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“Wait. Where are you going?” he asks, sitting forward as if to stop me, but only minimally.
I hold up a hand, wrinkling my nose. “I appreciate the effort here, Trevor, but we both know this is going nowhere.”
“It’s Tatum.”
“Ah, see?” I question myself aloud. “I knew it started with a T.”
His jaw drops when I step over to the blonde’s table and gesture for her hand.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes widen with shock, but when I wiggle my fingers at her, she reluctantly places her hand in mine.
I guide the woman to our table and gently nudge her into the seat I was occupying.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Um, Whitney.”
“Ugh, love that name.” Confusion has the pair frowning, but I smile, grabbing the box of cookies and balancing it on my hip. “See? Now you guys can skip the uncomfortable part of introducing yourselves and get right to the dating. Or the boning. Whichever comes first.”
I pull my messenger bag off the back of the chair and sling it over my shoulder.
“You don’t think this is uncomfortable?” Whitney asks, but her eyes keep flicking to Tristen… Terry? Fuck. It doesn’t matter.
Giving the table a light tap, I say, “Send me an invite to the wedding, kay?”
On my way to the door, I place my headphones in my ears, but the music doesn’t play quick enough to drown out her muttering, “She was fucking weird.”
Sunshine heats my face and chest when I step onto the boardwalk, drowning the rest of their conversation with my favorite pop mix playlist.
Jokes on them if they think I’m fazed. I’ve been labeled ‘weird’ and ‘too much’ my entire life.
“Happy Wednesday,” I singsong to Mr. Chavez when I approach his fried fish cart. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
The delicious aroma of fried food mixed with the salt from the surrounding bay makes my mouth water, and I remove an earbud before reaching inside the cookie box.
He takes the treat I offer him, twitching his mustache before devouring a hefty bite. “You’re a saint, Penelope.”
I reach for the golden-battered cod on a stick he hands me with a smirk. “I know you love your sweets.”
“Come back on Friday,” he says when I turn to cross the street. “I’ll have rainbow parrot fish.”
“You got it!”
I wave goodbye before skipping a couple of songs until I find one I can shake my ass to while I walk.
Anchorage Harbor is a quiet town surrounded by shimmering blue waters and gorgeous bluffs. The wooden walkways along the coast bustle with activity, where locals come to trade their wares–be it homemade goods or freshly grown foods. But the pace is much slower around here than farther inland in the busy city of Keerah.
Much like Topica Bay’s most populated city, Tauntuma, Keerah teems with large corporate buildings and people racing to and from work. Only Keerah’s smaller, older, and has a lot more character.
I make it about half a block in my four-inch heels before I stop to ditch the torture devices. Warm, sun-bleached concrete meets the soles of my feet as I pass the marina, where fishing vessels and sailboats sway in the tide. They glide through deep, navy waters beyond a string of quaint, multi-colored buildings and vibrant waterfront shops.
Between Keerah and the harbor, I should be living the dream. The weather is just right year-round, the locals are inclusive of all cultures, and there’s a plethora of adventures to be had.
The only problem? My perfectly put-together sister is flying in from London tomorrow for a visit. It’s the first time she’s been back to the island since I moved to the city, which leaves me scrambling to find another job before she and my parents discover the wheels on my struggle bus are going flat one lie at a time.
Beep. Beep.
They have no idea I quit my job, or the one before that.
