Swing and a Mishap (Summersweet Island 2)

I’m pretty sure I know why he stopped talking to me that week of all weeks, but I am in no way mentally prepared to discuss that with everyone right at this moment. It’s bad enough I still remember how hard it was to try not to vomit or cry myself to sleep the multiple times I was watching ESPN and had to see the replay of a woman who looked like a Victoria’s Secret model profess her undying love for him right on home plate. And I can’t even think about how close I came to booking a flight to Washington the day after his injury. I was typing in the expiration date on my debit card before I realized how stupid it was.

I hear a click, and suddenly there’s a small flame waving back and forth in front of my face.

“I can make one phone call and find out what cottage he’s staying in,” Tess says, the fire from her BIC lighter flickering when the breeze from the ceiling fan above us hits it. “I know from previous experience that baseball hats go up fast. Just ask Palmer.”

“He’s still pissed you burned his lucky hat,” Birdie complains as I gently take the lighter out of Tess’s hand, the flame extinguishing when her finger slips from the button. I set the pink lighter down on the counter then think better of it and push it farther out of Tess’s reach.

“As tempting as it sounds, we’re not lighting his stuff on fire.”

“So, you’re going to give him hell and the silent treatment? Excellent. I used to like the guy, but he’s on my shit list now. I’ll start practicing my resting bitch face. Is dickhole still a good insult, or did we find something better yet?”

“I’m partial to limp dick. It’s funny whether it’s true or not.” Emily shrugs.

“Go with fuck wagon,” Tess helpfully suggests. “It’s aggressive and makes you think of a mom from the ’70s, a Virginia Slim hanging out of her mouth while she flies down the highway, reaching into the backseat of her station wagon to beat her kids who won’t stop fighting.”

“We’re not going with any of those things,” I interrupt them. “I’m a thirty-four-year-old mother of a teenage boy and a business owner, who needs to set a good example. I stormed away from him without saying anything to him because I was in shock, and I just needed to get away from him to clear my head. I deserve answers, and I’m going to deal with him. Just not right now. I need some time to get my head together first.”

Birdie reaches over the counter and rests her hand on top of my clasped ones, and Tess reaches over and rubs her palm against my back.

“You got this.” Emily winks at me from my phone screen that Birdie is facing in my direction. “You’re a strong, independent single mother, who sometimes lets people take advantage of how incredibly nice and giving she is, but still a badass bitch.”

I smile at her, knowing she’s right, about both things, when Tess leans closer to me.

“When you say you stormed away from him, please tell me you didn’t do it quietly.”

“Oh, I absolutely called him a pile of human garbage before I walked away.” I nod seriously.

Everyone barks out a laugh, knowing that is not like me at all. I’ve never told Kevin how I feel about him in fifteen years. My motto has always been to kill people with kindness. I’m not a mean person who calls people names just to make myself feel better. Usually. Thirty seconds in a room with Shepherd and I had no problem telling him what I thought of him. Weird.

“So, in conclusion, I am going to deal with Shepherd Oliver, just not right now. Besides, I might get an early Christmas present and wake up tomorrow to find out he’s already gone.” I shrug, taking a drink of wine to cover up my lie that I would be happy about something like that.

It doesn’t make me happy thinking I might have blown my one chance to finally get answers out of the guy face-to-face. Whether I’m mad and hurt by him or not, the thought that the thirty seconds he stood in front of me before I ran away might have been the only time I’ll ever be that close to him again makes my chest feel tight and my throat get thick with emotion, and I struggle to swallow the wine in my mouth.

“Holy shit, the Shepherd Oliver is on Summersweet Island and came to the Dip and Twist, and you didn’t tell me?”

All three of us along with Emily on the phone turn and look in the living room when we hear Owen shout. He’s standing in the middle of the living room shirtless with just a pair of gray athletic shorts on, his hair mussed from his pillow, holding his phone up and out toward me with an annoyed look on his face. I can’t really see the screen of his phone from here, but I’m assuming one of his friends must have spotted Shepherd in town earlier, snapped a picture, and sent it to him.