Page 151 of Every Chance After

I turn to Alice. “Hey, how about a fountain drink, on me? I need a minute.”

Despite her obvious curiosity, she obeys. The boys move in behind me, pinning me in the middle.

Ashe opens his mouth to speak, but Wade cuts him off. “Sullivans aren’t welcome here.”

“Wade, that’s not true. Everyone’s welcome here.” I retort, though I understand his disdain. Cora’s launched her own campaign against us with Sunny’s Beach Party—a week-long celebration highlighting forty-seven years in Seagrove. There’s everything from live music in the gazebo to free samples and door prizes. They’re advertising the best prices I’ve ever seen from them, almost on par with Food Lion. On top of that, our health inspector mysteriously kept delaying giving us the all-clear—it took weeks to get him to check out our Canteen. Some suspect his delay was Cora’s doing.

Still, I smile widely at Ashe, trying to set a better tone. “Sorry, Ashe, he doesn’t mean that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Ashe says, “just to talk to Marnie.”

“Maybe Marnie doesn’t want to talk to you,” Roy blasts back, zip-zipping the electric screwdriver he’s holding like a gun.

I take a cleansing breath, pushing my notebook and clipboard at Wade. “Guys, it’s fine.”

Wade, Christie, and Roy exchange bothered glances until Wade leans in, “We’ve got chainsaws, hungry gators, and alibis.”

“Yeah, we’re watching you,” Christie chimes in, his red fingernails pointing at his eyes and then at Ashe.

“Dudes, back off. I come in peace,” Ashe tries, half-laughing at their efforts. “Please, Marnie. Five minutes.”

I step away from my protectors with a stern look, telling them not to follow. They should know by now that I can take care of myself, however sweet their intentions. Peter and Marigold finish their work on the lights and head toward the store. I direct Ashe toward the dock for privacy.

Ashe glances at the swamp but doesn’t seem interested in the swaying moss, the sunlight prism through the trees, or even Bessie, lingering in the green water nearby. Her eggs have hatched, and her babies scurry over her head like they’re playing tag. Few things are as strangely cute as that.

When he hesitates, I think to switch into old Marnie and help him along with pleasantries and guiding questions. But why should I do anything for the man who told me to get out ofhisstore? My arms fold over my chest, and I plaster on a polite smile. “Well, what do you want, Ashe?”

“Granddad sent me. He’s pissed.”

My brow crinkles, trying to understand. Cora’s Dad, Bill Biggums, founded Sunny’s and would often pop by for white-gloved inspections after handing it over to Cora. I found his visits fun—he never found a speck of dust on my watch—but he stressed Cora out every time. Being handed a legacy as incredible as Sunny’s would be overwhelming and stressful, I suppose.

“Pissed about what?” I ask.

“What he’s calling The Great Sullivan Cock-Up,” he groans. “He sent me here on behalf of Sunny’s to apologize.”

“To me? And he sentyou? I’m surprised Cora didn’t step in and do it for you.”

He nods, shuffling on his feet and looking extremely uncomfortable. “I deserve that. After what happened at the restaurant, what you said, yeah, I realized I owe you an apology.Manyapologies.”

The new decking must’ve fallen into a black hole, swirling us into oblivion, because I am flabbergasted. Dumbstruck. Confused.

“I’m sorry for how I treated you, Marnie. It was shocking at the time, having everything ripped out from under us. I’ve always looked up to Mom and how she handles the business, trusted her to tell me what to do,” he says. “So, when she said go, I went. When she said your notebook belonged to Sunny’s, I believed her. I didn’t fight for us when she said I should end things. I couldn’t even do it myself. I fucked up everything.”

He glances everywhere but at me as if struggling with every word. I don’t think he’s ever said so many things without inserting a laugh or joke. “I appreciate that, Ashe. Granddad must be furious.”

A smile cuts through his anguish. “Livid. He’s come out of retirement.”

“What?” I gasp. “Isn’t he like… almost eighty?”

Ashe nods. “Yep, but he’s made Mom take a step back from operations at Seagrove. We’ve had to cut staff. The new store manager is terrible. Granddad’s worried that a damn convenience store might put Seagrove’s Sunny’s out of business. Our profits are down twenty percent, and that’s before your grand re-opening.”

I gasp so sharply that I choke on a bug. “Twenty? Seriously?”

“I’ll deny that outside of this conversation,” he says. “But yes. We’re hoping things’ll pick up with the tourists, but for now, the locals prefer you.”

I do a shameless happy dance on the dock—I can’t help it.

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