Page 21 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

There’s a beat, then he asks, “Who is this?”

“This is Ivy.”

“Jesus—”

“What? I promised I’d call.”

“Goodnight, Ivy.”

This conversation was not nearly long enough to rid me of my boredom. “Wait!” I stall.

“What’s up?”

Shit. Now I have to think of something else to say. “Um, are they there yet?”

“I don’t know, Ivy.” He draws my name out in the most patronizing way I’ve ever heard. “But I’m not going to the beach with them. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to hang up so I can finish my work and leave, before the children who should be at home and in bed swing by to harass me further.”

I snort. “You’re such a baby.”

“Don’t even get me started on what you are,” he mutters. “Oh, shit⁠—”

In the background, I hear a bell jingle and a cacophony of giggles. “Jesus. Are they actually there?” Somehow, I wasn’t actually expecting the trio to make good on their threat of showing Oliver a good time.

“I have to go,” Oliver says quickly. I hear a click and realize he’s hung up on me.

I cackle to myself, then immediately feel guilty. While Oliver is ostensibly a dick, he did seem genuinely uncomfortable earlier.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I fire off a quick text to Laurel. Going for a walk. I don’t want to interrupt her. She was deep in Rossetti land when I’d asked if she wanted to go get ice cream earlier, but she declined. If she’s at the point of turning down soft serve, I know better than to bother her again.

Hopping off the porch, I walk through the sand to Beach Street. The shops are all lit up, hoping for tourists high on sunburn and libations to drop in for some impulse purchases. I hear loud music coming out of a karaoke bar, and lots of families are strolling around, licking ice cream and paying very little attention to the cars trying to inch their way through town.

I see more than one near-accident, and I marvel at how the proper use of crosswalks seems to elude tourists. I guess I see, just a little bit, why someone like Oliver might not appreciate his town being taken over by vacationers who don’t watch where they’re going for a full third of every year.

It only takes me ten minutes to get to Shoreline Books. Oliver’s wiping down a café table, his back to a group of four girls and three college-aged guys. I guess the trio from earlier found a few more friends.

The girls are clearly having the time of their lives, flirting with this (admittedly very attractive) older man. They’re probably here on summer vacation with parents too drunk to pay attention to where they’re sneaking out for the night.

It doesn’t escape my attention that, with the addition of Oliver, the group now has enough people to pair off into four couples capable of wreaking quite a bit of inappropriate havoc. From the way he’s avoiding any eye contact whatsoever, I’m guessing it hasn’t slipped Oliver’s attention, either.

Taking a deep breath, I push open the door. At the bell, Oliver looks up. I think he’s about to announce that the shop is closed, but a wave of confusion passes over his face when he sees it’s me.

I paste on a smile. “There you are!” I sidle up to him and wrap him in a hug. I can’t help but notice how warm his chest is under my cheek. I definitely should have brought a sweater; it’s much cooler outside now that the sun’s setting. A classic tourist mistake I should not have made, given my many years of familiarity with Maine’s summer evenings.

Oliver’s confusion only deepens. “Um. Hi?”

“I told you I’d come by tonight.”

He continues to stare at me blankly.

“For our walk?” I raise both eyebrows to covertly indicate the ruse.

Rachel glares at me out of the corner of her eye. I’m throwing off their ratio, and I know it. But I don’t care. It’s partially my fault that Oliver’s in this mess. It’s the least I can do to help him out of it.

“Oh,” he says finally, understanding hitting. “Right. Thanks.”

“Let me finish up with this table,” I offer. “You go close up, and then we’ll all meet you outside.” I turn toward the others. “Right, guys?” They nod awkwardly.

He hands me the cloth he’s using, fingers brushing mine in the process. I try to ignore the way my heart leaps at the contact.