Page 27 of Seas the Dating Coach

“Newcomer, what’ll it be?” The woman points at me, her tattooed arms a blur of different patterns.

Newcomer?I suppose that’s better thanMainlander.

“Whiskey, neat, please.”

She gives me a curt nod, turning away to pour my drink.

Deafening mic feedback has everyone wincing and covering their ears. “Sorry about that,” a voice booms before the volume is quickly lowered. “Welcome to music trivia. I’m Izzy, your host.” Several enthusiasticwooooosgo up from the crowd. “Grab your score card if you haven’t yet. We start at the end of this song.”

“HandClap” reverberates through the speakers. After collecting my drink, starting a tab, and saying goodbye to Patricia and Greg, we grab our laminated score cards and dry-erase markers and make our way to two vacant Adirondack chairs in the grass. The double-sided card doesn’t contain answer slots like I’d expected but a Motown-themed bingo card.

“Isn’t this music bingo?”

Vivian kicks off her sandals and folds her legs criss-cross beneath her. If I was a betting man, I’d wager there are bike shorts beneath her flower-patterned dress.

“Technically, but Izzy didn’t want to ruffle Ida’s feathers and compete with the library’s bingo night, so she named it something else.” When I stare blankly, she adds, “Ida was the activities librarian before she retired five”—she squints at the star-speckled sky—“six years ago.”

Vivian takes a sip of her cocktail and grimaces.

“Is something wrong with your drink?”

Conflict skirts over her brow before she focuses on her scorecard. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” I tell her, seeing through the lie.

Those green eyes peek at me, her thumbnail scrubbing at a marker remnant. “Brynn ordered this drink for us when we turned twenty-one. It’s Brynn’s favorite, but I’m not fond of it. Every time I come in, Cynthia makes it for me. She thinks she’s doing me a favor by not making me order. She probably assumes twin sisters like the same thing.” Vivian lifts a helpless shoulder. “She’s trying to be nice.”

The speed with which I stand, snatching the plastic cup and flinging its contents onto the grass, startles us both. After a beat, I ask, “What do you really want to drink?”

“I—” She twists her ring. “I’ve always wanted to try their strawberry Moscow mule.”

Antsy energy surges through my veins, but I don’t move. The fact that Vivian has been politely consuming a drink she doesn’t enjoy forsix yearsmakes me want to burn down this whole establishment. “And if you don’t like it?”

A slow smile lifts her lips, blindsiding me. “I’ll let you dramatically throw it in the grass?”

My surprised laugh has the dual effect of broadening Vivian’s grin and easing the pressure behind my breastbone. “You knew that dramatics were part of the deal.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile doesn’t slip. “Fine.”

“Yes, I am. Thank you for noticing.” I wink just to get her to huff in exasperation.

Vivian shakes her head. “Go get my drink so we can get down to business. I did my part in making you look less vile to the townspeople. Now I need your help with something.”

“Sure thing, gorgeous.”

I give her a second wink before turning to the bar, knowing that Vivian could ask me to walk barefoot over shards of glass, and I’d do so with a smile.

twelve

Vivian

“How is it?” Finn’s eyes seem darker beneath the string bulbs and starlight, more intense. I need to be careful, to remember it’s only a trick of the light. Because the focused way his gaze traces the column of my neck as I swallow the sweet, strawberry-flavored cocktail is more intoxicating than the light splash of vodka within.

“It’s tasty.”

“You’re sure?”

I sigh as dramatically as I can. “A most delightful creation. It’s been many years since I’ve had such an exemplary libation.”

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