Page 28 of Seas the Dating Coach

My use of Regency wording seems to break whatever weird spell we’re in. Finn’s grin grows in mesmerizing degrees, reminding me of the blur from blue to dusty pink to bright orange as the sun rises. He leans back in his chair, undeniably satisfied, his fingers loose around his plastic cup.

“Then let’s get down to it. Do you want to practice first-date conversations?”

That isn’t exactly why I asked him here, but it’s a good idea.

I take another sip of my delicious drink. “I had something else to discuss, but maybe we can do both? I can talk to another townsperson on the way out to make it even.”

Finn shakes his head, and I’m disappointed when his hair doesn’t shift from its styled position. I want it to tumble over his forehead like it had earlier today. “Let’s just focus on you right now.”

I pull my phone out of my dress pocket—because of course it has pockets!—unlocking the screen before handing it to Finn. “It might be easier to show you. Just don’t say what you see out loud. I want to keep it a secret.”

His brows pinch upon seeing the webpage for the Oceanside Artisan Fair that happens every summer. Artist tents cover the entire boardwalk of Virginia Beach while various musical acts play on stages every few blocks with food trucks nearby. Finn glances up, eyes bouncing to my twisting ring before his thumb powers off the screen to my phone.

“Okay.”

“I have a tent,” I say on a quick exhale. “For my clothes. Notmyclothes”—I tug on my skirt—“but dresses I’ve designed. I’ve been sewing lots of different styles and hiding them in the hopes of selling them.”

I reach for my phone, ignoring the zip of energy that slides up my arm when our fingers brush. I tab into my email, finding the confirmation for my booth at the Oceanside Artisan Fair next Saturday. The severe wave of nausea that usually accompanies reading this congratulatory email is slightly subdued tonight. I have until Thursday to get a partial refund on my booth fees. That would allow the festival staff to reach out to a waitlistedvendor. Before this afternoon’s success with Atticus, I’d been thinking about forfeiting my spot.

But now…

What if I succeed? What if I can tackle this? I heard a saying—Whatever you’re not changing, you’re choosing—that really shifted the way I thought about things. I always saw myself one way, but the confines of that persona have started to itch. Making changes in the love department was an easy choice, butthis ideagrew unexpectedly stitch by stitch.

Last spring, after finishing my alterations that day, I’d mindlessly sewn a dress that was two sizes two small and yellow. I’d heard Brynn scraping around upstairs, awake from her nap, before I’d even realized what had happened. In the following weeks, I began sketching styles I would never wear in colors that wouldn’t complement my skin. When I’d stashed away sixteen dresses, I had to admit I was building inventory.

But even then, I wasn’t sure why.

After I’d completed thirty dresses, a plan materialized like lace from strands of thread. I could sell the dresses at the Oceanside Artisan Fair and see if anyone would want them. If they did, then I could decide what my next steps would be.

A huge bonus to this idea? I could use the profit to pay two baristas to take over Seabreeze Beans for a Saturday and give Brynn a much-needed day off. My sister hasn’t had a full day off since Aunt Tammy transferred the business to her at twenty-two. Even when the shop is closed on Sundays, she uses the afternoon to hand-roast her signature blend.

If I made enough profit, I could even treat Brynn to a spa day at one of those fancy oceanfront hotels on the mainland. Brynn needs a ninety-minute massage like a free diver needs air.

Benevolent intentions aside, choosing to sell dresses at a craft festival that boasts 400,000 in attendance will be extreme talktherapy. My heart thrashes against my rib cage as I think about speaking to various attendees.

“Why is this a secret?” Finn’s question brings me back to the present.

A rough swallow squeezes my throat. “The thing is, if I went to the fair and succeeded, then I’d tell everyone. But if I fail, I want to do it quietly.” I catch his gaze and dare to hold it. “If islanders found out I was selling dresses, they’d come and buy them out of solidarity. I’m pretty sure the only reason I’m in business is because of the way we fiercely support each other. It’s wonderful, but I want to see if I can make it on my own.”

He nods, waiting for me to continue.

“I was also hoping to use the profits to help my sister.” I explain how hard Brynn works and my plans to help her out.

His mouth relaxes as I speak, a slight smile hinting at the corner. “I get it. I’d do almost anything for my sister.”

When that little diamond winks in the starlight, it dawns on me just how little I know about Finn. I’m suddenly ravenous for details.

“What’s her name?”

Finn hesitates. Or maybe he’s just listening to Izzy’s instructions that she’ll take a quick break before starting game two. Usually, I’d be completely invested in winning one of the two twenty-dollar Bayside Table gift card prizes, but telling Finn about my secret dress collection and my impossible plans to talk toall the strangersin order to sell said dresses is more important.

“Cordelia.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

His full smile lights his face. “She’d love to hear that. Cordelia thinks it’s a bit old-fashioned, but all our names are like that.”

“All our names?”

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