Page 19 of Seas the Dating Coach

“None of this matters. In these noisy bars, I can be whoever I want. I’m never going to see these people again.” She points to a man skating by on rollerblades. “You, sir! Our paths shall never again entwine.”

The man wholly ignores her, much to Vivian’s giddy delight.

I understand the allure of anonymity. After being forced to remove my father’s last name from my own, the freedom of being forgettable was dizzying at times.

“My whole life, I’ve been surrounded by people who know me. That intimacy is lovely, but it’s also intimidating. Even in high school on the mainland, the stories followed me. Everyone knew about our past before we’d even stepped foot on campus. But here”—she stretches out her arms—“I’m a mystery. An enigma. What I do doesn’t matter because no one will tell Aunt Tammy. No one will tell Brynn. I won’t be hurting anyone when I inevitably ruin everything.”

So many follow-up questions zip through my mind, but it’s difficult to organize them, especially when it feels like someone sucker punched me in the throat.

“You”—my voice is entirely too gruff as I step forward, closing the gap between us—“could never ruin anything. I never want to hear you talk about yourself like that again.”

Her mouth opens, sucks in an uneven breath, then closes with a hard swallow.

I ignore everything in the next few seconds, concentrating only on remaining absolutely still. The goosebumps spreading down her arms go untouched. The gossamer sheen of her dress, tempting me to trace my fingers over the corset at her waist, isn’t worth my attention. The way her collarbones bounce with each insufficient inhale isn’t distracting.

Vivian does that rapid-blinking thing again before her expression smooths. “Got it, Coach. Negative self-talk is not going to help me win Atticus’s heart.”

Her words shive me in the kidneys, but I let my lip quirk. “That’s right. And the next step is talking to him.”

“Except, there’s a problem with your plan.”

“What’s that?”

“Atticus won’t approach me like Dylan did. We have been hovering around each other for a year. The first time he spoke to me was at the library, and that was only because you and I were in his way.”

Irrational anger sweeps my bloodstream before I can suppress it. If my life wasn’t a complete mess, if my ex hadn’t destroyed me, I wouldn’t have waited a year to speak to Vivian. If I wasn’t her dating coach and this tentative relationship wasn’t purely situational, I would have closed those final inches seconds ago.

“Fret not, gorgeous,” I begin, waiting until she’s caught my roguish smile before continuing. “Your dating coach has a plan.”

nine

Finn

Vivian

This isn’t going to work.

That’s the text I get the Tuesday after our Friday-night talking-to-men session. That night, I’d helped her through another interaction before buying Vivian fish tacos and encouraging her to drink more water. While munching on savory rockfish and crunchy cabbage, we finalized this plan. Vivian closes her shop early every Tuesday to spend two hours organizing the monetary side of her business. She finishes her work around six—the same time Atticus tends to pick up his weekly library holds.

Today,she’sgoing to approachhim.

I glance up from my phone, catching her sitting cross-legged on her study room chair and giving me the saddest puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen. Her purple panda tote—how many of thosedarn things does she own?—is crumpled on the floor. Her laptop and water bottle are in disarray, and her empty Skittles bag hangs halfway out of the trashcan.

I give her a playful eye roll.

Finn

You’ll be fine. Just repeat what we practiced in the car.

Vivian huffs, swiping a few remaining Skittles into her mouth and furiously typing.

After checking the library’s study room reservation system, I’d noted that the prior patron was to vacate the room at three. That gave me enough time to scrub the desktop with Clorox wipes, ensuring that Vivian won’t catch tabletop botulism, hoof and mouth disease, or something worse. When I was caught by our custodian, Debra, I disinfected all the other open tables in the upstairs reading/study area to waylay suspicion.

Vivian

It’s not going to work. Who goes up to another person at the library and asks, What are you reading? I might as well be asking him if he likes breathing. It’s pathetic. Seriously, why did we not come up with something better?

I fire off my text before glaring through the two panes of glass separating us.

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