Page 5 of Taming Waves

Mom brought breakfast over yesterday morning, and I spent the afternoon on the beach with a book, soaking up the sunshine. It was just me and a few other late-season stragglers peppering the shoreline.

Sandcastle Cove is a small barrier island off the southern coast of North Carolina, nestled between the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway and the Atlantic Ocean. The west end of the island consists of large, private homes. Most of which are full-time residents. The majority of the east end, apart from the exclusive eastern tip just beyond the lighthouse, is comprised of seasonal rentals. We love our tourists here in Sandcastle Cove. They keep our economy thriving and our taxes low, but those of us who call the island home appreciate the tranquility of this time of year when the beach is a little less crowded, and everything seems to slow down.

I enter the code at the employee entrance door on the side of the building, which bypasses the hostess stand and front registers.

Brew texted me this morning to ask if I could arrive half an hour early today. I usually arrive at the same time as the kitchen staff to help prepare for opening. The afternoon crowd mainly consists of families coming off the beach for a quick bite or day workers in and around the island, swinging by on their lunch hour. Therefore, apart from the occasional mimosa or draft beer, the bar isn’t as busy as it is during dinner and late night hours.

“Hello!” I call out as the door clicks shut behind me and I step inside.

I stop in my tracks when I look up and see a man standing behind the bar. Brew is seated in front of him, and their conversation comes to a halt as both of them turn to look at me.

“Good morning,” Brew greets. “You know Parker, right?”

I most certainly do. My gaze flickers to the man in question. He’s wearing a white button-up shirt with the sleeves pushed up, exposing his forearms. His hair is all over the place, as if he just woke up and ran his fingers through it. A light smattering of dark stubble covers his square jaw. His piercing blue eyes are trained on me.

“Hello, Audi.”

His deep voice caresses the name he used to call me intimately, and it pisses me off. I slide my eyes to my boss.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Parker and I were just going over the basics,” he says.

“Basics?”

I glance back at Parker, and his lips curve up as he and Brew exchange a look.

Oh no, no, no.

“Brew, can I have a word, please?” I say through gritted teeth. Then turn to Parker. “Excuse us for a second.”

I grab Brew’s arm, tug him from the stool, and drag him down the hallway to his office, slamming the door behind us.

“What the fuck is Parker Alston doing behind my bar?” I ask.

His brows knit together, and I feel dread as I consider his confused expression.

“I hired him this morning,” he says slowly.

“Here? He’s working here?”

“Yes,” he confirms as he takes the seat behind his desk and focuses on me.

“Is that a problem?”

I just blink at him.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it is,” he answers.

“You think?” I snap.

Brew lets out a long sigh. “Why?”

“It’s a long story. But it’s safe to say that if you put the two of us behind the bar together, we’re likely to strangle each other.”

He drops his head and reaches behind to clasp his neck. “He failed to mention you two have a history.”

That doesn’t surprise me.

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