Page 240 of Banter & Blushes

“That’s a lifestyle, thank you.” I reach under the bar and pull out the latest addition to my coaster collection. It readsYou had me at Merlot, then you lost me at karaoke.

Clara groans. “That one hurts.”

“That’s how you know it’s art.” I wipe down the bar again, even though it doesn’t need it. I like the way my hands stay busy while my brain bounces through a dozen thoughts it will never commit to.

A guy at the far end waves and asks for two Trust Issues. I nod and start gathering ingredients. Clara leans on the counter, watching me the way you’d watch a squirrel try to open a childproof container.

“You know what I think?” she says.

“Oh no.”

“I think you should go on a date.”

“I think you should take up pottery so you can gently cradle that bad idea and then smash it with a stick.”

She laughs again. “C’mon. I’m serious. You’re in your prime. You’ve got good hair. You own matching socks.”

“They’re all Winston’s.”

She pauses. “The socks?”

“Yes. We share.”

She shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “You’re impossible. The universe could drop a taco on your head, and you’d still find a way to avoid an actual connection.”

“Maybe the universe should mind its business,” I say, wiping down the bar. “Tacos are safer.”

I glance past her to the open window. Outside, the ocean stretches endlessly, its surface shimmering. A couple walks by, their laughter carried on the breeze. For a second, something tightens in my chest. Not longing, exactly. More like… curiosity. What would it be like to want that? To let someone in, instead of deflecting every connection with a joke?

Clara shakes her head like she can’t tell if I’m joking, and honestly, sometimes I can’t either. “Okay, so maybe not dating. But just… something.”

“I have something.” I finish the Trust Issues with a flourish of nutmeg, slide them down the bar, and lean in. “I have Winston, a ghost crab I’m ninety percent sure is living under my porch, and a five-season commitment to a show about competitive cake carving. I am fulfilled.”

Clara rolls her eyes so hard they practically do a cartwheel. “You’re going to be one of those mysterious old ladies who lives by the sea and talks to seagulls like they’re coworkers.”

“Dream life,” I say with zero irony. “Seagulls never ask about your relationship status.”

Before she can reply, the blender growls to life with its usual dramatic flair, and two more orders roll in from table seven. The conversation drifts like foam on the tide, swept away by the rhythm of summer nights and sticky glasses and the bar that never really quiets down.

I glance out the window again, watching as the waves curl and crash against the shore. A group of tourists stumbles by, laughing, their voices carrying over the sound of the ocean. It’s a scene I’ve seen a thousand times before, but now, it feels… different. Like the universe is holding something just out of reach, waiting for me to notice.

Still. For now, I have my beach, my bar, and my dog. And a fresh stack of punny coasters waiting to be judged.

Honestly?

Not a bad place to start.

CHAPTER 2

Winston decides it’s morning by climbing onto my chest like he’s auditioning for a Hollywood role prior to the Me Too movement. I squint one eye open. He stares back like I’ve personally offended him by not already being vertical and wearing shoes.

“Do you know what time it is?” I groan, voice muffled by the pillow I’m trying to re-enter.

Winston sneezes once, hops off the bed, and promptly knocks over the laundry basket with the grace of a drunk raccoon. Which is pug-speak for yes, and I’m still choosing violence.

I get up.

My apartment is small, but it makes up for it by being completely allergic to straight lines. The ceiling slopes dramatically, like it's sighing. The floor creaks in full sentences, which feels oddly comforting, like the apartment is trying to talk me out of leaving. My kitchen stares at me like it knows I’ve forgotten to empty the dishwasher again. Probably because I have.

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