Holiday Tides (Wilks Beach Holiday Novella)

18. Summer

eighteen

Summer

T he icy slap of the evening wind feels like a feathered caress compared to having Nick show an—honestly adorable —moment of vulnerability before finishing with a cocky smile and a jab. His smirk revealed the deceptively sweet interaction to be what it was…an act.

Just like graduation night.

Nick may not have truly grown up in our time apart, but I’m not that naive girl anymore. I’m a professionally accomplished, fully grown adult who doesn’t need to be associating with jerks who play games.

No, thank you.

My face fumes in deference to the freezing weather, half listening to Ezra detailing Wilks Beach nightlife. Since Bayside Table is the only bar and restaurant on the island, they host music trivia on Tuesdays, karaoke on Thursdays, and live music on Saturdays. These happen at the outdoor bar and dance floor beside the large grassy area dotted with picnic tables and yard games south of the restaurant. In December, however, only Christmas Karaoke remains, taking over on Saturday nights after the kitchen closes at nine.

Two-thirds of the attendees of Aldon’s party have scattered among the tables centered around a makeshift stage area in front of the bay-facing windows. There’s hardly an open seat in the packed restaurant, but I spot a newly familiar face among the crowd. Vivian, the owner of Vivian’s Alterations, and the reason why I’m wearing my favorite holiday dress, sits by herself, tucked into a booth. Making my excuses to Ezra, I head over.

“Hey,” I say, sliding onto the opposite bench. “What are you doing over here all by yourself?”

“Oh, I—” She grimaces at her hands, twisting a silver ring on her pinky. “I, um…well…”

“Vivian likes to keep to herself.” Nick’s voice makes my shoulders pinch, but I find him smiling kindly at her when I look up. “Hey, Vivian. Good to see you.”

“You too.” Her grin is small but sincere.

I noticed that Vivian wasn’t particularly chatty when I dropped off my dress, but she asked pertinent questions about the garment, estimated a cost for a zipper replacement, and set up a pickup schedule without stumbling over words.

“She’d probably be more comfortable if you left her alone,” he adds.

I bristle at Nick’s assumption. “How about you let her speak for herself?”

Vivian opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again.

My stomach clenches as unease slips over my shoulders. I’ve worked with enough shy kids to know that I’m in the wrong here. Still, I can’t give Nick the satisfaction of knowing that.

“It’s probably you making her uncomfortable, Nick.” I over enunciate the K sound in his name. “Why don’t you leave us alone?”

“That’s not— Fine.” He tosses my coat on the table and storms away. Meanwhile, Vivian looks as if she might throw up.

“I’m sorry,” I say gently. “I won’t make you chat with me, and I’ll leave as soon as I can. I just…” I blow out a tense breath. “I just need a space to sit and collect myself. As soon as he’s distracted, I’ll slip out the door. Is it okay if I’m here for a few minutes?”

When Vivian gives me a tiny smile as her chin dips, I sag with relief. “Thank you.”

My arms fold over the table before I nestle my head between them. I no longer care if I’m smudging my makeup or ruffling my hair. All the time I spent creating a glossy version of myself was pointless. Someone’s butchering Wham!’s “Last Christmas,” but I’ll take it over Nick jumbling my insides with what I think is actual interest and then setting those stupid, foolish hopes on fire.

Being with Nick tonight had me coiled tight from the second I opened my front door, and his mouth fell open, speechless. I really thought that something had transitioned between us, switched to a before and after . Before was cocky Nick Watson constantly mocking me, using his financial advantage to my detriment, making me feel less than. After was Nick teasing me, but in a way that felt good-natured if not flirty, being there when I needed him, wanting to spend time with me.

Looks like my dreams of after were all in my mind.

“I’m such an idiot,” I murmur to the table beneath my nose.

The sudden desire to talk this out with someone is so overwhelming a sheen of tears collects at the corners of my eyes. I obviously can’t talk to Kayla. Of my siblings, I’m closest with Sage but could never talk about relationships with her. She worries that I’ll die alone like Simon likely will, but not all of us meet our soulmate in debate club freshman year and get happily married soon thereafter. She’s the exception, not the rule, and can’t seem to fathom why it’s so hard for the rest of us.

“You’re not an idiot.” Vivian’s voice is as even as it was earlier when we’d spoken in her adorable tailor’s shop.

I know I should bite my lip and keep quiet. I know, okay? She doesn’t want me here any more than I want to be here, but it’s been a crap week, and I really, really need to vent. Not moving so I can later claim that I was confessing to the table and not bothering this sweet, gracious human, I begin.

“He’s just so infuriating. Always mocking me. Always messing with me. I thought maybe, maybe”—a hard laugh pushes from me—“that things had changed. He was saying all these sweet things at the party and then played the piano. Don’t get me started on how hot it is that he’s learning an instrument later in life. People always think that life ends in your twenties, but I remind parents that this is a short season.

“Let’s say their child lives to sixty, which honestly is on the early side. They’re only little for a third of their lifetime. Now, what if they make it to eighty? Then childhood is only a fourth. Most of their relationship with their child will be the adulthood years, so it’s okay if they hate some parts of their kids being little. They don’t have to sit through another episode of Paw Patrol if they’d rather take a shower, or have a quiet glass of wine on the porch and stare into the void. It’s not the end of the world if they miss one baseball game while at a work conference as long as—”

I stop myself, raising my head with a wince. “Sorry. I really went on a rant there. I’ll be quiet from now on.” I mime sealing my lips and throwing away the key.

“It’s okay.” Vivian smiles fully, her face relaxing. Little freckles dot the bridge of her nose, stretching over her cheeks toward the corners of her green eyes.

“It’s just been a confusing week.” I sigh, spine sagging. “I’m all over the place. Relieved after breaking up with my cheating boyfriend. Flustered after almost—” My head shakes, banishing the almost kiss with Nick from this conversation and my mind.

“Anyway, I’m going to head out now.” I’m scooting down the booth bench when Vivian’s words stop me.

“You’re not alone, you know.”

My lips downturn. “You had a cheating boyfriend too?”

Vivian laughs softly, a whisper of a sound.

“No, but there’s this guy. Atticus.” Her eyes flit across the room but return to her fingers before I can see who she fixated on. “He, um… He doesn’t really know I exist, but…” Vivian sighs so wistfully that I know exactly what she’d like to have happen between her and this mystery man.

I’m brainstorming possible scenarios that’ll result in Vivian and Atticus having an adorable meet-cute when Carol Cook pops beside the booth, startling us both. “Ladies. So good to see you.”

I immediately glance at Vivian, surveying her mood, ready to go into battle for her if need be. Vivian simply grins, giving Carol a small wave. She doesn’t even seem bothered when Carol plops beside her and feels the cap-sleeve of her dress between wrinkled fingers.

“Let’s see what you’ve created this time.” Carol leans back, her shrewd eyes noting the garment’s beautiful details. “If I had more money, I’d have you sew a custom holiday dress for me.” Her words don’t betray a trace of malice. In fact, they’re surprisingly warm.

Like me, Vivian has favored green in the duality of Christmas colors. Since she has a similar pale complexion and chestnut hair with the fairest hint of red, I can’t blame her. Also, the shade of her fit-and-flare dress is a near match to her eyes, making them even more mesmerizing for the millisecond they snag on you.

“Of course, my figure isn’t what it used to be.” Carol pats her slight stomach before offering Vivian a shockingly kind smile. “And I wouldn’t worry about Atticus, dear. When the timing is right, things will unfold as they should.”

Dear? Also, wait. How much of our conversation did Carol overhear?

“As for you…” She leans her elbows on the table, focusing on me.

I straighten in preparation, the hairs on my neck rising.

“What I don’t understand…” Carol pauses, and it’s like watching a predator preparing for an attack—muscles coiled, breath even, freaky yellow eyes laser focused. “Is why you’re scurrying off with your tail between your legs, when Velva always said you were spirited like her.”

My brows scrunch.

Sophia is by far the most fiery of the Owens girls. So much so that Dad developed an ulcer from the number of times she’d been called in for truancy her senior year of high school. Even with missing school to protest for various causes, Sophia graduated and now spearheads a grassroots watershed conservation program.

“You’re just going to let Nicholas Watson rule this roost? This was your town long before it ever became his.”

I look over my shoulder, finding Nick sitting at a table with some people from Aldon’s party, laughing and joking with each other.

“The Owens family has lived in Wilks Beach for generations. That house has been in your bloodline for nearly a hundred years. This is your town.”

“This is my town,” I say under my breath, glaring at Nick’s back.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

I rise, feeling Carol on my heels as I stomp across the crowded restaurant. Surprising, since her cane usually slows her down. “Frosty the Snowman” finishes up, and a moment of dead air hovers as I reach Nick. Pressing my palms on the tabletop, I narrow my eyes at Nick’s stupidly handsome face.

“Okay, Watson. This rivalry ends tonight. There’s only one way to prove who’s the best in Wilks Beach.”

Nick is so unbothered by my intrusion that, even though I know it’s anatomically impossible, I swear my blood is boiling in my veins.

“What’s that, Bummer?” He leans back in his seat, stretching his arm over the armrest.

It’s my turn to look smug because there’s no way Nick will win at this.

“A Christmas Off.”