I shrugged on the backpack, wincing at the weight on my shoulders. “Fine,” I said miserably, slouching off to the door.
“Also, don’t die!” my mom called back sweetly.
I had ignored her. My feet crunched along the worn trail that extended past our house. The landscape continually changed, making it even more beautiful. I kept walking, staring at the trees. The way the sun lilted through the branches. The call of birds all around me.
I hiked some more, for over an hour, and found I was thinking less about what was going to happen in school tomorrow. Thinking less about the upcoming dance and if the girl I liked was going to go with me.
I was really only focused on my feet. The trail. The sounds. The slight ache in my back from the pack. The burn of my muscles as I climbed a hill. An exhilaration, an aliveness that I hadn’t felt slouched in front of the television and endlessly ruminating on the perils of being a teenager.
When I finally trudged back, triumphantly, my parents were waiting with amused expressions.
“Well?” My dad said. “What did you think?”
I rolled my eyes and shrugged, having prepared a dozen sarcastic remarks. But I finally settled on a casual: “It was cool. I guess.”
They exchanged a smile, and that night, they sat on our deck beneath the stars for a long time, holding hands.
Things began to slowly change. I was still fourteen, and the realizations I’d come to that day didn’t entirely obliterate the challenges of puberty. I was still awkward and weird and worried night and day that I’d never be normal. Or attractive. Or kiss someone.
But… when those thoughts threatened to overwhelm me, I went for a walk in the woods. And something about it calmed the core of my anxiety.
Gave me tranquility.
I’d been coming to the woods to make sense of my thoughts for almost twenty years now, the hiking trails as familiar as an old friend.
And this morning, I’d woken with that same thirst for absolute stillness. For rushing streams and birdsong. To be completely alone. As I hiked, the rocky, jagged coast of California stretched out before me. It was still early, the sun rising behind the forest, turning the Pacific Ocean a rosy pink color. Fog caressed the beach, curled against the waves.
I hadn’t seen a single soul in more than two hours. Had breathed deeply and noticed the complex beauty of my surroundings. Tried to let my thoughts move and sway like the wind.
But it wasn’t fucking working this time.
Last night I’d taken a woman home—a tourist. A complete stranger. The sex had been fine, and she’d left immediately afterward, but we had zero connection. We’d barely spoken, just exchanged the basics. She was nice, about my age, and cute. That was about it. No passion or fire. No possibility of seeing her again—she was just passing through on a road trip down to Mexico.
And when I woke this morning, I’d felt… unsettled, like my skin no longer fit right.
Maybe it was because my natural inclination was romance. Love. Neither of which had a place in the throes of a one-night stand. And when I was younger, it was easier to quiet that urge. But Sasha and I had been broken up for almost ten years now, and life was rushing full speed ahead.
Yet I was stubbornly stuck searching for the one thing that continued to elude me.
A branch broke beneath my feet, startling the quiet. I was hiking past the tree that still held our old tire swing and the tree next to it where my parents had built a fort for us, high in the branches. Which meant I was close to The Bar.
I checked my watch, sighing. I needed to clean and prep to open by noon when the boozier locals came by for a lunchtime beer. Maybe a quiet forest wasn’t what I needed. Maybe I needed the comforting hum of bartending, of gossip and conversation.
Except I knew the fact that Gabe Shaw had taken a stranger home last night would be all over the Big Sur Channel—the locals’ affectionate nickname for what was essentially a network of endless gossip.
Goddammit.
That thought propelled my feet, and The Bar appeared in the distance. I’d inherited ownership of Big Sur’s only dive bar from my father, who’d inherited it from his grandfather. The only true sanctuary for local residents looking to escape tourists. Looking for a place that was truly theirs.
From the outside, The Bar looked drab and shabby. A gray, two-story building set back into the forest with a small parking lot out front. The sign was worn and illegible—my grandfather had given this establishment a name, but no one remembered it, and The Bar it remained.
Intrepid hippies had taken paint to the side wall in the early seventies, designing a psychedelic mural that bothered the eyes if you stared at it for too long. And in the middle, a quote from Thoreau: All good things are wild and free.
The very essence of Big Sur and people who made this place their home. The very essence of this isolated town, perched on deadly cliffs. Of the ocean and the trees and the heavy fog that greeted us every morning.
Wild. Free.
There was no other place like it in the whole world.
I’d never live anywhere else.
Chapter 3
Josie
Big Sur was magic.
We’d arrived for the photo shoot only an hour ago. I was standing with Lucia on rocky cliffs, hair whipped by the wind, and staring at an angry ocean. Dark storm clouds hovered on the horizon, and rows of lavender-colored lupine spread down the rocks toward the sand.
I inhaled the colors and textures of this outcropping and turned around to look at the tiny cabin I’d be living in for the next three days.
“I fucking love it,” I told Lucia who stood huddled and annoyed next to me. “And you know I’m not nature’s biggest fan. But this… this is inspiration.”
I looked at Lu, picturing the colors of Big Sur painted on her porcelain skin. All that wildness come to life.
Lucia glanced behind us toward Calvin Ellis, our host for the next three days. He was talking with Ray or rather being talked at by Ray. Cal couldn’t seem to maintain eye contact, continually blushing as Ray’s hands waved through the air. Calvin was tall, white and wore huge glasses. He had thick, dark brown hair and a five o’clock shadow.
“He’s cute,” I said to Lu, nudging her with my shoulder. “And his bookstore is cool.”
Her lips tugged up, but she didn’t say anything at first. Before modeling took over her life, Lucia had been a total bookworm. I knew she’d fallen in love with The Mad Ones—our funky location for the next few days—but hadn’t said anything yet. The cabins we were staying in were an extension of the bookstore, previously owned by his grandfather who had passed away five months ago. Calvin had told us that The Mad Ones used to be a bohemian hideaway for famous writers and poets, and they’d often stay in the cabins as a sort of retreat, gaining inspiration from the dramatic scenery around them.
I understood that desire. I wasn’t a writer, but I was an artist even though people often rolled their eyes when I told them what I did. Makeup wasn’t considered an art form, but I sure as hell believed it was.
And standing here, overlooking this view?
Inspiration.
“When was the last time you traveled to some place so far off the grid?” Lucia finally asked, tucking her arm through mine. We started to walk along the edge, the wind growing stronger.
“Maybe… never?” I said, thinking back. When my parents and I returned to Mexico, we always stayed in the urban hub of Guadalajara. And for work, it was always London, Milan, Paris: bright, bustling cities. “It’s not my usual scene,” I admitted. “Although maybe the change will do us some good. See… trees. Or… shit I don’t know, birds? Do birds live up here?”
Lucia laughed again.
I tugged her closer. “Plus, you’ll be moving to Paris soon. Think of this as a three-day best friend retreat. There’s no cell service, so we can actually talk to each other. Take a break from the nightlife. Actually sleep.”
“And the internet?” Lucia asked with an
edge to her voice.
As a celebrity makeup artist, I had to sell an image of myself just as much as Lucia, but I’d decided early on to keep it in check. To not let it run my entire life. But Lucia was online every waking moment and had been antsy since we’d pulled up to The Mad Ones.
Antsy and irritated. Except when she was talking to Calvin.
“It’s three days; you can make it,” I reminded her. “Plus, when you’re done talking to me, you can talk to Calvin.”
“Why would I do that?” she said dryly, but she peeked over her shoulder toward where he stood.
“Because he’s cute, and he wears glasses, and he loves books.”
Lucia stiffened. “Not my scene anymore,” she said firmly.
I dropped the subject. “The photo shoot’s going to go great, mija. Te vas a ver hermosa,” I reminded her.
She nodded but didn’t respond. We stood in silence for a while, and I let Big Sur soak into my skin, my thoughts.
And then I heard Clarke’s voice. Do you think Shay Miller would have chosen you if Lucia hadn’t persuaded him?
On instinct, I reached for my phone, needing a distraction.
And then I remembered. No internet. No service.
I grit my teeth, willing his voice to go away. Angry that after two years he could still crowd my brain with barbed words.
“What are you thinking about?” Lucia asked me, eyes searching my face.
“Oh, nothing,” I said breezily, turning away.
She squeezed my fingers in silent understanding. Lucia understood most of all.
Maybe this time in Big Sur without distractions would be good for the healing process. After what Clarke did, I filled my life with light and sound. Anything to drown him out. In fact, standing here, overlooking the ocean, was the first time I’d heard him in months. He seemed to sense when I was getting stronger, even though he was no longer in my life.
But maybe if I stopped distracting myself, he’d finally go away.
These past two years, I learned that my rational thoughts were a goddamn joke against the manipulations of my irrational mind. An outsider would say: don’t listen.
But it was like trying to concentrate on a challenging math problem while a radio blared in your ear.
A radio you could never ever turn off.
“We should head back,” Lucia said. “You and I need to meet with hair and wardrobe to go over tomorrow’s first looks.”
“Of course.” I smiled weakly then held out my arms dramatically. “Let’s do the damn thing. Josie and Lucia Take Big Sur. Experience Mother Nature For the First Time.”
“Learn to live without Instagram,” Lucia said.
“See a real-life bird.”
“Go to sleep at a reasonable hour.”
I was laughing now. “Maybe even… see the sun come up from bed. Not walking home from a club.”
Lucia stopped in her tracks, looking appalled. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
I laughed louder, the sound loosening the tightness in my chest. “You’re right. I’m sure we’ll be murdering each other by sundown.”
Chapter 4
Gabe
“They’re penises,” I said to Gladys with an arched eyebrow, but she only rolled her eyes and sighed. Next to her, her twin sister, Gloria, did the same.
“And what is this, Puritan England?” Gladys asked. “I like them. And I think they’d look great hanging on the walls here. Give it a real hey fuck you vibe.”
“With… dicks,” I said, fighting to keep a smile off of my face.
At least once a month, the sisters came by with new art they’d either discovered or done themselves. The art was always strange and eclectic.
And always very sexual.
“Mrs. Manahan likes them,” Gloria said. “Don’t you, hon?”
All three of us turned to the woman who’d been my fifth grade math teacher, who’d been slowly downing whiskey and watching the football game on the television over the bar.
“What do I like?” she called back, eyes trained on the screen.
“The uh… the paintings of erections,” I said.
Mrs. Manahan mumbled something nonsensical to which Gloria and Gladys both said “See?” in response.
“The crowd’s really going wild,” I drawled.
Gloria and Gladys graduated from high school with my parents on a Friday, got engaged to their high school sweethearts that Saturday, and started work at the Post Office on that Monday. The pair were die-hard Harlequin fans, routinely reading the romance novels under their respective desks at work. They were damn near identical too, with the same curly red hair, pale skin and obsession with brightly colored reading glasses.
“I mean, how can I say no?” I said, holding up a painting of a dick completing a crossword puzzle. “They’re classics.”
“Exactly,” Gloria said. “And you’re welcome.”
They headed back to their bar stools, and I chuckled softly to myself.
Every night at The Bar was like this.
Like most of Big Sur, The Bar was one-half eclectic bohemian and one-half leave-me-the-fuck-alone. A place for locals, although we saw more tourists now than we used too. Ten years ago, we had started appearing online as a “must see” attraction, a place where you could get the “real” Big Sur experience, which mostly consisted of endless, nonsensical gossip through the Big Sur Channel.
And silence.
I clapped Kevin on the back as I walked past, opening up another beer and sliding it to him.
“We have penises on the wall now,” I said.
Kevin dropped his head to his hands. Kevin was Gladys and Gloria’s long-suffering supervisor at the Post Office. “At least they’re not hanging it at work,” he said grimly, lifting his head. “And you and I need to talk.”
“About what?” I asked innocently, submerging wine glasses in the sink in soapy water. I glanced up and nodded as Geoff, Fritz and John ambled in.
“I heard you had quite a night on Wednesday.”
I looked down at my hands in the water, pretending to ignore his question. It had been two days since I’d slept with a stranger, and I’d been shocked that no one had mentioned it last night—although I’d gotten some looks.
As the bartender, I held a coveted role in the Big Sur Channel and gossiped as much as anyone else. But Kevin had gone to high school with my parents as well. And had an annoying tendency to funnel all gossip related to me directly into their ears.
It made family dinners awkward.
“A woman came here a couple nights ago,” I said cautiously. “Just passing through. We talked a little, we were both looking for some fun, and she spent the night.” My stomach clenched at my admission—not from embarrassment but as a sudden feeling of loss.
“Any other questions?” I asked Kevin, who was grinning like a loon. If you got trapped in the Channel, it was best to lay it all out there.
Or it got laid out there for you.
“Nope,” Kevin said, whipping out his phone.
“Just don’t tell my parents,” I laughed.
Kevin’s fingers flew. “Just texted them,” he said, triumphant, slamming his phone on the table.
“Oh, goddammit,” I said, head back and sighing. Ruth, my second grade teacher, and Mrs. Manahan were pinning me with the same inquiring look.
So I ducked under the bar like a coward, grabbing the first bottle of wine I could see. And stood up to find myself face-to-face with my sister Isabelle and her wife Maya.
“When did you two get here?” I exclaimed, coming quickly around the bar to wrap them both in a bear hug.
Isabelle squealed in my ear. “Did you somehow get more massive? Also I’m going to need my bones after this, so try not to crush ‘em.”
I laughed, giving Maya a kiss on the cheek. “Hey gorgeous,” I said to my sister-in-law.
“Hey you,” she said back. “You going to open that wine?”
“Absolutely,” I said, grabbing an ope
ner and two glasses. “And to what do I owe this surprise visit?”
“Date night,” Maya grinned. “Even though we’re both fucking exhausted. Your sister here hasn’t taken me on a date since Lola came.”
I looked at Isabelle in mock horror, but she only grabbed the wine glass from me with a cheeky grin.
“That’s because most nights we’re in bed by seven,” she teased.
Isabelle and Maya were brand-new parents to a six-month-old baby named Lola. The adoption process had been long and brutal, but I was there when they placed Lola in Isabelle’s arms. I’d been overwhelmed with the sheer amount of tangible love in that room.
Maya squeezed Isabelle’s shoulders, causing her to laugh. They’d met in college and had been inseparable ever since. Isabelle looked like me—tan skin, dark blonde hair, brown eyes. Maya was Black and had long braids piled high on her head.
Lola had darker skin like Maya and big, luminous eyes—the first moment she’d reached towards me, wrapping her little fingers around my thumb, I was a goner.
“Speaking of, where is the light of my life tonight?” I asked.
“Left her at home by herself,” Isabelle said. “She just lays there, so what’s the harm?”
I laughed, and Maya shook her head. But the look she gave Isabelle spoke volumes.
It spoke of a love so deep you’d never get to the bottom of it.
I swallowed roughly, pouring two more glasses of wine for the twins who I knew would be calling for more any minute.
“Actually, we’re staying with your parents for the next few days,” Maya said. “Just to get a little… break, you know?” Another look passed between them.
“Mom and Dad must love that,” I grinned. “Can I come see you tomorrow? Help out a little?”
“Yes, please,” Isabelle said softly. She reached forward to squeeze my hand.
“It’s not a problem, you know that. And if you need more help, I’m there. The next time you want to do Date Night in Monterey, let me know. I can always close early, drive down to watch Lola.”
Fall in Love Book Bundle: Small Town Romance Box Set Page 200
