Page 30 of Carved Obsession

The taste of salt in the air is one of my favorite things about Queenscove. That, and the rocky beach and cliffs at the westernmost part of the cove, where it curves out into the ocean. It’s popularly called the Jurassic Crest because of the number of fossils and prehistoric bones that can be found there. Especially when bits of the cliff break away.

After I moved here, the walks I took on that rocky terrain in search of pieces of natural history grounded me.

Once my divorce is finalized, I’ll go there with a bottle of expensive champagne and celebrate. All by my fucking self. That is, unless Carter Pierce makes good on his word and offs me.

“What are you daydreaming about?” Willow asks from the sunbed next to mine, hiding from the sun under her big beach hat.

“The future.” I shrug.

She drops her sunglasses an inch and regards me with a cocked brow. “Don’t fall into melancholy, please. Today has been a surprisingly good day.”

It has indeed. We came to the beach early in the morning, lounged, read, drank, and swam with no care in the world. Willow is good like that, especially on that one day a month that marks yet another one that has passed since my life took a turn.

She doesn’t do it because I’m sad about what happened. Yes, it was a betrayal, one that still stings, but at this point, my ego is the bruised one, not my heart. Willow tries to distract me from the annoying passage of time so I can try to forget I’m still tied to that cheating, blackmailing bastard.

“Shall we go for lunch now?” I ask. “Albeit a late one? I’m starving, and I’m almost dry.”

“Yes, let me just pack these away. We’re going to The Shack, right?”

It’s the seafood restaurant at the edge of the beach, next to the best ice cream place in town. I might treat myself after lunch.

I rise, throwing my almost see-through beach dress over my two-piece bathing suit, and quickly pack everything into my beach bag. We walk through the hot sand for the ten minutes it takes to reach The Shack and climb the three steps onto the wooden terrace overlooking the beach. The pergola is covered in white veil-like fabric, and climbing plants circle every pillar, contributing to the cozy vibe.

But the food is the true star of the show. Fresh catches, delicious pairings, and yet, for some reason, it’s not the most popular seafood place in the city. It’smyfreaking favorite, though.

“I have a craving for lobster. Want to share?” Willow asks.

“Sorry, babe. I haven’t stopped thinking about the seafood soup. I’m gonna go for that.”

“Ugh, you spoil my fun. But fine, I’ll sacrifice my stomach and order a whole thing for myself.” She feigns hardship as she sighs.

Snickering, I rise. “Can you order an iced tea for me, please? I’m just going to go wash my hands.”

“Sure.” She nods as she looks through the menu.

I slide my sandals on and hurry through the open double doors inside the beach-themed hut, then straight to the bathroom on the other side. After I do my business, I stare in the mirror as I wash my hands, noticing the blush over my nose, cheeks, and forehead. Faint freckles pop up, too. I should have been stricter with the damn SPF.

“Oh wow, I love that dress,” a redheaded woman with wild, natural curls exclaims as she turns back from the hand dryer.

“Thank you,” I say with a smile, appreciating her enthusiasm.

“Where from, if you don’t mind?”

“Are you a tourist?”

“No,” she says, laughing like I said something totally ridiculous.

Something about her feels awfully familiar. Maybe she visited Carmen’s shop when I happened to be there.

“Then you know the secondhand-vintage shop on Hyacinth Lane?”

“Oh yes. Damn, you’re lucky. It’s so hard to snag the good pieces,” she says as she moves to leave.

“I know, which is why I took this off my mom after she bought it.”

“Oh, that’s good! I like that!” she says, laughing right along with me just before she walks out the door. “Bye!”

I wave and smile. I swear this encounter gave me déjà vu from my university days, clubbing and striking one-night friendships with random girls in the bathroom. Usually over a cute lipstick or painful shoes.