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I throw the mother an apologetic smile and start down the beach in the direction of my place.

“Hold it right there, you.”

I turn around. “Me?”

She steps closer, her children in tow. “Lavender, Parsley, Basil. Why don’t you explain to this man why we can’t tolerate words like the ones he used?”

Parsley? Who is she talking to? For a brief second, I expect her to whip out a bag of herbs until I realize she’s addressing her children. Ouch. Who wants to be named after something you put in a salad or use to flavor a bowl of soup?

The boy, who I believe is called Basil, puts his hands on his hips. “Bad words do not show respect for other people.”

“And what does this man have to do, Parsley?” the mother inquires.

“Go home and think about what he’s done.”

“And apologize,” Lavender chimes in.

The woman throws me a satisfied look.

“Mother of macarons is not a bad word,” I say.

“It’s a euphemism for one,” she says with a smug smile. “And those are equally as bad.”

I shake my head. What kind of nonsense is this? “I already said I’m sorry.”

“That’s not enough. I won’t let you go without you apologizing some more.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Look, I’m sorry I offended you, but I won’t let a stranger dictate what I can or can’t say.”

“Well, I can dictate which behavior someone exhibits in front of my children is acceptable or not. And you, young man, have crossed the line.”

I let out a sigh and know I should just walk away, but I can’t. When did people become this judgmental? Whatever happened to living your own life, keeping in your own lane, and all that good stuff?

“I understand you’re mad,” I say, causing her to look smug again. “After all, being this uptight must hurt like crazy.”

The woman’s jaw drops, her expression turning feral.

Oops. Maybe I took it a step too far.

“I feel for your mother. To have raised such a rude man.”

I shake my head. “My mother is dead, thank you very much.”

“Mommies can die?” Parsley’s lip starts to shake, and I immediately feel sorry for her. It isn’t her fault her mother thinks it’s okay to speak to strangers like that.

“Not yours,” I say before storming away. “Mine.”

The coffees slush around in their cups. I know I’m spilling liquid left and right, but none of that matters. That lady talking to me like that was one thing, but what she said about my mother… Man, my heart is almost beating out of my chest from anger. I grit my teeth so hard my jaw starts to ache.

I need to get it together before I arrive back at the house, and especially before I get to work. Prince Charming has to remain chipper and friendly. All. Of. The. Time. I can’t pose for photographs with a scowl on my face.

I breathe in slowly and hold my breath for a couple of beats before breathing out again, just like my dear mother taught me.

By the time I take the path to our house, I have my feelings under control. Sort of.

“Hi, Jane,” I say to my neighbor, who’s emerging from her basement with her tin foilhat on her head. Even doomsday preppers and conspiracy theorists need some fresh air every now and then.

“Good morning, Colton.” She looks up at the sky. “Be careful out there, okay? We don’t know when they’ll be arriving.”