Page 17 of The Four Engagement Rings of Sybil Rain

T HAT’S IT. I CAN’T WALLOW IN MY ROOM ANYMORE.

I ’M STARVING AND, TO be honest, I could use one of those strong cocktails I helped serve up yesterday.

When I get to the beach tiki bar, I spot the same bartender from yesterday wiping down the driftwood bar top.

I wave at her, and she raises a glass at me in question. I nod.

The bar is quiet, with only a few patrons sipping predinner cocktails. There are cozy groupings of rattan chairs ringing the bar and even a hammock strung between two posts. A gentle breeze drifts in from the bay, making me shiver.

Dani greets me as I slide onto one of the barstools. “Hey! Sybil, right?” I nod. “Thanks for helping me out yesterday.”

“It was no big deal.”

“It was a big deal,” Dani insists. “We’re down one third of last year’s staff, and we’re almost fully booked. Which is great for this time of year, but…” She rolls her eyes and then brightens. “Oh, hey—how was snorkeling?”

“It was… fun! So fun!” There’s no point in telling Dani about my run-in with Jamie after she was nice enough to get me a last-minute spot on the boat. She couldn’t have known that she was sending me straight toward the one person I was trying to avoid.

Dani places a glass of water on a dark green cocktail napkin in front of me. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was. The various spa treatments must have left me a little dehydrated. I immediately down half the glass.

“Any suggestions for an excursion I can do tomorrow?” I ask her once I’ve swallowed. I don’t want to lose another day hiding inside.

Dani considers, leaning on the back bar and folding her arms. “The horseback riding is pretty amazing. You go on this path through the mountains to a gorgeous waterfall. Our friend Kaia leads it—she’s great.”

“Sounds awesome! I love horseback riding!”

In truth, my experience with horses has been pretty limited—a few birthday parties when I was growing up back in Dallas, plus a tour of the stables at the Kauffmans’ Napa house, which turned into a literal romp in the hay.

I can feel myself blushing as Dani pulls out her order pad and asks me, “Do you know what you’d like to eat?”

The menu here is fantastic, and I’ve been eating healthier meals than I usually do at home—but I’m suddenly craving a heaping basket of mankind’s greatest triumph over nature: chicken frickin’ nuggets. All this dwelling on the past has me wanting comfort food, I guess.

“Do y’all have chicken tenders?”

“I’m sure we can make something like that happen,” she says, doing me the decency not to look aghast at my request.

“Thank you! You are a goddess.”

“You got it,” Dani says as she tops up my glass of water.

“Also, could I grab some ice?”

Dani gives me a look. “There’s ice in the water.”

“No, sorry, for my ankle. I twisted it yesterday, and it’s still a little sore.” The spa treatment temporarily numbed out the pain, but it’s creeping back in now.

“Oh,” Dani says. “Should I call the medic—”

“No, no, I’m fine. Just some ice would be great.”

“Of course, let me grab you some.” I lose sight of Dani as she moves to the other end of the bar that curves around an enormous semicircle of glass and brass shelves filled to the ceiling with liquor bottles.

A few seconds later, she returns with a Ziploc filled with ice. I fold my leg so my ankle is resting on my knee, and balance the bag of ice on top.

“Cool tattoo,” I say to Dani, noticing the ring of waves inked around her finger.

“Thanks,” Dani says. “Ash has a corresponding one—my wife,” she clarifies.

“The concierge? Oh, cool! I didn’t realize y’all were married.”

“Two years next March.” She gives a little one-sided grin. “Hers is the moon, mine’s the sea.”

“That’s so romantic,” I say, feeling a tiny twinge of jealousy. For some people, love is just smooth sailing.

Dani’s grin turns a little goopy and lovestruck. “We’d been together for a month, and then one day, I woke up, looked over at Ash, and knew I never wanted to wake up without her. So I popped the question, and we went to the courthouse that morning.”

“Wow, so no engagement?”

“I guess we did have an engagement. For, like, three hours?” Dani laughs.

I laugh. “Taking your time’s overrated,” I tell her.

Jamie and I planned our wedding over a whirlwind six months, and he thought that was fast. He proposed at Christmastime and our dream venue, usually booked two years out, happened to have a June opening.

We jumped at the opportunity— jumped being the operative word, because from the moment we signed the contract with Cielo Ranch, I felt like I’d flung myself off the beautiful Malibu mountains and was hurtling headlong into the Pacific below.

As someone who struggles to commit to so much as a dentist appointment more than a few days out, I found the entire process intensely stressful.

I agonized over passed apps for cocktail hour.

I stood baffled in the dress shop, wondering how I should be expected to know what kind of fashion mood I’d be in six months from now.

I could see myself feeling the mermaid vibe, but then again, I’d also always been drawn to the flowy fairy princess look…

In the end, I chose a tailored, understated gown that my mother-in-law-to-be said reminded her of her own.

It had dozens of buttons and a structured eggshell fabric.

It reminded me of a straitjacket. But I’d wanted so desperately to please Mrs. Kauffman that I’d said yes to the dress…

and to the orchid boutonnieres, even though they felt too fussy.

And to the smoked whitefish puffs even though I thought the mini fish tacos sounded yummier.

I’m almost never shy with my opinion, but something about this monumental commitment made me want to show Jamie I could be the bride he and his family wanted me to be.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Dani says, jolting me back to the present, and then she goes to check in with a couple at the far end of the bar. I pull my phone out.

There’s a text from Emma in our group chat, sharing some updates on the latest reno she and Finn are working on.

In exchange, she asks for more pics of paradise.

I snap a quick selfie and turn on my stool to capture a picture of waves crashing onto the shore.

Then I pull up the Halia Falls guest page and sign up for tomorrow morning’s horseback riding excursion.

Soon after, Dani returns with my order, placing in front of me a plate of the most delicious-looking crispy tenders and golden fries.

“Thanks, could I also get some—”

Dani slides a small bowl of ranch dressing beside my plate. I’m about to be incredibly impressed with Halia Falls’s commitment to intuiting guests’ condiment choices when Dani says, “From the gentleman across the bar,” and nods to her right. My spine straightens.

It’s Jamie.

My fight-or-flight instincts kick in, making me want to bolt to avoid anything unpleasant or painful.

It’s the same part of my brain that had me jumping over the side of a boat yesterday afternoon and running down a rose petal–strewn aisle back in Malibu.

But surprisingly, as quickly as it came, the feeling passes.

Maybe it’s because I’ve already spent so much of the past two days attempting (and mostly failing) to dodge him.

Maybe it’s the pain in my ankle. But I find that I can’t bring myself to push away from the bar and head back to my room.

“Thanks for the ranch,” I call down to the other end of the bar. Jamie’s head pops around the corner, and I toast him with my ramekin of ranch.

“I can leave.” Jamie stands up and comes into full view. He’s wearing a short-sleeved linen button-down, his damp hair is curling around his ears, and even after only being here a few days, his skin is already burnished in a deep tan. “If you’re waiting for your boyfriend, I mean.”

“Oh, no, I—I’m eating alone.” I blush, wondering if it’s obvious by now that the boyfriend is fake. I haven’t even bothered to give him a name. “His, um… he’s having gut issues.”

“Oh he is, is he? I’m sorry to hear that…

” Jamie says, but his lip quirks up to the side, and suddenly I realize the mistake I’ve made.

Gut issues was always our code phrase for getting out of events we didn’t want to go to.

“Well,” he adds, clearing his throat. “I’ll leave you to your solo tenders date. ”

“No, it’s fine.” I motion to the chair next to me. “I mean, you can sit if you want. It’s just chicken tenders.” Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I feel like I’m inviting my middle school crush to join me at the lunch table.

Jamie’s movements are slow, like he’s not sure if he trusts that I’m serious.

He pulls the barstool out carefully and sits.

He takes a moment, looking at me, as if calculating something in his head.

Calculating, perhaps, the chances that I’ve lied completely about having a boyfriend in order to save face…

“How’s the ankle?” he asks finally.

“Oh, it’s—” My voice breaks off when I feel the ghost of Jamie’s fingers trail along my lower leg. At my sharp intake of breath, he whips his hand away, his cheeks flushing red.

Dani returns with another plate of chicken tenders and fries.

She pauses, noting Jamie’s new seat, and gives me a questioning look, nodding her head ever so subtly in Jamie’s direction as if to say, you cool with this guy?

But all she says is, “Would you guys like something a little stronger than water?”

The roughness in Jamie’s voice surprises me. “Absolutely.”

She checks with me first, and I give her a nod.

“What can I get you?”

“How about two dry vodka martinis, extra dirty,” Jamie says.

My heart lurches. “Hey,” I say softly. “That’s my drink.”

“You don’t say.” Jamie gives me a small, bittersweet smile, like maybe this martini is a peace offering after what he said on the boat the other day. And our fight on the hiking trail.

I feel the need to offer up one of my own.