Every Step of the Way: (Smugglers Cove #1)

by Anna Lindgren

  Sigh.

  That woman sure rubs me the wrong way.

  I pull out my phone and see that it is nearing ten, which means I am running late for Ladies’ Brunch—a tradition where the women of Smuggler’s Cove come together to celebrate the bride to be. Really, it’s a place that the women come to get loaded on mimosas and give advice on sex tips and keeping marriage “fresh”. Yeah, it’s a grand ol’ time. Cammie isn’t looking as forward to it as I am. That’s probably because I have gone to a few in my day, and they are always a shitshow. Women drink too much on empty stomachs, gossip about affairs, really do go all out in the naughty games department, and all the while, I sit back and take it in with a wide smile plastered across my face.

  My mom, Tina, had dragged me to these when I was a little girl. She was always a socialite in town with her brown hair trimmed nicely into a bob that framed her square face, her defined eyebrows highlighting her gray-blue eyes, which are one of the few traits I share with her. Her laughter bellowed through any venue at the most opportune times. She was always a force to be reckoned with, but after my dad died, she became a category five hurricane.

  I went through a stage of despising having to go to these showers—sorry, brunches. I will be a sworn enemy of the state if I mistake the true meaning of Ladies’ Brunch. As trivial as the events seem, over the years, I’ve come to find comfort in these moments shared with women. Specifically, how despite living in a small, simple community, their lives can be filled with such drama and chaos. It is divine; I highly recommend it.

  I march my way over toward the Waterfront Café in my brown Xtratuffs that brush the bottoms of my knees, my knee-length, red-floral-print wrap dress billowing in the wind, and my neon-blue raincoat zipped up to the hood, strands of my hair escaping through the hole for my face. I feel like my outfit perfectly defines the quirkiness of Smuggler’s Cove. The brightly colored buildings against the backdrop of dramatic landscape. Mountains that jut out of the sea lined by gray fog that nestles up against the green forest trees. It’s romantic—poetic, really. Smuggler’s Cove is often the bright spot on an otherwise mundane, gray day.

  “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” a voice calls out, and I turn to see Ryan falling in beside me as I walk along the boardwalk. I can’t help but naturally pick up my stride, but I’m no match for his long legs and athletic shape.

  “You off to Ladies’ Brunch?” he inquires with raised eyebrows as he reaches my side.

  “Mhmmm,” I say with my red lips pursed tightly together. A glimmer of hope shoots through me as the Waterfront Café comes into sight, the deep-forest-green building perched on stilts overlooking the channel. Its trim is a bright yet pale yellow accented by a deep barn red. Planter boxes hang from every window with colorful flowers, herbs, and greens, growing in abundance as if to escape their confinement as they reach toward the hidden sun.

  Ryan cuts in front of me, causing me to abruptly run into his solid chest with a thud. He’s nearly a foot taller than me. His chest twice my width. He places his large hands on both shoulders to stabilize me before I fall backwards onto the wet, puddled pavement, his touch warming the skin beneath the multiple layers separating us. The feeling is too familiar, and as I look up into his eyes, I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks. I break the contact and continue toward the café.

  “Hilary.” His tone commands me to stop. I don’t, so it comes again with more force this time. “Hilary.”

  I whip my head toward him with a snap. “I’m seeing someone, Ryan.”

  It’s true. I am. But a small piece of me wishes I wasn’t when I see the look cross behind his eyes. I watch as he stumbles for just a brief second as if the wind has been knocked out of his chest, a reaction I try to convince myself I’ve made up.

  “Who?” He speaks softly, yet the demand is still present.

  “That doesn’t concern you,” I say as I continue to march toward the café, my boots splashing muddied water up into my dress. I don’t care. The only thing I care about is creating distance between Ryan and myself.

  “It sure as hell does,” he says with a determined look in his face. Reaching me with a stride nearly twice as long as mine, he reaches for my arm, but I rip it away with aggression.

  “It’s new. I don’t need you interfering,” I note pointedly, looking between his dark-brown eyes, his long, black eyelashes beading up with droplets of rain.

  “Pft.” He blows me off as though he hasn’t sabotaged my relationships before, tossing his jet-black hair to the side with a flick of his head.

  I scowl at him, eyes squinted tightly together.

  “Don’t think I don’t know you, Lewis.”

  He shoves his hands into his pockets and lowers his head. I know he has more to say, but I’m in no position to hear it. I’m running late for my best friend's Ladies’ Brunch. She needs me more than I need to hear the words caught in Ryan’s throat.

  “I’m late.” And with that, I turn back toward the café, tucking my hair into the hood of my raincoat as I approach the front entrance.

  I reach for the handle on the wooden door and take a deep breath in. I toss my head back slightly on exhale. I pull the door open against the gusting wind and squeeze between the opening. I’m blasted with warmth, music, and laughter coming from the seating area.

  Cammie is seated over by the window at the head of a long, black, rectangular table. Her pale face smiles politely at the women chattering away, but her eyes scream help me. I smile at the sight of her, my best friend, dressed in a sleeveless, cream-colored tea dress. Her dark-brown hair is tied back into a bun, a braid cascading alongside the frame of her face. I stand there for a moment as I change out of my raincoat and Xtratuffs and slip into sandal wedges. When I look back up, I see that Cammie has locked her bulging eyes onto me.

  “Look who decided to show up,” I hear my mother’s voice as I turn to see her sipping a glass of champagne. She smiles at me over the rim of her glass and closes one of her eyes in a winking fashion. She hands me a glass of champagne with a large local raspberry in the bottom of the glass.

  I grab it from her hand as I smile back with a shrug before hugging her. “Hi, Mom.”

  “You are late, you know. For your best friend’s Ladies’ Brunch, at that,” she scolds me in her soft, told-you-so tone of voice.

  “I know,” I say and wave her off. “I couldn’t find the right shoes to go with this dress,” I lie through my teeth. I couldn’t dare tell her that Ryan had distracted me. She’d never let me hear the end of it.

  “Well,” she says, moving around me to my side so that we face the party. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say as she leaves my side, returning to be the life of the party.

  I hang my coat up and follow her lead, my feet sliding along the dark-green carpet. The large windows are framed in bright cedar, and the lights create an evening glow on this dark and gloomy day. I barely reach the entrance of the dining room when Cammie stands and charges toward me. Several women call after her, asking where she is sneaking off to.

  “I’ve just got to go to the restroom,” she says politely, turning toward them with a smile over her shoulder. When she turns back toward me, I see desperation behind her eyes. She wraps her hand around my wrist and pulls me toward the bathroom without another word.

  In the privacy of the family-style bathroom, behind a securely locked door, she exhales a breath of relief.

  “I hate being the center of attention,” she says as I cross an arm over my waist and sip my champagne.

  “It only gets better from here.” I love to reinforce her nerves.

  “I didn’t realize so many people would be interested in attending,” she says, gesturing a hand toward the door.

  “Jake is like the Prince Harry of Smuggler’s Cove.” I smile and hand her my glass of champagne. She tosses it back in one large gulp. “People were bound to come from all over to witness these ceremonious events.”

  “Ah,” she
says, wiping the back of her hand across her lips.

  “That’s it,” I say, patting her on her bare shoulder. “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Not enough.”

  “Well, then we need to fix that. This party is only getting started,” I say with a wicked grin—one that she catches in the mirror.

  “What’s that look?” She points at me.

  I frown, desperately trying to conceal my grin. “Nothing.” I shake my head adamantly.

  “No, that sure as hell wasn’t nothing.”

  “Have the games started?” I ask, leaning toward the mirror, pretending to adjust my lipstick.

  “What games?” Oh goody.

  “Sorry, I meant presents. Have you opened any presents?”

  “No, the party only just started.”

  I guffaw. “The party hasn’t even begun.”

  Concern riddles Cammie’s eyes, and at that, I unlock the deadbolt and return to the party, grabbing two flutes of champagne from the waiter near the front door.

  “Here.” I press a glass into Cammie’s chest. “These things are way more fun with a buzz.”

  She grabs it without a moment of reluctance and tosses it back. Her face begins to flush from the alcohol.

  “Alright,” she says, determination in her tone of voice. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Atta girl,” I say, raising my glass to her as she walks ahead of me before I drain my drink and reach for another.

  I have also been dreading this party. What people don’t tell you about weddings is that when your best friend gets married, you are part of the package. You become bombarded with personal questions as well. I’m expected to smile and play the part of a blissfully happy maid of honor. So, you get all the stress of a wedding and none of the reward. No fantastic sex after the wedding is over, no presents, no happily ever after. Just a bunch of nosy broads asking intimate details of your sex life and trying to set you up with their sons, nephews, grandsons, sometimes husbands—yes, husbands—you get the point.

  I take a seat to Cammie’s right at the table. I haven’t even set my glass down before the first barreled question comes flying at me.

  “Hilary, you look lovely,” Mrs. Johnson says in her older, shaky voice. She’s a woman in her seventies who used to babysit Jake, Ryan, and I when we were growing up.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Johnson,” I say with a polite nod.

  “Now, when are you going to get married, dear? You aren’t getting any younger, that’s for sure.”

  “There it is,” I mutter into my nearly empty flute of champagne.

  “What’s that?” she pipes up with genuine curiosity. Damn, her hearing is good.

  “I said, ‘Hopefully very soon.’” I nod, reassuring her that that’s exactly what I said. She looks at me, pleased, and returns to her other discussion.

  Cynthia is here, sitting to Cammie’s left, dressed in a white sundress. I roll my eyes at the attention she desperately wants going unnoticed. She goes to stand while she clinks her glass of champagne and tosses her dark-brown hair over her shoulder. “Excuse me.” She clinks again, quieting the crowd. “Excuse me.”

  She clears her throat and begins talking in that shrill voice. I’m pretty sure it’s her telephone voice. You know, the one everyone has when they answer the phone when their grandparent calls them or they just were offered a job? That one. I suddenly realize that I’m looking up at her with squinted eyes and my mouth hanging open. It’s my go-to What the hell are you doing? face. I have been using it more readily since the wedding planning started, as evidenced by the slight crinkle between my eyebrows growing more prominent.

  I wouldn’t have noticed I am making ‘the face’ except that my mother clears her throat next to me and abruptly brushes her leg against mine. I soften my face but am quite sure it quickly returns to distaste as Cynthia continues.

  “Not many of you know me…” She pauses for effect. “I’m the mother of the bride.” She squeals with a shrug of her shoulders.

  Oh, gag me.

  The ladies ooh and ahh around the table. “This sweet woman here”—she places a gentle hand on Cammie’s shoulder and looks into her eyes—“was the best thing that ever happened to me. After her father left, it was just the two of us. She was my rock, my best friend, and my happy place.”

  I take the last gulp of champagne and signal to the waiter to bring me another. When he drops one off, I catch his gaze and hope that I communicate to keep them coming. He nods as if understanding my desperation.

  “Anyway…” Oh God, she’s actually choked up now, or has at least pretended to be wiping tears from her eyes. “I love you. I hope Jake makes you the happiest woman in the world, because you deserve it. Cheers!” she says, raising a glass, and I comply with absolute fake enthusiasm.

  Cammie smiles and thanks her mom politely then turns to me and knees me under the table as if to say, you heard all that, right? I smile back and nod. We will have time later to debrief the events of Ladies’ Brunch this evening.

  “Is it present time?” I hear my mom ask the gaggle of women, to which cheers erupt.

  Cammie leans into me and whispers, “Wow, I didn’t know presents could be so exciting. I usually find it rather boring when I’m at these types of events.”

  I smile to myself and nod in agreement.

  Cammie starts to open a mound of presents, and I offer to keep track of who brought what so that the thank-you cards write themselves. After each present, Cammie sings praises or makes some pleasurable noise when she doesn’t know what else to say. The table snickers each time she does, and the bout of confusion across Cammie’s and Cynthia’s faces is just too good. They have no idea what is going on.

  After Cammie has opened the array of household items, intimacy products—yes, sex toys—and artwork, she gives an exasperated, “Thank you.” The women around the table roar with laughter; hands slap against the table; some of the women even wipe at their eyes.

  “What is going on?” She leans toward me, whispering in a curt tone.

  I’ve also started to lose it at this point and have to wipe at my eyes as I attempt to regain my composure.

  “Alright.” I slide my chair out into a standing position. “As tradition goes, the present game is concluded.”

  Women nod around the table, and I look toward Cammie and Cynthia to see their matching bewildered looks. I’ve never thought the two resembled one another, but here in this moment, wearing matching facial expressions and similar dresses, I can see it. My smile grows wider.

  “I’ve been keeping track of the presents you received and the phrases you spoke upon opening them. Legend has it that the sounds, words, and expressions noted during the opening of presents are the words you speak in your most intimate moments with Jake.” I waggle my eyebrows, looking at the crowd, which rewards me with excited sounds.

  “Oh, God.” Cammie’s face grows red as she slaps a hand across her face, lowering herself into her chair with embarrassment. Grace, Jake’s mom, reaches over and gives her a reassuring squeeze of encouragement.

  “Ahem,” I clear my throat before reciting the list, taking pride and emphasizing every single word. “Oh, wow. This is really cool. Oh my God! Wow. I needed this. Mmm. Thank you. This is amazing. Huh. Oh, so that’s what it does. But how does it work? Wow. Yes. So great. Mmm, I like this. I’ll use it all the time.”

  Laughter continuously erupts around the table of women, and I turn to see Cammie beet red with embarrassment and laughter, wiping tears from her eyes.

  “Sounds like you are a lucky woman,” I say, smiling toward Cammie. She leans forward, doubling over with laughter.

  “Bitch,” I say jokingly before another row of laughter erupts from the women around me.

  “That’s my boy,” Gracie says with a shrug, lifting a glass of champagne into the air, and we all raise ours. The laughter continues, and suddenly my abs have started to hurt. I haven’t laughed this hard in forever.

  “To Cammie
and Jake!” I say, raising my flute as the clinking of glasses surrounds me.

  Acknowledgments

  First, I cannot say how thankful I am to my husband. You supported me and my crazy writing dreams, frenzies and writers block. You saw me through the emotional turmoil and countless hours of reading my progress aloud only to have you laugh when my face turned bright red. I love you and there isn’t anyone I’d rather be on this journey with.

  Next, I need to thank my family. I know this was kept quiet due to my own insecurities and worries but I am so forever grateful for all of your love and support. I am honored to be part of our loud, rambunctious, family. I want to thank my mom for showing me how to utilize writing as an outlet, a voice in the chaos, holding me steady. I hope you like it and know this wouldn’t be possible without you. And dad, your humor has taught me confidence but please, for the love of God, don’t read any of these!

  K for being my best friend all these years. Your unwavering support means the world. B for being a man who is good and stands up for what is wrong. M & E for being the purpose of what makes me laugh and despite being younger, being someone I can look up to (also for some great character development with the way you two crack me up with your stories). M for being a pain in the ass but persevering anyway. J, K… one day, I will let you read these. Until then… be good and honest and pure. Keep writing, keep creating, keep being musical. H, A, E, M, M and L… I am glad you are a part of our family. No matter what.

  A HUGE thank you to my writer friends and lifelines Andrea and Des. I seriously love both of you so much. From our FaceTimes, emotional support, and figuring this out as we go – you two keep me honest. All of your constant support and belief in me means the world.

  Also to my friends Lila, Carly and Michelle. You all are amazing and make writing so worth it. One of my favorite parts of this process is seeing your reactions. I am truly grateful for everything you offer.

  Thank you to my best friend Holly. You have read everything I have written and have, somehow, remained my friend. I am so honored to have our friendship despite your constant nagging me to be healthy and go swimming. Yeah, bet you didn’t think I’d go there in the acknowledgements section… I love you anyway, and thank you!