Page 7 of Sea La Vie (The Outer Banks #1)

Tate

I don’t know what I was thinking, asking Lainey to slip right back into the role of my best friend, as if the past ten years have never happened.

I know she doesn’t want to help me get the cottage ready to sell, let alone spend time with me.

I don’t even know what she does for a living, and I feel bad for never asking.

It all just kind of slipped from my mouth before I could even process what I was saying.

There’s really nothing to do in this town, which was kind of fun when I was a kid and my imagination ran wild, but now?

She’s right in the fact that I’ve grown pretty accustomed to the luxuries of living in the city, so these next few weeks could be interesting.

I’ll need to cancel my weekly haircut, put my gym membership on pause, and have Jordan watch out for my automated grocery delivery.

Lainey is unlike anyone I surround myself with back in Charlotte.

Her feet are almost always bare, her toenail polish chipped and faded.

Her long, wild, tangled waves cascade effortlessly down her back and sun-kissed freckles she’s never bothered to cover up sprinkle over her nose and cheeks.

She’s nothing like Liv, or any of my friends' wives or girlfriends. Years ago, I would’ve said Lainey was my ‘perfect’ girl, and now that I’m back, I wonder if she still is.

Though, surely she can’t want the same things as me: to settle down, live in a house on a hill surrounded by a white picket fence, and have a slew of kids by the time we’re thirty-five.

So, why am I thinking about how beautiful she is instead of focusing on finding a girl that checks all my boxes?

Why am I thinking of Lainey at all? We had our fair share of near misses as kids, regularly sneaking out to see each other at night, and incapable of being apart every summer; it never went anywhere except a stolen kiss during our very last summer and a whispered promise we broke in the end.

We haven’t spoken in ten years and the last conversation we had is one that has replayed over and over in my mind; it makes me cringe every single time I think about it.

So, maybe I don’t have any idea about my ‘perfect’ girl after all.

Nightmares of Liv with a dopey smiling Mikey, his red lipstick-stained cheek on display, kept waking me up all last night.

I wanted to sucker punch the patchouli out of him.

But when it boiled right down to it, I wasn’t upset that we broke up.

I was upset that she cheated on me, on our anniversary no less, and didn’t respect me enough to tell me how she felt.

But I should’ve told her how I felt too.

She wasn’t a checklist and while I don’t think I treated her like one, that’s essentially how I was viewing our relationship.

She deserved more than what I was giving her.

And sadly, I think her calling me out for the green glob between my teeth hurt more than anything else.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I jump, surprised that I have enough service to receive a call. “Tate! My man.” Jordan lets out a breath of air. “How are you doing after…everything?”

“I’m okay,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “Other than the fact that there’s a huge hole in my ceiling, the cottage looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since I left ten years ago, and my friend from back in the day hates my guts.”

“You had friends there? Why did I not even know this place existed until literally a few days ago?” Jordan asks.

“I don’t know,” I reply, because that’s easier than explaining what this place means to me.

I worked very, very hard at putting every single memory of this place into a box, locking it up tight, and shoving it to the furthest corner of my mind.

Why would I want to remember a place where my parents had their biggest fight and announced their divorce during their brief visit?

A place I knew I’d never be able to come back to and just be a kid again?

And, worst of all, the place where I lost my longest, best friend because of a stupid fight?

A loud bark erupts from the other end of the phone, and the line is muffled for a minute before clearing again.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“The dog park,” Jordan says simply.

“You don’t have a dog,” I clarify.

“No, but there are some fine ladies here that do,” Jordan says with a whistle. I massage my temples with my thumb and middle finger. “You want me to come get you? A good old fashioned road trip could be fun,” Jordan suggests.

I consider his offer for a moment before declining. “Nah. I think I’ll stay here for a while, use up some of that paid time off that’s been accruing. I could use a vacation.”

“Tate Matthews, taking his first vacation since graduation. You’re really changing before my eyes, my dude.”

I wish he could see how hard I just rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be back before too long. I can’t live off my checking account forever.”

Jordan snorts. “Dude, you have so many zeros and commas in your account, I can’t even count that high. I know you keep a backup account for your backup account in case anything happens.”

I tilt my head. “How did you know that?”

Jordan laughs. “That’s something you would do. You have a checklist and a back up plan for everything. ”

“Except a failed proposal, apparently.”

“I mean…I wasn’t going to say it,” Jordan says. “Anyway, suit yourself about staying there. Hey, before you go, can you give me your door code? You always have the best snacks.”

“Jordan, go to Costco and get them yourself.”

“It's not the same. Your powdered donuts always taste better than mine. Especially when I’m eating them wedged in the middle of that lovely sectional that feels like it was placed on earth by Jesus himself. Plus you have all the good channels.”

“Please don’t take some random woman and her disgusting, slobbery dog back to my immaculate apartment,” I say.

“I would never,” Jordan says. “Unless you said it was okay. Do you ever think—?”

“I don’t know if Liv is even out of there yet,” I say, interrupting him. “Which is a major bummer because my Fig Tree really needs watered, and I know she won’t do it just to spite me.”

“Oof,” Jordan says. “Listen, I’ve got to go. There’s a woman with a husky that’s eyeing me like she wants to have me as her next meal, and I can’t decide if I’m flattered or weirded out. I need to process this.”

I laugh, remembering why this major pain in the butt is my best friend, and hang up the phone.

Four a.m. comes fast. My alarm blares from under my pillow, but it still isn’t as loud as Lucille’s snores from down below. How that sweet old doctor slash pastor is married to her is beyond me.

I throw some water on my face, brush my teeth, and change.

Eyeing Lucille’s coffee pot on the way out, I consider making a quick pot, but decide against it in case she’s laced it with something.

I show up to the docks ten minutes later.

Lainey is already standing on a boat, throwing ice into a cooler.

“You’re wearing that?” She asks with a raised eyebrow.

I look down at my t-shirt, shorts, and sandals—all recent finds from the town’s thrift store—and back to her in a pair of bright orange insulated waders and beanie.

“You told me we were fishing and then heading over to the hardware store for supplies,” I counter.

It takes all my effort to hide a shiver.

I thought it would be warmer than this. It’s summertime on the North Carolina coast afterall.

“We are. We’ll fish on the way over until about sunrise when the hardware store opens.

Then, we’ll fish on the way back. Here, throw these on.

” She disappears into the cabin for a moment then reappears with a set of waders, identical to hers.

She tosses them to me and says, “They’re my brother’s, but he never uses them. You should be about the same size.”

I jump onto the boat and pull the waders over my shorts, instantly grateful for the warmth.

Lainey effortlessly moves around the boat, checking gauges and levels before untying us from the dock, and I can’t help but watch her.

She makes it look so easy, almost like it’s a dance.

I scan the boat for the little furry dog that peppered me in kisses the other night. “Where’s your dog?”

“Midge isn’t an early riser. She’s probably still sound asleep under the covers.”

I smile at that. “Smart dog. So, what kind of fishing are we doing exactly?” She expertly steers the boat out of the slip, then the marina, and I marvel at how she makes it seem like second nature. She doesn’t seem the least bit nervous.

“Typically we fish for tuna, but we’ll take anything we can get at this point,” she says.

I nod, as if that makes perfect sense to me. My only experience with tuna is when I eat it straight from the pouch when I’m headed to the gym, or as a steak seared rare.

“Is this your dad’s boat from back in the day?” I ask, surveying the ship around me—tidy and neat despite the rust and chipping paint—understanding whoever it belongs to runs a tight ship, literally.

“Yeah,” she says simply. “It’s the same one he’s always used.” She speeds up and the salty air caresses my skin. It still has a chill to it and I sink further into the insulated waders, thankful they cut out most of the wind.

Finally, she slows and tosses over the anchor.

I feel helpless and in the way, unsure of what to do, while I watch her set the poles.

By the time she’s finished, the sun is beginning to ascend—waking up the waves by softly kissing them—and stretching its pink rays out across the sky.

Soft kisses. I glance at Lainey and wonder if she’s ever thought of that one and only kiss between us during our very last summer together.