Page 26 of Falling for the Enemy

It should concern him how much one felt like business and the other felt like pleasure.

Driving over the bridge into Hideaway Bay always brought a jolt of relief. It also felt a little like Roger Rabbit getting thrown into the middle of Tune Town.

“What the…?”

Only in Hideaway Bay could Friday afternoon look like three p.m. on a Saturday.

He frowned at the sheer number of tourists and residents milling about as if they had nothing better to do than window-shop. “Don’t you people work?”

His speed slowed to a crawl as pedestrians jaywalked aimlessly to and from stores and made their way to the greens by the wharf. In the distance, he spotted a large billboard where Hawthorne Fishery proclaimed a grand presence as the town’s main donor and festival sponsor.

Jocelyn was a chairperson on the town’s event committee. She likely had something to do with this eruption of fall festivities. She might even be down at the wharf working some ticket booth or sign-up sheet like she often did during festivals and such.

“Let’s see what we’re supporting this week.” He pulled into an open parking spot on Main Street and pocketed his keys.

The temperature had cooled over the last week, and the click of flip-flops on hot pavement had finally faded. That quickly, it looked like The Great Pumpkin had exploded flannel and hay bales on every inch of the Town Square.

Tables with awnings lined the main drag as storeowners pushed their goods out front to mingle with customers. Pop-up vendors dotted the lawn, and farmer market stands threaded throughout.

Dogs barked from the gazebo where pens from the local animal shelter had been set up. An apple-pressing station had been arranged for the kids right next to the pet rescue area to keep them occupied while their parents were bullied into unplanned animal adoptions.

Soren casually drifted toward the wharf, with no plans of visiting the shelter or making cider, but something compelled him in that direction. Street lamps along the way were decorated for the annual scarecrow competition that was likely coming up. He wasn’t great about following the town’s calendar, so he wasn’t exactly sure when the voting would take place, but the events were usually ostentatious enough that nothing went by unnoticed. The closer he came to the action, the louder the crowd grew.

A young woman with brown hair strummed a guitar at the corner, singing an acoustic cover of a Gin Blossoms song. He dropped a twenty in her guitar case and continued toward the gazebo.

Bodhi and Astrid Wilde sat at a table outside the Wilde Kettle and waved when Soren passed.

“Beautiful day for a walk into town,” Bodhi said, adjusting his grey ponytail and eyeing Soren’s suit. “Though you’re a bit overdressed.”

“Just came from work,” Soren explained. Bodhi was Wren’s father, and Astrid was his sister.

Astrid looked up from the playing cards she held. She and Bodhi seemed to be in an endless tournament of Gin Rummy. “You work too hard. It’ll start to age you if you don’t slow down, Soren. Then how will you ever find a good woman to put up with you?”

“I’m working on it.” He scanned the Town Square. “Wren and Greyson here?”

“They’re walking around somewhere, though I don’t know how much longer they’ll be out and about,” Astrid said. “Wren’s feet are swollen.”

A strange twinge of compassion and jealousy flitted through his chest as it always did whenever he was reminded that Wren was pregnant. It was bizarre to think they’d reached the stage of children and family planning, to think his brother was going to be a father in a few months.

All his life, Wren had always been Wren—best friend, confidant, quirky daughter of Haven and Bodhi. But now she was Greyson’s wife, and soon she’d be a mother.

There was the flutter again, only this time it was chased by a zing of urgency.

He was happy for them, but their happiness also made him excruciatingly aware that he was falling behind. Not that it was a competition. He just assumed they would all start having kids around the same time.

The pressure to find a wife and start a family so their children could grow up together had gotten heavier every day since they announced the due date at the end of November.

“If you see my daughter,” Bodhi said, drawing a card from the deck, “tell her to put her feet up and take a rest before she gets fat rolls in her ankles.”

Astrid swatted her brother in the arm. “Leave her be.”

“I’ll be sure to pass along the first part of the message.”

“You tell her to ignore her father and enjoy her stroll. Walking’s good for the baby.”

“So is rest. Take your turn, Astrid.”

“You know, Soren—” Astrid’s words cut off as she scowled at the cards Bodhi had played on the small wooden crate they used as a table. “You can’t lay that down. You need a set.”