Page 62 of Special Delivery

Ryan

Sorry, was that too far?

I’m an idiot.

Me

I was just… surprised.

I’m still not sure what the gift was for.

Ryan

Well, I hoped to explain it in person before the sweet old lady interrupted us.

Of course. He thinks of her as a sweet old lady, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Except for the old part. Unless that is part of her cover, too.

Ryan

I enjoyed spending time with you. It was just what I needed. And I think it was just what you needed.

Maybe we should do it some more.

Me

You know I don’t date.

Ryan

Who said anything about dating?

We could just have fun.

Oh! Oh. He’s proposing a friends with benefits thing.

Ryan

It sounds awkward over text. Can we meet up for drinks?

Tonight?

The taste of copper hits my tongue and I realize I chewed right through the thin skin of my lip. My stomach is brimming with butterflies, and even though I know there are about a thousand things that could go wrong with this idea, I don’t have it in me to say no.

Me

Fine. Let me know when and where.

Despite the casual, barely interested text, the way my body reacts to his attention is concerning, yet my mind is currently occupied with bigger issues. Like what am I going to wear. He texts me the location of a touristy place downtown, one that locals don’t frequent much. He said drinks, and the place is a bar. Not a restaurant. This is not a date. The thought sends a wave of relief through me. Still, I try on three different outfits before finding the right one, not allowing myself to overthink why.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Ryan

This might either be the best or the worst idea I’ve ever had. Still, I can’t remember the last time I was nearly as excited about something as I am right now, sitting at a bar overflowing with tourists, slowly sipping on my watered-down beer. I’d much rather meet her at The Rusty Anchor, but I prefer to have this conversation without the watchful eyes of our town mates. News travels fast here in Fig Bay, and though I don’t need to keep this a secret, I’d prefer Paige and I agree on it before the whole town knows.

Unlike the weathered charm of The Rusty Anchor, this place looks like a mermaid got sick all over it. The bar is made of seashells and sand, covered in resin. Fishing nets that have never even touched the ocean adorn the walls, and the floor is made of sand-colored ship lap. Even the coasters are shaped like a seashell.

Paige arrives at eight PM sharp. The first thing I notice is her eyes, which are even bluer than usual, coated with a layer of mascara. Her dark hair falls to her shoulders in messy waves, and her lips are shiny with lip gloss.