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“You think it’s all orchestrated then?” I wonder. “Our curses? Even yours?” What happened to you?
Her face goes sheet white. “No. It’s not all orchestrated, Zoey. But some are.”
Jesus. Christ. I knew some things had to be coordinated by the town—I’m not that naïve—but the ugly parts…I wish I could just pin on fate.
October’s cellphone rings loudly on the table. I swear she’s a second from rejecting the call, but she freezes when she sees the caller ID. Jaw set, she stiffly presses the phone to her ear.
“Uncle Milo,” she greets casually.
Her lips flatline as her uncle replies, and our eyes stay locked the entire time.
“Right now?” she asks.
My brows rise. She has to go?
“Fine. Yes. Fine.” She pauses before saying, “Bye.”
My shoulders are already sinking. “Family beckons?” I try not to sound as bummed as I feel.
“Fisherman’s Wharf,” she corrects, already scooting out of the booth. “I skipped dinner service last night, and my uncle isn’t pleased. I have to go in early now.” She fits her arms back through her puffer jacket. “Will you try not to get into trouble while I’m gone?”
I give her a wry smile. “What kind of trouble are we talking about, Kenobi?”
She doesn’t share my humor. Seriousness etches across her beautiful cheeks. “I’m not joking about this, Zoey. Don’t do something stupid.”
“Cross my heart.” I make an X over my chest.
She stares harder.
“What?”
“That phrase is cross my heart and ends with hope to die.” She doesn’t break eye contact. “Don’t die on me, sweets.”
Sweets.
It feels like she just laced her arms around me in a soft, melting embrace. Gentle affection threatens to unglue me from this spot at the booth, but she’s already leaving through the back door.
“I’ll try,” I whisper to her shadow.
I appreciate October being honest with me about her theories on Colt’s curse. But now I’m more curious about her curse. Is hers orchestrated by the town too? Doubtful. Something bad happened to make her withdraw.
To make her believe she doesn’t deserve to be loved.
Why do you keep pushing me away, Kenobi? The question is plaguing the ever-loving fuck out of me.
I blow out a tensed breath and reach for my seltzer. Before my fingers can touch the can, the bells jingle to the front door. Shitshitshit. How is Brian back already?
Should I run for the back door?
Hurriedly, with paranoia leeching my back, I slide out of the booth and nearly trip over my feet. And then I catch my balance. Straightening up. Totally graceful.
With a big breath, I’m about to confront Brian, and then I freeze at who I see.
Not Brian.
“Zoey?” Parry DiNapoli stops in the middle of the bar. “What the hell are you doing here?” He glances around like the answer will spring up from one of the dusty corners.
“Having a drink.” I point at my seltzer. Strangely, I feel sort of letdown. Did I actually want to see Brian again?
I must’ve been hoping.
“How’d you get in?” Parry asks.
“I had a key.”
He nods like it makes sense. “Brian didn’t change the locks then.”
“What are you doing here? The Lock Ceremony was boring enough to bail early?”
“More like breathing the same air as both Brian and Colt makes me wish we lived in prehistoric times and a pterodactyl would just swoop down and scoop me up for its next meal.”
I raise my brows. “What a visual.”
“I’ve had enough time to think of creative ways to exit.” He lets out a tensed breath. “They bicker. A lot.”
“Like a crab and a hurricane. I remember.”
Parry nods slowly and rubs the back of his neck. “Brian’s a bigger dick to me when Colt is also around. He can’t seem to understand that I didn’t choose the lighthouse for Colt. I didn’t choose any of this. I’m just some guy.”
I frown. Is that really how he sees himself? “You’re not some random guy. You’re Colt’s best friend. You’re one of the few people in town who didn’t completely toss aside my family like garbage. That’s something, Parry.”
“Brian doesn’t think it is.”
“Why do you care what Brian thinks?” And as he stares right at me with raw intensity, I realize…I am an idiot. “You really like him, don’t you?”
Parry glances back at the door like he’s worried my brother might appear. Satisfied that Brian isn’t teleporting into the bar, he turns back to me. “Brian’s a royal fucking asshole. But he’s lost a lot. I’ve lost a lot. Somewhere deep down, I guess I know what it’s like to hate the world enough to want a punching bag. So I’m that punching bag for him, and I’m okay with it only because he’s my punching bag.” He blows out a strained breath. “I guess that makes me care in some sick way.”
I nod slowly, trying to understand. “So you two do have this mutual love-hate thing going on?”
