Page 71 of Shifting Sands

Brandee

Being the new girl at their beach holiday bash should feel weird. But it doesn’t. Because everyone treats me like I’ve always been here, and even with the crowd, the music, the flurry of new faces and names, Brew’s attention is never far. He checks in, teases me, brings me a paper plate loaded with a hot dog, potato salad, and baked beans, and kisses the top of my head when no one is looking.

“Hot dogs and baked beans,” I say as I settle into a chair beside him.

“Yeah, Amiya figures everyone’s had enough turkey, ham, and cranberry sauce by now,” he explains.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

As attentive as he’s been tonight, I can tell something’s going on with him.

He’s quieter than usual. A little distracted. And he keeps glancing down at the box of shoes he brought out onto the beach and placed carefully beside the cooler. Maybe they were a mistake.

Later, after we’ve all eaten our fill, everyone else exchanges gifts. Tabby drew my name and gifted me a beautiful painting of Aunt Ida’s cottage to remember my time here.

As the bonfire begins to die down and people start pairing off or drifting home, Brew finds me sitting on a weathered bench by the dunes.

He sits beside me, not speaking right away.

Just watching the waves roll in.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says finally.

“Oh, dangerous.”

He smiles faintly. “About how I should’ve told you something sooner.”

I turn to face him, my heart suddenly thudding rapidly.

“Okay …” I say slowly. “What kind of something?”

He’s quiet again. Then, “The truth. About me.”

I raise a brow as my mind starts to whirl with possibilities—he has a girlfriend, a fiancée, a wife—but none of those fit. And Sabel would have told me. Would she have? Wouldn’t his friends have invited her instead of me? Maybe he’s separated and in the middle of a divorce. It would make sense why he’s been so squirrelly.

“What? That you hate cats? That you secretly like boy bands? Because I could’ve guessed,” I tease to hide the panic rising in my chest.

He huffs a soft laugh, then shakes his head. “No. Like … real truth.”

And suddenly, the lightness shifts. I feel it, like gravity settling between us.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the sand. “You know how you thought I was just a part-time bartender at Whiskey Joe’s, but then found out I’d worked with Audrey for over a decade?”

“Yeah,” I say, still unsure where this is going.

“Well … that was stretching the truth a bit.”

“How?” I am confused.

“I’m more like the boss.”

I blink. “Of the bar?”

He nods.

Okay, that’s not entirely shocking. I was suspicious, honestly, because the staff deferred to him, and he waltzed in and out of the office and made friends’ tabs disappear.

“Wait, so does Audrey work for you?”

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