Page 6 of Seas the Dating Coach

Atticus reaches for the thick hardcover while my mind reels through what he could have heard. It takes everything in me notto pat my cheeks. My blush always makes me look ruddy and splotchy, and I’m sure I’m redder than Webster’s Dictionary at the moment. Atticus glances at me as he leans back with his book, doing a subtle double-take.

For a second, I think I’ll finally get my moment.

“Oh, it’s you.” Atticus smiles. “I saw you this morning as you gracefully averted that coffee spill. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Then he’ll glance at the books in my tote. “Are you an Annie Ardent fan? Me too! I love how she brings modern feminism into Regency romance while—”

“Miss, are you alright?”

Miss.Atticus’s manners and gentle voice almost assuage the fact that, any second now, I’ll die of embarrassment. Because instead of speaking to my crush—who’sright in frontof me—I drifted into another daydream.

A desolate sigh leaves my mouth. At least I’ll die in a place I love. I think of all the hours I spent curled up in the window nook as a child, luxuriating in every book I could. Since the nook faces the dunes of the wildlife preserve and not the ocean, it was always unoccupied and, in the afternoons, delectably sunny. The memory sends a pang of longing through me. It’s been three years since I’ve done that.

Since the creation of my shop, I’ve spent my time trying to prove that it wasn’t a waste of money to carve out essential real estate from our family’s coffee shop for my business. Now, I only come to the library to rent a study room and go over my finances. It’s a task I hate, but being surrounded by books makes it less soul-sucking. If I stayed in my shop, I’d sew until the sunlight waned instead of confirming that my fellow islanders have paid me for my work.

A determined inhale fills my lungs. If I make it through this, I’m going to take an afternoon off and read the newest Wellington novel in the window nook. Annie Ardent’sWellington series isn’t as popular as the famed Worthington novels, but I try to help out the North Carolinian indie author as much as possible by subtly relocating her books from the stacks to the display tables whenever I’m in the building. The Worthington series, though older, has resurged in popularity thanks to the trendy Netflix show by the same name.

“She’s fine.” The stranger’s cold tone makes me bristle.

Though I’m not usually bold, my instinct is to glare at this man. How dare he speak for me even though everyone else in town does it all the time? It’s different when the people who raised me help me get my words out. They know about what happened, how there was half a year of silence afterward. When they help me, it’s out of kindness. This mainlander doesn’t have a benevolent bone in his body.

“Oh.” Atticus looks at me again, an indiscernible emotion sliding over his cheekbones. “Okay, then.”

I open my mouth to protest, but like usual, nothing comes out. Atticus watches me for half a breath before striding away. I don’t have the strength to peek over the edge to see him check out his second book. Instead, I collapse against the bookcase, defeat bowing my shoulders. All I want is to dissolve into the ancient carpet, just like the grains of beach sand that people have tracked in. For a long moment, I think the stranger will take pity on me and finally leave me alone.

“Well, gorgeous. I’ve got good news. I just figured out a way we can help each other.”

He’s smiling when my chin snaps up. It should be distracting, how handsome he is leaning against the bookcase with those muscled forearms crossed over his chest, but now that I’ve confirmed the rumors that he’s amassivejerk, the sheer darkness of his playful hair and the pooling amber of his eyes are less disorienting. I prefer Atticus’s blond hair and blue eyes, anyway.

I’d planned on giving him one of Brynn’s death stares and walking away but impulsively ask, “How’s that?”

“Easy.” His deepening smirk makes me want to claw at something the way Pepper demolishes her cat tower. “I need the people of this town to like me. You seem as local as they get. Am I right?”

I relinquish a small nod.

“Excellent.” He picks an invisible piece of lint from his shirt sleeve. “You help me get on the good side of your fellow townspeople, and I’ll teach you how to talk to him.”

Having my sister’s prediction confirmed is almost banal. Of course this man would only be interested in what I can do to serve his agenda. Except…if I agree, I’ll be getting something out of this deal too. And if all the rumors of his love life are true, I should be receiving excellent instruction.

“I don’t know…”

“Why don’t I call Atticus back, and you can take another crack at it on your own?”

When he tries to lean past me, my movement is instinctual. My only thought is to keep us hidden. It’s bad enough that I’ll have to recover from my first two blunders. I’m not sure my battered heart can handle a third.

Rooting my feet, I push both palms against the mainlander’s chest to keep him in place. He sucks in a surprised inhale as the fluorescent bulb above us flickers and then burns out. The gentle rustling of other library patrons hushes to silence. We’re both staring at my sprawled fingers on the brushed wool of his vest. The weightless moment hovers for three thudding heartbeats until my thumb automatically rubs to appraise the wool’s weight. When he jolts back, I barely catch myself from tumbling forward.

“So, um…” He tucks his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat. “Do we have a deal?”

My brows pinch as I blink rapidly, confused as to what just happened.

“I don’t need help talking to Atticus.”

It’s a lie, but somehow I feel the need to defend myself, which is also something I never do. If only I’d been this bold a minute ago when Atticus had been in front of me.

“Yes, you do, gorgeous.” The smarm he sends my way makes my nose wrinkle. “If you don’t, then explain why you’re able to have this conversation with me but can’t utter a syllable when he’s within earshot?”

I honestly don’t know. Normally, I can’t converse with strangers like I’ve been doing with him. My words are usually stilted as I constantly worry about saying the wrong thing.

“Because I don’t like you.”

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