Page 10 of Plot Twist in Pelican Point
"Don’t let the vanilla paste go to your head."
Then, "Watch out for the hunk next door—grumpy, but real easy on the eyes."
And finally, "If you don’t bring me a muffin, I’ll report you to the culinary gods."
I’m still chuckling when I leave. Birdie’s sass, the notebook, and the overpriced vanilla paste make Pelican Point feel like more than just a retreat—it feels like a story waiting to be written. It feels like it’s daring me to write something worth remembering. It’s the kind of local color that makes the charming little town feel like more than just a retreat—it feelslike a story waiting to be written in a new notebook that says "WRITE LIKE A BADASS" on the front.
As I load my bags into the car, I get a text from Emma Murphy—my best friend since college, now an attorney here in Pelican Point. We haven’t seen each other in almost a year, and when she hears I’m back in town, she insists on a beach walk catch-up. This would be my friend who offered to send her big brother Ryan, the former SEAL commando, up to take out Roger so I wouldn't have to move.
We meet near the dunes just after ten, the sun already warming the sand beneath our toes. Emma’s waiting for me with two coffees and her usual grin that says she’s ready to dig into my emotional chaos like it’s brunch gossip. We hug, then fall into step, the ocean breeze ruffling our hair as we walk.
"I knew it was only a matter of time before you ran away from book tours and pretentious brunches," she teases, handing me a cup.
"Don’t forget being dumped and banished to the Four Seasons like a misbehaving socialite," I reply.
She winces. "Roger really pulled that move?"
"Complete with prepaid room service."
We walk slowly, the morning tide sweeping in soft patterns at our feet. The sun’s warm, the breeze perfect, and just like that, the weight I’ve been carrying since the tour starts to shift.
"I hope you stuck it to him." I give her a look. She grins. "Good girl. You writing?"
"Trying. It’s been... rough. But something about this place feels different. There’s this guy?—"
Emma groans. "There’s always a guy."
"He's plot fodder..."
"Liar," she says, eyeing me over the lid of her coffee. "Are you going to tell me about Sebastian Cabot, or do I have to grill you for details like I'm cramming for a mock trial all over again?"
"Do you know everything about everyone in this town?"
Emma laughs. "Kate, it's a small coastal town. Everybody knows everybody and knows what they've been up to. Cabot is the local swoon-worthy hunk who has all the single ladies, and some of the married ones, trying to snag him. For the record, they've all been bitterly disappointed as he hasn't taken anyone up on anything."
I chuckle. "He’s a walking grudge in contractor boots. Totally immune to charm. Thinks romance novels rot your brain."
Emma whistles. "So you’re smitten."
"I’m intrigued," I hedge. "And mildly offended."
"Let me guess you’ve already imagined him naked with a tortured backstory."
"You know me too well. He’s secretly poetic. Probably lost someone. Or maybe he once loved a pastry chef who broke his heart with a particularly sharp éclair."
She nearly snorts her coffee. "God, I've missed you."
We stop near a stretch of tidepools and watch a crab scuttle sideways like it’s in a hurry to escape the conversation.
Emma nudges me. "Seriously though, what’s the plan? Just muffins and mischief, or are you writing again?"
"All of the above, actually. He got under my skin and now the words are coming back. It’s weirdly... motivating."
She grins. "Kate Lawrence: weaponizing baked goods since before it was trendy."
I nudge her playfully as we link arms and dissolve into laughter. We continue our walk trading old stories, teasing barbs, and the occasional sea glass find until the morning stretches into early afternoon.
As we head back to our cars, Emma slings an arm around my shoulders. "Just don’t fall too hard for the brooding architect unless you’re ready to redecorate your emotional blueprints."
