String Beans (The Girls of Beachmont #2) Page 4

  “Very cute,” I grinned.

  “Thank you.” He winked and must have taken my words to be a compliment as he sat down again.

  “Whoa there, cowboy… This whole thing was cute, but not gonna happen.”

  “What do you think is happening?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.

  His jaw clenched and released as he raised a brow. It would have been easy to give in, but my head and heart were still a mess…not that he was offering his heart.

  “Listen, Wyatt, you’re charming…really. But let’s just say that I’m not a fan of men at the moment.”

  He studied me for a moment as if deciding what to say, and when no words came, I dropped my attention back to the book in my hand.

  “Ah. I got ya. So you speak fluent Lebanese,” he said.

  I don’t know the last time I laughed that hard, but his knowledge of chick-flick speak was impressive.

  “No. I don’t, but after what I’ve been through…it doesn’t sound bad,” I answered through my laugh. “My life’s a little crazy right now, and I’m currently of the mindset that your gender is everything wrong with the world.”

  He leaned forward and smiled conspiratorially. “I can overlook crazy.”

  “What?” I asked, both shocked and impressed by his tenacity. “Okay, well you must be certifiable…and I don’t overlook crazy.”

  “What’s your definition of crazy?”

  I pretended to think and then lifted my hand at him. “You.”

  He laughed, and though I tried, I couldn’t hide my smile.

  “I take it you’re new here?”

  “Wow, you are relentless,” I chuckled. “Yes, Mr. Earp. I just moved in down the road—starting a whole new life.”

  “Earp?” he smiled. “Never heard that one before.”

  “I find that surprising,” I quipped.

  “Whole new life, huh? Sounds fun,” he said without a hint of sarcasm.

  I closed the book on my lap and gave him my full attention. “How so?”

  “Not sure what you’re starting over for…but the way I see it, you get to make your own path, do anything you want, and not have to answer to anyone. Can’t be all that bad.”

  I mulled over his statement, unsure if I agreed. Sure, I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, but the circumstances that had brought me the newfound freedom weren’t something I was celebrating. Before I could say anything, he tapped my knee lightly and I looked at him again.

  “So what do you do?”

  “I teach…taught…music,” I said, missing my students. Alex understood my reasons for leaving, though I knew I left him in a bit of a lurch.

  “Then you should come out. We have open mic night every week,” he said as he stood up. “I mean, if you want an excuse to come here to see me.”

  “These lines don’t really work, do they?” I teased.

  “Not sure. Is it working now?”

  “No such luck.”

  He was too natural in his delivery for it to be a first; still, a part of me liked his flirting.

  Before he walked away, he pointed to the book in my lap. “You could always join the book club. They meet here twice a week.”

  “I’m not big on book clubs,” I shrugged. “But I’ll think about it.”

  “Nice meeting you, Viola. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

  I was attempting to read the book again when I heard a voice shouting, though it sounded muffled. I started feeling around, trying to locate my phone and when I did, I lifted it to my ear and laughed.

  “Sorry, I forgot,” I said.

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. That voice. Is he as cute as he sounds?” Jolie asked, forgiving me for my memory lapse.

  “Depends. How cute did he sound?”

  “Like he’d make a great addition to my ex-boyfriend list.”

  Chapter 4

  When my parents heard about the divorce, I waited for the inevitable “I told you so,” but it never came. They were surprisingly sensitive and supportive to my plight, and though a part of me wished I’d listened to them when they’d argued against it, I knew I’d never regret marrying Will.

  It’s all a part of discovering yourself, right? Blah. Blah. Blah.

  It was all bullshit. Nothing about marrying and divorcing was a learning experience, other than I learned that men were the spawn of the devil and no matter what, they were put on this earth to completely and utterly destroy the opposite sex—ME!

  I was the epitome of the bitter, jilted lover. That didn’t fit the woman I’d been, the dreamer, the glass-half-full woman, the benefit-of-the-doubt girl. But in one day, my outlook had changed and I’d morphed into someone I never expected—the woman scorned.

  Add to that, I was having a hard time finding employment and I should have been wearing a sign around my neck that read Beware. Bitch Bites!

  I didn’t hate everything and everyone…just those who had an extra appendage dangling…if they were lucky…between their legs.

  My landlord, Bethany, was great and offered me some part-time work in her bookstore that was on the first floor of the building. She used to own the whole building, until bad investments had forced her and her husband to sell.

  She bragged that he was savvy enough to negotiate a deal where they would remain the landlords for free, and in exchange they got to keep the bookstore downstairs for themselves.

  Bethany was in her late seventies, and did everything she could to take care of the tenants. In a few short days, I’d grown fond of her and enjoyed listening to her stories about what the neighborhood used to look like.

  But as much as I liked it, I needed to make more money and I was becoming desperate. I didn’t want to dip into my savings for too long, but it had been almost three weeks with no job prospects on the horizon.

  I finished my evening shift in the store and borrowed one of the books that Bethany recommended. I was in the mood for coffee, and maybe even some music. It was open mic night and I had yet to check it out.

  No time like the present.

  It had become routine for me to visit String Beans a few times a week. If Wyatt was there, he’d make small talk and try to glean some new insight into my life. As attractive and nice as he was, it was hard to tell if he was truly interested or just a smooth talker, so I erred on the side of caution.

  It was busier than I was used to in the coffee shop, so I placed my order and walked to an open seat. Emma, one of the waitresses I’d talked to a few times, brought my order over and disappeared as the lights started to dim. I told myself not to look for Wyatt, yet I found myself searching anyway.

  A burly man that looked more suited to a biker gang than a hippie coffee shop took the stage with an old acoustic guitar in hand. There were hoots and hollers as he began strumming, but my expectations weren’t high.

  Complete mistake.

  I was blown away by the voice that boomed from the man on stage. I found myself leaning forward, completely immersed in his song. It was something familiar, a beautiful cover of an otherwise crappy rap song. It was incredible.

  When he finished, the applause was well deserved and I was disappointed that he didn’t stick around to sing more. As he exited the tiny corner stage, conversation filled the space and I glanced at my phone to distract myself.

  “Anyone sitting here?” a deep voice asked, pulling my attention away from the device in my hand. A man wearing jeans that were too tight and suspenders over a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up smiled down at me. I did my best to stifle a laugh, disguising it with a smile.

  “Actually,” I looked around and spotted Wyatt, offering a wave in his direction. He looked behind him, probably surprised I’d made the first move, but then he noticed the hipster in front of me and smirked.

  He’s going to make this weird.

  The guy standing in front of me looked over his shoulder and saw Wyatt making his way over, stepping aside when he was close enough. Nerves swarmed in the pit of my stomach as he took
the empty seat next to me and scooted closer, draping an arm across the back of my chair.

  “Hey babe,” he said, drawing out the word before kissing my cheek. “Sorry I’m late.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and I kicked his foot under the table in response. A few conversations and harmless flirting didn’t add up to us being close. But he only chuckled softly when he looked at me. I raised a brow and pursed my lips, knowing he wasn’t going to cut me any slack; and it seemed in that moment that friends was something he was aiming for.

  “Wyatt, this is my friend,” I looked up at the stranger and smiled apologetically.

  “Atticus,” he said, extending his hand to Wyatt in greeting.

  Of course your name is Atticus. Fitting.

  Wyatt leaned forward and accepted his hand, giving me space, but quickly resumed his position next to me, wrapping his hand over my shoulder. “Care to join us?” Wyatt asked.

  Atticus looked around, trying to locate a familiar face to save him… Hell, I wanted him to find someone so Wyatt’s stupid game could be over.

  “Sure you don’t mind?” Atticus asked.

  “Any friend of my girl’s is a friend of mine,” Wyatt said.

  Yeah, that was a flutter.

  As much as I wanted to hate how he made me feel, I liked the flirting. And after everything I had been through, the way Wyatt looked at me and the way he talked to me made me feel something I couldn’t explain. While sometimes it made me uncomfortable because I was still legally married, it also made me feel…wanted?

  “So how do you know Viola?” Wyatt asked, knowing that we had only met moments before.

  Atticus smiled at me and I quickly changed the subject.

  “That last guy was amazing.”

  “Yeah, Bob performs almost every week,” Wyatt said.

  “Bob? A voice like that belongs to a guy named Bob?” I asked through a laugh.

  “What’s wrong with Bob?” Wyatt asked.

  “Nothing at all…I just figured with all those tats and his intimidating build, he’d have a name like Damien…or Ryder. Something dangerous and mysterious.”

  Wyatt and Atticus looked at me and laughed.

  “Apparently you have strong opinions about names,” Atticus said.

  Just don’t ask me what I think of your name. Because then it will get all awkward when I blurt out that it’s pretentious and probably a name you gave yourself because your name is really Chris.

  Before he could ask, a woman walked on stage and cleared her throat as she began speaking. I didn’t get a chance to catch what she was saying because my phone started to ring in my hand. I glanced down and saw Dani’s face flash on my screen.

  After Jolie, she was the person I relied on the most. She helped me get to a better place when I told her about Will and the affairs. She even offered to send her football player boyfriend over to kick his ass. It was a tempting offer.

  I looked at the guys and excused myself.

  “Hurry back, babe,” Wyatt said and added a playful wink.

  I narrowed my eyes at him and I headed for the front door.

  “You move to L.A. and you never call anymore,” Dani said when I answered the phone.

  “Well, you know I’m just so busy now,” I joked as the door shut behind me, leaving me on the somewhat quiet street.

  “I still don’t understand why you didn’t just move out here to San Diego.”

  “Just my luck, I’d move out there and then Tabor would be traded to somewhere on the East Coast.”

  “Bite your tongue,” she laughed. “Besides, he’s got at least another six months of rehab on his leg.”

  “He’s doing okay though, right?”

  “Yeah, he is. But that’s not why I’m calling. How are you? Really.”

  “I’m doing better. I don’t love it here yet, but I think as long as I was in Spring Park, I was going to be miserable. Too many reminders.”

  “I talked to Jolie the other day. She mentioned she’s going out there to see you in a few weeks.”

  “She was supposed to visit, but then her ass of a boss said that she needed to reschedule.”

  “Look, I promise I’ll come out this summer.”

  “What about your program?”

  “That’s what volunteers are for. And since Tabor is involved, we have no shortage of those. They can afford to do without me for a week or so.”

  “I can’t wait,” I squealed.

  The door opened, causing the bell to ding, and I stepped aside to give the stranger space.

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “Open mic night.”

  “Are you going to perform?” she asked excitedly.

  “You know me better than that.”

  She paused, and I knew Dani was choosing her words carefully. She always did.

  “You know, someday you’re going to get back up on stage again. I don’t care how big or small it is.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I lamented.

  It was a great theory, and I loved the idea of performing again. There was a time when writing my songs and singing them, even if only for my friends, had meant so much to me. But school, and then work, had taken over and I had little time. And then there was the part about me putting my dreams and interests on hold to help Will achieve his. In hindsight, he never asked me to do it, but it had felt like the right thing to do at the time.

  “I do. Because I know you. When you’re ready, it’ll happen.”

  “You know, I looked at my journal the other day. The last time I wrote anything significant was almost a year ago.”

  “A year?”

  “Yeah,” I scoffed. “I don’t know how that happened, but I suppose one day turned into months and the next thing I know, it’s been a year. You’d think I would have noticed something that big, right?”

  “Vi, give yourself a break. You’ve had a lot on your plate. And now, it’s time to take care of you. And taking care of you means getting back to the things you love.”

  I smiled at her words because I needed to hear them.

  “We’ll see,” I said, loving her confidence that she was right. I hoped she was right.

  “I better go… have to get to Mom and Dad’s. But we’ll talk soon, okay?”

  “Sounds good. Tell them I said hi.”

  “Will do.”

  I stood outside wishing I could see the stars overhead, but between the tall buildings and the hazy sky, I’d have to wait another night. After a few minutes of standing outside, I turned to go in and saw Atticus still sitting at the table, but Wyatt was nowhere in sight. Still, I walked over and joined my new friend and listened to the rest of the performers, enjoying some and disliking others.

  But mostly, I felt inspired. Listening to people as they poured their hearts out and exposed themselves musically in front of strangers was something I hadn’t realized I missed. Between Dani’s assurances that I’d be me again, and the talented performers, hope began to run through my veins. And I couldn’t wait to get back home and maybe put pen to paper.

  ***

  It was nearly eleven when Atticus left, and I ended up enjoying his company. He was studying at some art college nearby and told me about his classes. I didn’t share much about my own life, nor did he ask. It was a nice distraction.

  There were only a few people lingering and I decided to go back to my place and get some sleep. Or try to read until I fell asleep.

  I didn’t see Wyatt the rest of the night, though I did actually look for him a time or two. I tried to fight it and ignore that he existed, but it was futile. He did exist and I was looking for him…I was weak for a pretty face.

  Atticus caught me looking once and mentioned that Wyatt had said he needed to go, but didn’t elaborate. I was a little annoyed that his absence disappointed me.

  “It was nice to see you smile,” Wyatt said as I was walking out the door.

  I turned around and saw him wiping off the counter. “I didn’t
see you there. Where did you come from?”

  “I had some paperwork to take care of in the back.”

  “Oh.”

  “You headed home?”

  “Yeah,” I said, but my stomach let out a loud growl.

  “You should do something about that.” He smiled.

  “That Thai place down the road is open, right?”

  “Sure is,” he laughed. “And the food poisoning comes complimentary.”

  “Gross. Really?”

  “Nah. But it’s not that good.” He took his apron off and walked toward me, holding the door open. “C’mon, I’ll take you to my favorite place in the neighborhood.”

  “Wyatt…”

  “It’s food, Vi. That’s all.”

  I looked past him and pointed to the customers still hanging out.

  “Emma’s closing tonight. I was just sticking around to talk to you.”

  I felt my cheeks burn hot and looked away to avoid the awkwardness I felt. He held the door open and I reluctantly stepped out, questioning my sanity and what I was getting myself into.

  It’s just food?

  Yeah, right.

  Chapter 5

  WYATT

  We got to Fusion Bar and Grill and sat down at a table on the sidewalk. The menu was printed on a piece of paper and had the date written on it. I watched Vi look it over and tried to gauge what she was thinking.

  “They make a new menu every day, depending on what the chef wants to cook.”

  “But what if you like something and they don’t have it next time you come?”

  “It’s never been a problem for me. I always like something they have on the menu.”

  About eight months earlier, my childhood friend Jeff, who owned the restaurant, decided to stay open until one in the morning on Thursdays and Fridays for the late crowd.

  I’d never been there late at night, but I was glad I remembered the place. It was definitely convenient luck for me.

  She settled on the grilled eggplant Parmesan sandwich and I ordered the same. The waitress disappeared in the back, leaving us alone. Viola shifted in her seat and looked around the walls, trying to avoid looking at me.