Page 36 of At First Flight (Coral Bell Cove #1)

I don’t want to be here.

Currently, I’m wedged against the wall, half leaning on the high-top table, half sharing the stool with Ashvi. The lights and the music combined with the whiskey and sweat is far from the comforting smell of the coastline.

I could have done with a quiet evening. Maybe some wine, curled up on the couch with Ashvi while we caught up on everything that had happened since I’d left town.

I would have happily listened to her chatter about her latest dating disaster or the new project she was working on.

And I would have been perfectly content to let her show me everything she’d found on my ex, a curious distraction from the constant ache I’ve carried.

But apparently, Ashvi had other plans in mind.

The moment I stepped into her apartment, she’d practically shoved a dress into my hands, her eyes alight with excitement.

“Tonight, we’re going out, Lila,” she had said. “You’re not hiding in your shell anymore.”

And before I knew it, I found myself standing in front of her mirror, my reflection nearly unrecognizable. The dress—black, sleek, and entirely too revealing for my usual taste—hugged every curve, showing off parts of me I wasn’t used to exposing.

Ashvi had worked her magic with the makeup, giving me bold eyes that made me feel like I was wearing someone else’s face, and the waves in my hair styled in big bouncing curls, giving me an unfamiliar air of sophistication.

I should have said no, I should’ve argued.

But instead, I let her guide me, and as much as I hated to admit it, a part of me was intrigued.

A part of me was excited to consider how Dean would look at me if he saw me in this version of myself.

Would he even recognize me? Would he like it?

“Lila,” she whines over her shoulder. “You promised you’d try to have a good time. Look, this place is filled with guys tonight.”

Yes, it is. Guys we had gone to high school with, and some guys I can tell are here for the summer. I’m not interested in either. There’s only one man on my mind, and Ashvi knows it.

“One drink? One. And then you can go back to being an antisocial scientist.”

I nod and watch her gleefully jump from the stool and dance across the worn hardwood toward the bar. With her absence, I suddenly feel… visible.

Too much so. Gazes skirt across my chest and legs. Appreciative glances, sure, but violations all the same.

Whatever band plays on the jukebox fills the room with a steel guitar. A few couples brave the dance floor, doing a version of the two-step to the twangy beat.

The Horse Shoe isn’t quite a dive, having been rebuilt about fifteen years ago after Durky’s, the previous name, met its demise to a kitchen fire.

Instead of wall-to-wall wood paneling, The Horse Shoe only commits to half a wall of paneling.

Strings of twinkling lights twist around the beams crossing the expanse of the ceiling, and about one hundred horseshoes of various sizes are deemed artwork.

Ashvi returns from the bar with a sheepish grin and her shoulders hunched. My alarm bells set off.

Accepting the beer she hands off, I ask, “What?” narrowing my eyes.

She adjusts the brown leather belt strapped within the loops of her denim miniskirt like she’s readying herself for battle. “Okay, so don’t be mad, but I might have told someone new in town that you’d be here.”

“Ashvi,” I scold.

“Aw, Lila, it’s just a drink,” she exclaims, hoisting herself back on the stool beside me. “He’s really nice, and he’s the new veterinarian in town. Even has some rescue dogs. And he’s wearing his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. You love it when guys do that.”

I love when Dean does it.

“I’d also love it if my best friend didn’t decide to start dictating my social life.”

With a pleading look, she says, “You’ve been back for a while now and haven’t even tried dating. And don’t even dare throwing out that you just got out of a serious relationship. It was neither serious…nor really a relationship. Please, Lila. Give him a shot.

“He’s sweet, Lila. Just give it a try. And if it’s awful, we’ll fake an emergency like a sprained ankle or severe diarrhea, and I’ll drive us home. Pinky promise,” she says, holding out her pinky to reiterate.

I’m starting to squabble just as a shadow falls over the table in the already dimly lit bar.

Ashvi is right. He is attractive. Tall, friendly smile, broad-shouldered, rolled sleeves. He’s every girl’s fantasy.

I need to prove that overstepping things with Dean would end in catastrophe. Maybe this is my chance. He could be my fantasy, too.

I give her a disdainful look as I grip her pinky with my own and shake it.

“Ashvi, good to see you again. Lila?” he says, placing his own beer on the high-top table and holding out his hand in greeting. At least he’s drinking something with color in it and not a light beer.

I return his greeting. “Sorry, Ashvi didn’t give me your name.”

“Matthew.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Conversation flows with the usual first-date interrogations. Where we grew up. What we studied in school. Favorite sport. Yada, yada. The type of questions that left my mind wandering back to the house along the Back Bay channel.

I couldn’t help but compare Matthew and Dean. How Dean’s laugh was deep, caressing, while Matthew’s seems intentional. The way Matthew leans into my space to speak more directly with me, whereas Dean silently demands all my space.

Just as the jukebox switches off and a band steps up onto the stage, my phone buzzes.

A text from Dean flashes on the screen.

Dean:

Kids asked for twelve stories tonight. The sugar from the party should have made them crash. But no, not these two. They said story time wasn’t the same without you.

Dean:

I agree.

Matthew is still talking. I catch bits and pieces of his golden doodle and a squirrel. Apparently, it’s funny because Ashvi giggles beside me. I join in, having very little idea of what’s going on.

Lila:

At The Horse Shoe. Ashvi said she wanted to dance tonight.

Three dots appear immediately.

Dean:

That sounds fun.

Lila:

It was a trick. She set me up on a blind date.

Dean:

She wants to see you happy.

Lila:

He’s not for me.

You are , I want to tell him. Me and my freaking rules. I’m about to throw them all out the window. Besides Ashvi, because I tell her everything, who would know? And, God, I’ve been craving the taste of him. I bet his kisses are as demanding and possessive as he is.

Dean:

Let me know if you need an extraction. I can come up with something.

Lila:

I appreciate that. I’m sure I’ll make it through the night. Who knows, maybe he’ll sweep me off my feet while we’re dancing.

Dean:

If your goal is to make me jealous, it won’t work.

Lila:

? Really? You sure about that?

Dean:

Of course, I am.

I know he’s right. Deep down, I can feel it—there’s no competition.

It’s not just the way he looks at me, it’s how he sees through me, how confident he is in himself, in us.

It’s that unwavering certainty that he knows exactly what he wants, and it just so happens to be me.

I’ve never been one to fall easily for someone, but something about him, his quiet assurance, the way he makes me feel seen and valued makes it impossible not to like him even more.

He doesn’t hesitate, and his confidence makes me feel secure, even when I’m questioning everything else.

He doesn’t just make me feel safe. He makes me feel like I’m worth it. Worth all of him.

The night feels like it’s floating by in a haze.

The music, the laughter, and the constant buzzing of conversation all blend in a way that makes everything feel distant, almost surreal.

By the time Matthew and I dance, I step on his toes far more times than I care to admit.

Laughing each time as he gently corrects me, I manage to forget, just for a few minutes, why I didn’t want to be here.

Matthew asks me if I’m enjoying myself, and I answer politely, not knowing how to express what I’m feeling. But I know it isn’t anything more than a casual night out.

When the dance ends, Matthew gives me that polite, friendly smile, and I let him continue with his conversations.

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel at this moment, with the weight of the past and the present swirling around me like an ominous storm.

Ashvi, on the other hand, is glowing. I catch a glimpse of her smiling and dancing with someone new, and I know she’s doing just fine.

She’s here to have fun, and I won’t get in the way of that.

When the night winds down, I say my polite goodbyes.

I don’t linger long. I just give Ashvi a soft assurance that I’ll be fine on my own before I slip into my car.

As I drive away, the glow of the downtown grows distant in my rearview mirror.

The lamplights linger until they’re just a fleck in the sky.

The car's headlights cut through the night air, a sharp contrast to the calm stillness of the world around me. But tonight has been a moment of self-discovery. I’m not running anymore.

I’m facing something, and though I’m not sure what it is yet, it feels like something is shifting inside me.

And for once, it feels like the right kind of change.

I sit in my car with the headlights off for too long, just outside the garage bay.

The house is dim, like it’s readying itself for sleep, but the porch lights remain on.

The upstairs window glows from the lamp I’d installed on a shelf in the hallway.

I picture the kids asleep in their rooms. Safe from the world.

It’s late. The sun having long since bid us farewell.

Ashvi messages me, apologizing profusely for blindsiding me with the date. And while Matthew turned out fine, I needed air. I needed to think. I needed time.

I needed Dean.