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We walk toward the edge of the pavilion where Bodeen is still whacking coconuts to flatten their bottoms. “I have a feeling Anya is going to favor you over me,” I tell her.
“But you’re her friend.”
“She likes you. Mom too.” And it’s true. It’s not usual for either of them to take to a tourist like they just did. But then, I’ve never brought one to the market, either.
Tillie tucks her bag closer to her body. “They were fun.”
“I’m worried this challenge is going to get bigger than we think.”
Tillie bumps my arm with her elbow. “We’ll be fine. They think we’re big rivals. But really, we’re a bartending dream team.”
Chapter 9
TILLIE
After our visit to the farmers’ market, Gabe and I part ways, agreeing to meet an hour ahead of the challenge to make sure we have time to set out everything we need. I return to the condo and stare at the contents of my suitcase, as if the perfect outfit for the evening will materialize.
Lila shows up in the doorway to my room, Rosie on her hip. “How did it go?”
I spread every top I own on the bed. “I met his mother.”
Lila steps inside. “His mother?”
“Yes. She sells candles at the farmers’ market where we went to get coconuts. He didn’t seem too pleased when she walked up. She gave me that.” I point to theFuck Failurecandle on the dresser.
“Oh my.” She sits on the white wicker chair in the corner, settling Rosie in her lap.
The room is serene, gold sheers billowing aside the tall windows looking out on a courtyard. The smell of the ocean permeates everything like the best, most expensive perfume. Everything is gold or white: the rug, the bedspread, the satiny wallpaper. Drew really spoiled us. I’ve never in my life slept in a room this nice. It’s calming.
And I need calm. Panic keeps bubbling up like someone put dishwashing soap in a hot tub.
“So, you met his f-bomb-loving mom,” Lila says. “How did it go with him?”
I eliminate three shirts and place them back in my suitcase. They make my chest look smaller than it already is, and I don’t want to deal with comments about my “mosquito bites” or “goose bumps” in front of Gabe. I can’t help that when God passed out boobs, I was obviously off fixing someone a drink.
“Well?” Lila prompts.
Right. “We get under each other’s skin. When I’m around him, I can’t stop myself from making digs.”
“It’s a defense mode. You’ve built it up after all these years of bartending.”
She’s right. “Something about him makes me want to sharpen my stick for the battle of wits.”
“It’s how you met. The crabs. The misunderstanding. You’re sensitive when someone criticizes you.”
“I am not.”
“Oh, like right now?”
Dang it. I start pairing the remaining shirts with shorts and skirts. Ensley took us on an epic thrifting expedition before this trip to get beach clothes. She’s a maniac in a resale shop. We got a lot of great stuff for almost nothing.
“I wish I had my bar boots.” I arrange my meager footwear choices on the floor at the end of the bed.
“Working wasn’t supposed to be part of the vacation.”
“It’s not working. It’s entertaining. And today I got to see more of the island on the back of a motorcycle. Tourists don’t get that.”
“And meet a mother who sells f-bomb candles.”
