Page 30 of Seas the Dating Coach

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t start with my orphan status.” Vivian clucks her tongue. “Good thing I have you to set me straight.”

The gentle ocean breeze feels like it’s sucking the air from my lungs. “You’re an orphan?”

“Not technically.” Vivian checks off a song box, but I can’t hear anything but blood sloshing in my ears. “My aunt adopted us after my parents died in a car accident when I was nine.”

“I’m—I’m sorry.” My fingers collect hers atop her armrest, the rest of my words failing me.

My dad is an insufferable jerkwad, and my mother was never part of the equation after their divorce, but at least they’re still alive.

Vivian’s gaze drifts to the moonlit bay, her thumb sweeping the inside of my wrist like she’s the one consolingme. “I had a hard time dealing with it—their loss, my grief, the shock of it all. I didn’t speak for nearly six months afterward. I’d always been shy, but…” She shakes her head, lost for a moment.

“But afterward, no one pushed me. No one required me to speak. Allowances were always made. It became a pattern, being silent. By the time I entered middle school, I believed this was all I could be.”

Needles feel like they’re stabbing every inch of exposed skin, but I remain quiet. There is no pain on this earth that could make me interrupt Vivian when she’s talking.

“Instead of following Brynn downstairs to learn the details of our aunt’s business, I was encouraged into quieter pursuits. Miss Wendy took me on as an apprentice, and fortunately,I loved working with fabrics. But…sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I’d had an insistent English teacher”—her green eyes find mine—“or a coach who’d held me accountable.”

A thick pulse radiates in my chest.

“I’ve gotten better over the years.” The corner of her mouth lifts, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “As you’ve seen, I can converse with most locals, but I want to show them I can be more. I need them to understand that I deserve more than the little life they expect from me.”

My lips part to tell Vivian that she’s right. She does deserve more. She deserveseverything.In the short time I’ve known her, I have no doubt she can tackle any obstacle, but Vivian snatching her hand back with wild eyes silences me.

“That was the wrong thing to say.” Her fingers fly to the sides of her face. “You told me not to dive into personal tragedies, and”—she mimics diving into water—“there I went. I should top it off by sharing an embarrassing fact like, ‘I pee in the shower.’”

An unexpected chuckle bursts from me, dissipating the tension in my spine. “Everyone pees in the shower.”

“But do you blow your nose in the shower?” At my puzzled expression, Vivian places her thumb beside one nostril and her index finger beside the other. “Then blow.”

My shoulders shake from the restraint required not to double over with laughter.

“You don’t. Obviously.” She groans, glancing skyward. “I might as well get all these taboo subjects out of my system so I don’t say them on a real date.”

Her off-handed comment reminds me that this is all practice for her. That as much as each of her shared confidences burrow deeper beneath my skin, I’m not the man she wants. Nor should I be. I’m too swept up in my own chaos to give Vivian what she deserves—absolute, focused devotion.

“You’re doing fine, gorgeous.” I wink, the gesture feeling smarmy instead of flirtatious in light of all that she’s shared with me.

Vivian—oblivious to my mental distress—rolls her eyes before pointing to a square on my card. “You missed one.”

During the rest of trivia, we discuss safer first-date topics—hobbies, pets, and music—all while trying not to wheeze-laugh over our growing list of taboo first-date topics. The shape of one’s skull, your home shrine dedicated to a soccer star, and potty-training preferences for future children all contend for first place. When Bayside Table closes at ten, we slowly meander toward the main road.

“Let me walk you home, Vivian. It’s late.”

She snorts. “It’s late and completely safe. Island teens run wild at night without worry of being harmed. You forget that things are different here.”

Before I can destroy my dental work, I loosen my jaw. “Then let me walk you home for practice’s sake. Atticus would offer to do so.”

She tucks her hands into the pockets of her dress. “That’s true.”

A companionable silence settles between us. There’s only the distant sound of the waves, cricketsong, and the soft crunch of our shoes on the sandy road shoulder. Fragrant magnolia blooms fill the humid air, stirring my thoughts.

“Vivian,” I begin, keeping my gaze on the pools of amber streetlight on the road ahead. “Though I wouldn’t recommend bringing up your family history on the first date, I’m glad you told me. And about your plans for your dress collection…I like being the person you share your secrets with.”

Realizing that the last sentence is way too intimate, I quickly add, “I mean, in that it’s helpful. As your coach.”

“As my coach.” Her hushed tone draws my attention. A beat passes before Vivian nods to herself decidedly. “Right.”

When we arrive at the coffee shop, I follow Vivian behind the building. I hadn’t noticed that the second story holds a living space. The knowledge that Vivian not only works but sleeps so close to me sends a fission of energy stinging my fingertips.

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