocks with food trucks nearby.
Finn glances up, eyes bouncing to my twisting ring before his thumb powers off the screen to my phone.
“Okay.”
“I have a tent,” I say on a quick exhale. “For my clothes. Not my clothes”—I tug on my skirt—“but dresses I’ve designed. I’ve been sewing lots of different styles and hiding them in the hopes of selling them.”
I reach for my phone, ignoring the zip of energy that slides up my arm when our fingers brush.
I tab into my email, finding the confirmation for my booth at the Oceanside Artisan Fair next Saturday.
The severe wave of nausea that usually accompanies reading this congratulatory email is slightly subdued tonight.
I have until Thursday to get a partial refund on my booth fees.
That would allow the festival staff to reach out to a waitlisted vendor.
Before this afternoon’s success with Atticus, I’d been thinking about forfeiting my spot.
But now…
What if I succeed? What if I can tackle this?
I heard a saying— Whatever you’re not changing, you’re choosing —that really shifted the way I thought about things.
I always saw myself one way, but the confines of that persona have started to itch.
Making changes in the love department was an easy choice, but this idea grew unexpectedly stitch by stitch.
Last spring, after finishing my alterations that day, I’d mindlessly sewn a dress that was two sizes two small and yellow.
I’d heard Brynn scraping around upstairs, awake from her nap, before I’d even realized what had happened.
In the following weeks, I began sketching styles I would never wear in colors that wouldn’t complement my skin.
When I’d stashed away sixteen dresses, I had to admit I was building inventory.
But even then, I wasn’t sure why.
After I’d completed thirty dresses, a plan materialized like lace from strands of thread. I could sell the dresses at the Oceanside Artisan Fair and see if anyone would want them. If they did, then I could decide what my next steps would be.
A huge bonus to this idea? I could use the profit to pay two baristas to take over Seabreeze Beans for a Saturday and give Brynn a much-needed day off.
My sister hasn’t had a full day off since Aunt Tammy transferred the business to her at twenty-two.
Even when the shop is closed on Sundays, she uses the afternoon to hand-roast her signature blend.
If I made enough profit, I could even treat Brynn to a spa day at one of those fancy oceanfront hotels on the mainland. Brynn needs a ninety-minute massage like a free diver needs air.
Benevolent intentions aside, choosing to sell dresses at a craft festival that boasts 400,000 in attendance will be extreme talk therapy. My heart thrashes against my rib cage as I think about speaking to various attendees.
“Why is this a secret?” Finn’s question brings me back to the present.
A rough swallow squeezes my throat. “The thing is, if I went to the fair and succeeded, then I’d tell everyone.
But if I fail, I want to do it quietly.” I catch his gaze and dare to hold it.
“If islanders found out I was selling dresses, they’d come and buy them out of solidarity.
I’m pretty sure the only reason I’m in business is because of the way we fiercely support each other.
It’s wonderful, but I want to see if I can make it on my own. ”
He nods, waiting for me to continue.
“I was also hoping to use the profits to help my sister.” I explain how hard Brynn works and my plans to help her out.
His mouth relaxes as I speak, a slight smile hinting at the corner. “I get it. I’d do almost anything for my sister.”
When that little diamond winks in the starlight, it dawns on me just how little I know about Finn. I’m suddenly ravenous for details.
“What’s her name?”
Finn hesitates. Or maybe he’s just listening to Izzy’s instructions that she’ll take a quick break before starting game two.
Usually, I’d be completely invested in winning one of the two twenty-dollar Bayside Table gift card prizes, but telling Finn about my secret dress collection and my impossible plans to talk to all the strangers in order to sell said dresses is more important.
“Cordelia.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
His full smile lights his face. “She’d love to hear that. Cordelia thinks it’s a bit old-fashioned, but all our names are like that.”
“All our names?”
His large hand rubs at his beard scruff as his gaze drifts out over the bay. “Yeah.”
AJR’s “Bang!” is the only sound between us for several beats. I’m not unaccustomed to silence. I tend to spend most of my day with just the whisper of my playlists in the background, but Finn being silent feels…odd.
He takes a large breath, straightening and drawing my attention to his wide shoulders. “What can I do to help?”
“With what?”
My gaze lazily traces from his strong deltoid toward the dip between his collarbones, barely peeking out of his collar. What would it be like to slip my fingertips into that subtle notch?
“With your secret ess-dray ollection-cay.” The slight quirk at Finn’s mouth as he speaks Pig Latin tells me I’ve been caught staring. I snap my attention to the muddled strawberries in my drink.
“Umm…nothing?” I jostle the ice in my cup before glancing up. “Be the person who knows, I guess? The secret has been eating me alive. I share everything with Brynn, but lately…”
My stomach twists. I haven’t just been keeping this collection from my sister because I want her to have a day off.
A small part of me knows that if I let Brynn in on my plans, she’ll take over.
Her strong, take-charge personality wouldn’t allow her to stand by helplessly.
And this is something I have to do on my own.
I owe that to myself.
At least I won’t have to keep this strange agreement with Finn to myself anymore. Our unlikely friendship will be all over town by morning—that’s how the Wilks Beach gossip mill works. When Brynn asks me about it, I can finally explain how Finn is helping me to win Atticus’s heart.
“It’s just hard for me to keep secrets,” I admit.
Finn dips his chin, his grin softening. “I’ve noticed that. Once you start talking, you’re an open book.”
I wrinkle my nose.
Finn slides his hand off the edge of his armrest so his fingertips graze my forearm. “That’s not a bad thing.”
My shaky inhale would have been audible had Izzy not returned to the mic at that exact second. “Who’s ready for round two?”
“I…um…” I bring my drink to my lips to break the electrifying contact.
My traitorous body’s reactions are out of control. Seriously! This is getting ridiculous.
Atticus. We like Atticus.
Speaking of Atticus, Finn’s earlier suggestion would be more than helpful since I’ve never been on a first date.
“Could we practice first-date conversations? Like you suggested?”
A shadow passes over Finn’s eyes, but it’s gone in a blink as his charming smile overtakes his face. “Sure, gorgeous.”