Chapter 18 Sierra
Sierra
On the second day of Sunshine Fest, Sophie and I help out at the community pancake breakfast alongside Layne and some other volunteers. Cutie Fruitie is busy all day, and thanks to Mason fixing the ice machine we never run out of ice.
On my lunch break, I grab food at the chili cook-off. I swing by the games area in the field at the north end of Water Street, just past the grocery store and the food truck area, to hit up some of the community fundraising events.
I manage to drop Mason’s friend Evan in the dunk tank (fun), win the ladies’ sack race (more fun), then stop to watch Mason, Layne, and some other guys slaughter a group of RCMP officers in the men’s tug-of-war (hot).
Then, somehow, I get roped into participating in the three-legged race—while bound to Mason.
Maria’s bright idea.
She ties us together, we wrap our arms around one another’s waists, then stumble our way down the field, totally unable to find a rhythm.
Maybe because my pulse is flying and I’m way too aware of the man next to me to even remember how competitive I am—or that there’s a finish line I’m supposed to be focusing on.
I end up tumbling into the grass with Mason on top of me, and the man I had sex with last night murmurs in my ear, “You have much better rhythm when you’re naked.”
“Maybe if I wasn’t bound to a giant, sweaty anchor.
” Who smells like fresh grass and cedar and what dreams are made of.
I shove him off. “You’re totally ruining my winning streak.
” Truth. I’ve already got gold ribbons from the sack race and the cornhole tournament this morning with a #1 on them, pinned proudly to my chest.
He just laughs.
“You’re a curse, Mason Grant,” I tell him as we receive our last-place consolation ribbon, which he pins to my shirt.
I’m already back at the smoothie bar before I realize that the ribbon says, with a big smiley face: Nice guys finish last.
I leave it on, just because Mason gave it to me.
Pathetic.
Cutie Fruitie is one of the locations on the kids’ scavenger hunt today, and we give out hundreds of Cutie Fruitie coupons, which bring a steady stream of families through the door. By closing time, I’m pooped.
Sophie and I stagger over to the beer and cider garden, and I don’t know if I’m just exhausted and deliriously sleep-deprived, but I’m flooded with this incredible warmth when I see Trish, Maria, and Pamela saving seats for us.
My new friends.
Not friends by association—people who go through the motions of allowing me into their lives because they’re actually friends with my boyfriend.
Real friends, who smile when they see me, wave at me from across a crowd, and save me a seat, hoping I’ll show up.
Such a simple pleasure, but one I’ve been missing in my life.
They’re already drinking, so Soph and I order from the waitress.
The Sea Haven Honeyed Perry “patio-style pear cider” she recommends is just the crisp, tart-but-sweet refreshment I need on this perfect, warm summer night.
The sky is a clear, dark blue shifting to black, and the stars are out.
And Layne is playing guitar on the main stage with his band: a group of friends who’ve jammed together for fun ever since high school, according to Trish.
The music, too, is warm. They’re playing a cover of “One of These Nights” by the Eagles, and they’re good. After a long day listening to neon-bright music like Blackpink and Wham!, my favorite kind to play at the smoothie bar, it’s a welcome change.
I check out the crowd, wondering if I’ll run into Mason, if he’s here or inside the bar.
I wonder how much June’s been around.
I know Cutie Fruitie has not been as popular as Mason’s business. I know he’s outselling me by a lot. And he told me that I don’t need to point this out to June.
Maybe I don’t. But maybe I should make a proactive move, before she decides Pier Seven would be better off without Cutie Fruitie. I’ve managed to bring on some solid employees, and I know I can make it work for the rest of the summer.
I just need to find out if she sees any future here for me.
The festival is over tomorrow, and reality is going to set in. I need to know that my business has a temporary home here, and if not . . . I need to start looking elsewhere, like now.
Soph leans in. “Do you need to call Kyle back? You can use my phone.”
“Uh . . . no.” He called her today, trying to reach me. Again.
“Well, what did he want? You look stressed.”
“It’s not that.” Weirdly, I haven’t told her that I’ve screwed Mason, twice.
I don’t even know why. Maybe I’m just not ready for the truth bombs I know she’ll drop on me when she intuits that I’m developing serious feels.
How can I remain in denial if my best friend smacks me in the face with reality?
“Kyle just said he’s been watching my socials, that he’s seen how I’m ‘killing it’ in Orchard Cove.
” I roll my eyes and wash down my resentment with pear-and-honey cider.
“Do you think he misses you? Regrets what he did? Because he fucking should.”
“I don’t know.” Honestly, the call confused me. Does he miss me? “Or maybe he just wants to be able to convince himself that he’s not the bad guy? I have no idea.” I had to hang up on him again because I was busy working. I said I’d call him back, but . . .
I find myself scanning the crowd for Mason, again, who I’d much rather talk to. I don’t see him, but I do spot June. Standing on the sidewalk across the street, just beyond the concert crowd, talking to Bev.
“Shit.” I take a big gulp of cider then tell Soph, “I’ll be back. I need to talk to June about the lease.”
“Good luck!” she calls after me.
I dash through the crowd, but by the time I get across the street, June’s not with Bev anymore. I glimpse her silvery hair; she’s walking toward the pier, but when I get there, she’s already heading down the steps to the beach.
“Hey, June.” I catch up with her at the bottom of the steps and we walk together onto the sand. “Where are you headed?”
“To help set up the bonfire area. Are you coming down?”
“Yeah, I’ll probably come later. After the band is finished. I was wondering, can we discuss the lease?” I stop walking and she stops with me. “I’d be happy to show you my sales numbers, so you can see how well we’ve been doing—”
“I’m aware of how well you’ve been doing.” She eyes me. “You still want to extend the lease?”
Did she think I might change my mind?
“Of course I do.”
She frowns, which doesn’t seem like a good sign. “Why do you want to stay in Orchard Cove, Sierra?”
“Well, the smoothie bar is doing well. I’ve surpassed my sales goals for the month already.
And the location is perfect for summer. It makes sense right now, and honestly .
. . the next few months I have nothing lined up, because the place where I thought I’d be landing .
. . well, that’s not an option anymore. Because of that investment I lost. But . . .” I hesitate.
I look out across the water briefly, at the humps of land in the distance. Vancouver is out there, farther north, though maybe it’s become a comfort that I can’t even see it from here.
“Maybe you were right. Maybe I am running away from my life in the city. But is that so bad?”
She nods. “It takes guts to admit it. The question is, why? What are you really running from? And don’t tell me it’s that ex of yours.”
I take that in, really try to digest it, and dig deeper. “Jeez, June. You really get into it, don’t you?”
“I don’t have time for dancing around the point,” she says bluntly.
Yeah. Maybe I don’t, either. “I guess . . . I do have this fear, of always being second-best. It’s kinda haunted me all my life. Rejection is . . . hard.”
“Rejection is hard for everyone. Why is it hard for you?”
“Wow. Okay.” I rub my neck. Am I saying this? To someone I barely know? “Uh, I really hesitate to tell you this because you already called me Cinderella, but I do actually have a stepsister. Unfortunately, she’s not evil.”
“No?” June says, a note of amusement in her voice.
“No. Kim . . . that’s my stepsister . . .
is eight years older than me. She’s an esteemed neurosurgeon.
She has two perfect kids and a perfect husband.
She keeps bees and makes honey to gift to her friends.
She has a lot of friends. And somehow she still finds the time to be perfect at golf, tennis, baking, canning.
And origami. That’s her latest thing. I know this because of her flawlessly curated Instagram page. ”
June raises an eyebrow.
“Ugh. I know, I just made it sound like I hate her. I love her, truly. What’s not to love?”
“You tell me.”
I sigh. “She lives in Ontario. And she calls me every Sunday to keep in touch.”
“And that’s bad?”
No, it’s not bad. But I’ve been avoiding her calls. I’ve been avoiding almost everyone outside of Orchard Cove since I came here.
“It’s just . . . hard,” I admit. “When someone is so big, they can make you feel small without meaning to. That’s my fault, not hers, I know. I’m working on it.”
June considers that, nodding again, slowly. “You’re self-aware. That’s a good thing.”
“I’m becoming more so,” I say hopefully.
“My smoothie business has been successful, overall. Profitable. And I know I can grow it. I have big plans for it.” None of which include a solid location for the rest of the year, unfortunately.
“I just need a place to land for a while. And get my bearings, I think.”
“I’ve given it a lot of thought, Sierra,” she says. “It’s obvious that Orchard Cove has enjoyed having you and your smoothies here . . .” Her gaze dips over the ribbons that flutter on my chest.
“That’s kind, thank you.”
“But I’m not looking to lease out Pier Seven for any extended length of time,” she concludes.
“Oh. Okay . . . Does this mean you’re going to sell it?”