Page 14 of Seas the Dating Coach

“What?”

“No one has ever ‘tough-loved’ me before.” She tilts her head to the side, a cascade of ringlets sliding over her bare shoulder. “Everyone just lets me off the hook. Doesn’t expect much from me.” A muscle in her jaw ticks.

The need to ease the tension in her cheek is visceral. “Trust me, dating coaches are just as tough as any other coach.”

“I wouldn’t know.” She shrugs. “I’ve never had a coach before.”

Seventy-six questions about her upbringing clamor for attention, but I focus on logistics. “What time should I pick you up tomorrow?”

That darned nose wrinkle again. “Let’s meet at the water tower at nine.”

“You’re kidding.”

A curly strand falls over her eyes when she shakes her head, her fingers tucking it away before I can. “It’s the best way to ensure that no one sees us together.”

I make a show of rolling my eyes and huffing, hopefully drawing attention away from how my hand automatically fisted at her words.

“Until our next clandestine meeting.” My heavy wink evokes another annoyed glare.

“Goodbye, Finn,” Vivian deadpans.

Though my stroll to the exit is unhurried, my heart is hammering like I’ve just finished a record-breaking one hundred meters. I hold the door open just long enough to pull Vivian’s attention.

“Oh, and, gorgeous? Wear something nice.” I allow the heavy door to swing shut, silencing her rebuttal.

seven

Vivian

The only thing keeping me from completely hyperventilating the next night while out with Finn is the sweet, briny breeze flowing through the open floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything else about this bar makes me uncomfortable—the sheer number of people, the rib-vibrating base of the trendy music, and the upscale decor.

Not to mention the bank-breaking cost of the drinks. Clara, the owner of Wilks Beach’s sole bar and restaurant, Bayside Table, charges nine dollars for her classic orange crush cocktail as opposed to this Virginia Beach Oceanfront bar’s seventeen dollars. Maybe they’re upcharging because it’s Memorial Day weekend?

At least I’m wearing my favorite dress. It’s a muted-teal chiffon with capped sleeves. I’d designed a mini corset into the waistline before letting the flowy, layered fabric cascade to myknee. The corset is purely decorative, giving the garment visual structure while maintaining comfort. Like all my dresses, the square neckline doesn’t come but an inch below my collarbones.

Though my mentor, Miss Wendy, likes to say that I’mblessed in all the right places, I still prefer to conceal my top-half blessings as much as possible.

“First round is on me.” Finn’s voice pulls my frowning face from the cocktail menu. “Second round is on”—he glances around, that mischievous smirk deepening—“any number of these gentlemen.”

“Or we could go home and—”

He holds up a finger. “Ah-ah. No more of that.”

Half of the drive here, I tried to get Finn to turn his understated but undeniably luxurious, storm-gray Aston Martin around and abandon this ill-fated plan.

“Let me find you a willing subject.” He lifts his chin, subtly surveying the crowd.

I barely repress my body’s traitorous reaction to him. Why does he have to be so beautiful? I’m convinced that storybook heroes are modeled after Finn Reynolds. Earlier, when he’d been casually leaning against the hood of his car, waiting for me, I almost stumbled. Not because I was walking in the dark. The entirety of Wilks Beach is embedded in my brain. I could navigate it blindfolded. It was how breathtaking Finn was in the subtle moonlight.

He’d worn tailored black, head to toe, but forsaken his signature vest and socks. The strange pulse of heat that shot through me upon seeing his bare ankles only confirmed that I’m not right in the head.

Finn is as unattainable as the gorgeous three-story ocean-facing homes. Perfect for someone else but never for you. You can always look as you walk down the beach, but that’s never going to be your home.

When I Googled Finn yesterday, double-checking that he wasn’t a psycho in addition to being ridiculously hot, there wasn’t much on him besides glowing accolades from the various libraries he’s worked at after getting his masters. Brynn must have known a woman who he’d personally wronged to have the details about his dating history. Though Wilks Beach residents usually stick to our town, many have family who live on the mainland.

I hadn’t asked Brynn for more details about Finn because I knew she’d disapprove of this whole escapade. Brynn’s natural state is to protect me, but I can’t fall in love with Atticus if I’m always at home, reading Regency novels and watching TV.

Since my sister always goes to bed early, I didn’t have to lie to her about leaving tonight. My night owl personality has always clashed with her wake-at-four-thirty lifestyle. Fortunately, our bedrooms are above my shop, so the mainland commuters stumbling into Seabreeze Beans first thing don’t wake me at the crack of dawn. That and I have an impressive ocean-waves sound machine.

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