Page 3 of Seas the Dating Coach

I still might. Maybe. We’ll see.

“If you have something to say, you can speak to me.” The death glare Brynn shoots over my shoulder is enough to sober me.

I rush to her side, turning as both Joe and Leroy try to murder the stranger with their narrowed gazes.

The man is almost as well dressed as Atticus, except he’s forsaken his jacket and tie. The white shirt beneath his gray suit vest is open at the collar and rolled to the elbows, revealing tanned skin. He takes a step back, casually sliding his hands into the pockets of his black slacks. The tailor in me approves the black buttons of his vest matching his pants and the silver of his belt buckle complementing his watch. Well-coordinated ensemble aside, the hostile body language of the three people I’ve known since birth makes me wary of this man.

Though I can feel his gaze on me, I only bounce my eyes to his warm brown ones for the briefest of milliseconds. The sheer magnitude of his gorgeous face snaps the breath from my lungs. He’s unnervingly handsome with his perfectly styled black hair; his playful, full mouth surrounded by beard scruff; and an easy, sexy confidence.

In the Regency romance books I’m fond of, they would describe him as a capital-R Rake.

Dangerous.

Devastating.

Brynn rises, stepping in front of me to talk to the stranger, but I miss her words. Everything blurs to white noise as the failed interaction with Atticus surges forward. A crushing weight tugs at my shoulders and brings my gaze to my ruined shoes. I should be proud of myself for trying. I know that’s what Brynn will say when she brings me a leftover baked good and a decaf iced coffee at three when her store closes.

Until now, I’ve only stuck with things that come naturally to me—sewing, reading, and swimming. I’d be in trouble living in a beach town andnotknowing how to swim. Socializing, dating, and putting myself out there are not on that list.

Leroy has one gnarled finger pointed at the stranger’s chest as I try to drift from the conversation. It’s usually easy, slipping into solitude, but stepping away this time feels like wading through mud. I’m inexplicably tethered. Brynn catches me by the shoulders, turning and guiding me toward the door to our shared hallway.

“That’s the man I warned you about.”

Who?

I rack my brain but can’t recall who Brynn is referring to. Unlike most Wilks Beach residents, I don’t usually partake in our town’s cherished pastime of gossip. I’m more likely to know the storyline from the latest Wellington novel than who slighted who at church last weekend.

My forehead creases as I turn to find the stranger’s focus locked on me. The jolt sliding over my collarbones as our gazes collide punches the breath from me.

Quickly, I blink away.

“I’m sorry that was a bust,” Brynn whispers as she encourages me through the back door.

I should be happy that my sister is helping me escape an uncomfortable situation, but a mossy emotion sludges through my veins.

Instead of analyzing it, I quietly thank her.

As soon as I’m safely ensconced in our hallway, I convince myself that the electrifying bolt I felt meeting the stranger’s gaze was nothing. The flush staining my cheeks and sliding down my neck is from residual embarrassment, nothing else. And the tug I feel to reopen the door to Seabreeze Beans is a symptom of my overactive imagination, because there’s no good reason for me to ever see that man again.

None whatsoever.

two

Finn

“Iwarned you that those backwater wackos wouldn’t take kindly to a…what do they call us?”

“Mainlanders,” I answer, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Ever since the altercation in the coffee shop this morning, a migraine has been brewing like clouds collecting at the start of a thunderstorm.

Alec’s laugh bursting through my Bluetooth earbuds doesn’t help the pinching between my brows. “That’s right. And they call themselvesislanders.” He snorts. “Even though Wilks Beach is technically a peninsula.”

This two-mile, narrow stretch of beach definitely feels like an island—physically and emotionally—but Alec is correct. The Atlantic Ocean stretches to the east; Back Bay to the west; a wide inlet and the Virginia state border separates the town from North Carolina’s Outer Banks to the south; and a large,inaccessible, 4,983-acre wildlife preserve borders the northern edge. Being an hour drive from the nearest city, Virginia Beach, only adds to its remote allure.

“I didn’t think it’d be this bad.” My neck pinches as I pace the short distance along my desk.

Striding in one direction, my gaze bounces over the upstairs reading area and private study rooms through my glass office wall and door. Like usual, reading patrons fill most of the wingback chairs and the study rooms near capacity. Two older women use the oversized table centering the space to plan quilts. They’ve even brought an ironing board along with their various bags of fabric and batting.

Up until this conversation, I’d always had my office door open, welcoming visitors. In the three weeks I’ve been working at Wilks Beach Library, I’ve received none. Spinning on my heel improves the tension behind my eyes as my exterior window reveals a breathtaking view of the dunes and the long, sandy beach beyond. When I was the collection development librarian for the Central Library in Virginia Beach, my window faced a limp willow tree and a stone wall.

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