Page 13 of Seas the Dating Coach

My hand flexes before I notice how Vivian is standing, shoulders hunched while twisting a silver ring on her pinky finger. I love teasing her, but only because she fires back. I never want Vivian to feel belittled or insecure, especially not in her space.

Changing tactics, I grip my chin and tilt it upward. “As you can see, my nose isn’t broken. Thanks for asking.”

When she huffs and blows past me, the twisting in my stomach lessens.

“What do you want?” Vivian sits at one of the machines, feeding fabric through the needle at a racing speed.

“I thought you might need this back.” I pull her folded hoodie and tote from my leather messenger bag, setting them on the largest table—a tiny pile of order amid her disorganized havoc of boxes of beads and silvery ribbons.

“Also, we need to decide when we’re going”—at the last minute, I use her lingo in an attempt to speak on common ground—“to the mainland for our speech experiment. I was thinking tomorrow night.”

The sewing machine stops for a second before continuing, its noisy whirr dominating the small space. Somewhere in the background, an old seventies song whispers about heartache.

“About that . . .” She rolls her lips inward, focusing on her work and ignoring that I’ve moved directly in front of her machine. “I’ve reconsidered. I’ve decided I don’t need to change.”

“Frankly, I agree with you.” Her startled eyes only bounce to mine for the briefest second.

Anyone who takes the time to get past that initial quiet exterior would see the enticing spitfire beneath. If I wasn’t already under extreme pressure to ensure my sister’s future, I’d pour my energy into getting to know Vivian better.

“Regardless of my unwanted opinion”—when I receive a derisive snort, I know I’m on the correct path—“you were right when you said that I need you more than you need me.”

I stretch my arms wide.

“Haven’t my actions proved that? Here I am, hunting you down at your place of business, throwing myself at your compassion. I am a desperate, desperate man.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. I’m so close to winning the adrenaline rush of victory singes my nerve endings.

“Please, Vivian.” I rest my hand over my heart. “Take pity.”

A sigh accompanies her full smile, and I swear it’s the triumph that has me breathless, not the sweet curve of her lips.

“If I agree to help you, can you promise not to be so”—she rolls her hand in my direction—“over the top?”

“Absolutely not.” My hand curls into a resolute fist at my sternum. “Dramatics are part of the deal.”

When a peal of surprised laughter escapes her lips, my chest threatens to expand past the capacity of my ribs. I rub my knuckles against my breastbone before tucking my hands into my pockets.

She looks to the ceiling as if asking for guidance from above before settling her gaze on me. “Can’t I just help you without talking to all the men?”

I chuckle, murmuringall the men, before forcefully straightening my lips. “No, gorgeous. Let’s make this an arrangement that benefits us both.”

Normally, I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but the idea of taking advantage of Vivian is as appealing as cutting out my own tongue.

She deflates, hunching over her sewing machine. “I’m going to fail.”

A laugh punches from me. “Of course you will.”

Before Vivian can snap her gaze back to her hands, I catch her chin with my thumb and forefinger, gently keeping her eyes on mine.

“You’re supposed to fail. Over and over andoveragain. You’re supposed to fail and feel like crap and then try again. That’s how we get better. That’s how we learn.” I gesture to the fabric in her hands, letting my fingers reluctantly fall from her soft skin. “Did you succeed at this the first time you tried?”

She wrinkles her nose, and though I knew she’d be displeased at my words, I didn’t expect this small movement to be so endearing. I have to force myself to focus on the rainbow of bobbins to gain control over my breathing.

“No, but I don’t remember struggling as much with it. It sort of . . . flowed like water.”

“Okay,” I say, reaching up to push a precarious spool back on its peg. “You were a natural. So am I at most things. The rest you’ll have to work for.” I almost tense, realizing I’m going to repeat my father’s words, but they’re as true today as they were the first fifteen hundred times he told them to me. “Nothing worth having comes easily.”

I leisurely peruse her fabrics before returning my attention back to Vivian. The analytical way she’s looking at me makes me rub the back of my neck.

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