Page 55 of Seas the Dating Coach

It’s petty and childish and several other adjectives ending inish, but I advance into his space. “Is it?”

We hover in suspended animation for only a breath before Finn’s decisive nod shatters my foolish dreams.

“Yes. Of course it is. This is what you’ve been working toward from the start.”

My stubborn mouth opens to object, to tell him that plans can change. Whatever my imagination had concocted with Atticus pales in comparison to the manyrealinteractions with Finn. I haven’t exactly hammered out the details, but suddenly, all of this feels wrong, like sewing a tailored pant cross-grain.

But Finn’s phone rings in his pocket, and he excuses himself to answer it. As Finn strides beyond the flaps of my tent, I hear him say, “Perfect timing,” before the busy crowd swallows him whole.

twenty-three

Finn

I’m a complete dirtbag. That’s what keeps running through my mind as I wait the following afternoon inside Bayside Table. The mountain of evidence pushes against my neck, oppressively bowing my shoulders. My first offense had been yesterday at the fair when Cordelia’s phone call pulled me away from Vivian. Fortunately, there wasn’t another crisis in the land of Otto. My sister called to chat like she often does.

The hardest part of my father systematically removing me from our family has been not seeing my sister in person. She’d been fourteen when I left and very much beneath our father’s thumb, despite her teenage rebellion in securing a burner phone and sending me gifts. Fortunately, our close relationship had weathered the distance and obstacles—even more of a testament to my sister’s cleverness.

Since I’d had to keep so much from Cordelia over the years, I vowed to tell her as much about my life as I could. She always knows the latest library gossip—her favorite topic—how things are going with Alec—she’s not a fan—and what projects I’m trying to implement. That’s why Cordelia called yesterday with the perfect idea for my library fundraiser.

“A Worthington Ball?” With the ocean wind whipping through the boardwalk, I wasn’t sure I heard her correctly.

“They’re a whole vibe. Anastasia had one for her twentieth last weekend, and everyone is obsessed. Of course that means I can’t use it for my upcoming birthday.”

“You’ll come up with something better,” I say in response to my sister’s pout.

“Undoubtedly.”

A smile curves my lips until I glance back at Vivian’s empty tent. I know Vivian didn’t want help today, but the idea of her going home defeated is as appealing as brushing my teeth with cat urine.

The words are out of my mouth before I can second-guess them.

“Cor, I need a favor.”

When the owner of a trendy Virginia Beach boutique arrived an hour later, I had to feign surprise. The woman evaluated Vivian’s workmanship, pleasantly surprised to find it immaculate. Each of her garments are made of quality fabrics, have incredible structure, and are finished with French seams.

Vivian had done that silent, open/closed mouth thing for a few seconds when the woman suggested taking thirty dresses with her for consignment. The boutique owner warned Vivian that the dresses could be returned if they don’t sell in forty-five days, but I’m confident they’ll sell themselves. Garments this intricate just need to be in front of the right audience.

Acid burned in my stomach at the underhandedness of the whole interaction. But when Vivian’s bright-green eyes landed on mine a second before she launched herself into my arms with glee, I told myself it would be okay. A large part of business is who you know, the connections you’ve made. Begrudgingly, my father had been right about that too.

“I’m so excited,” Letitia says, entering the private room that I reserved for this impromptu meeting and yanking me from my memory. When I sent out a library-wide email last night, almost everyone immediately confirmed.

“The town is going to love this idea,” she tells me, pulling several notepads and books from a backpack. “Did you know that, in the fifties, they used the library for public dances all the time? Here.” She flips open a weathered book, her fingernail tapping on a black-and-white picture of couples crowded onto the main floor. The photographer must be standing on the stairwell to get the aerial shot.

“I’ve already coordinated with Margot—she teaches beginning ballet and jazz to most of the Wilks Beach kids out of her garage. Leading up to the ball, we can host weekly lessons for locals to learn the quadrille, the waltz, and some country dances.”

I open my stunned mouth to tell Letitia thank you—this was more than I expected on such short notice—but Patricia speaks first as she sails through the open door.

“I spoke to my eldest daughter,” she says, plopping herself next to Letitia and launching right in. “She’s in the high school chamber ensemble that meets after school. They’ve played a few weddings and would happily perform at the ball.” Patricia opens her phone to a screenshot and pushes it across the table to me. “Those are the songs they already know, but they are willing to learn more.”

Before I can even read the screen, she pulls it back. “Oh, and this is from Robert. He couldn’t make it today but wanted you to see this.”

I glance at the text message.

Robert

BOUT TIME I GET A CHANCE TO SPIN MY WIFE AROUND AGAIN. BEEN TOO LONG

Letitia and Patricia talk over each other as Trudy and Maxwell, the collections librarian, join us. A server sweeps in and collects drink orders for sweet tea before disappearing again.

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