Sandcastle Beach--Includes a Bonus Novella

by Jenny Holiday

  Maya took a deep breath and forced herself to smile. “I need you in there, Holden. They’re supposed to be dancing around us.” Also, don’t be a dick. “And right now I’m not there, so that means they’re dancing around you.” She and Holden were supposed to be doing the boy-band moves in the center of the “garden,” and everyone else was sort of frolicking around them in a more traditional “Shakespearey” way. The juxtaposition was intended to be funny.

  Holden did this thing with his face she was starting to become familiar with. It wasn’t an eye roll, exactly. It was more subtle than that. More like a slight loosening of his face. It seemed like something a teenager would do if he knew he couldn’t get away with a more strident display of displeasure.

  It pissed her right off.

  But what could she do? She needed Holden. She had bet the farm on Holden.

  “You know what, folks? Let’s call it. Work on your lines—remember we’re off book on Monday—and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Law hadn’t seen Maya in the almost two weeks that had elapsed since their dinner in Bayshore. She hadn’t come into the bar. He hadn’t seen her on the street. He’d even gone down to the lake last night, a full-moon night, but though Eve and Nora had been there, there’d been no sign of Maya.

  Her absence gave him occasion to ponder the fraught end of what had been a pleasant evening in Bayshore, and to conclude that he should not have offered to look at her grant application. He’d only meant it to be helpful—an extra set of eyes.

  Because he’d been so gobsmacked over the notion that she might have to close the theater. Close the theater. It was impossible to imagine Moonflower Bay without the theater.

  But why was he so surprised? She had told him, that night on the roof, how much she needed Much Ado about Nothing to succeed. And there had been all that talk about taking over her dad’s store.

  But of course his offer to look at her grant application had come off as condescending. She was right. He had never applied for a grant before. If anything, he should have asked her to look at his application.

  He couldn’t get their conversation—or her—out of his head. The more time elapsed without her coming into the bar, the more he thought about her. It was getting to the point where she was crowding out other stuff, like remembering to pay Shane and Carter, which he had done a day late this week.

  “Ben Lawson?”

  A woman on the other side of the bar drew him from his thoughts. She was dressed up—for Lawson’s Lager House, anyway. She was wearing a silk top with a blazer over it, and her hair was in some kind of elaborate updo. Like Maya’s, but fancier.

  “Yes. You must be Brie?” His leading candidate for the bar manager position he’d posted last week. Even if he didn’t get started on the restaurant until after Labor Day, he’d decided to hire someone to oversee the bar now. He’d decided that day on the boat, in fact, with Maya and Rohan and Holden. He wanted more time to do stuff like that.

  He stuck his hand out. “Thanks for coming all this way.” Brie had responded to his ad, and after he’d looked at her résumé—which was great—they’d done a phone interview. She was currently managing an outpost of the Milestones chain in suburban Toronto, which was probably a lot more complicated than his bar gig would be. She’d told him she’d decided to flee the city and was looking for a job in a place that would lower her cost of living but keep her in reasonable proximity to family in Toronto.

  She seemed great, on paper anyway, so he’d asked if she’d be willing to make the trek out to meet in person and see the place. They’d spoken so easily and she’d asked such good questions that he’d ended up telling her about the new restaurant. And now that she was here, he kind of felt like she was auditioning him as much as the reverse.

  “Hey, Carter, I’m going to take a break.” Carter nodded, and Law ushered Brie to the far end of the bar. “This place is probably rougher than you’re used to.”

  “Well, maybe,” she said, taking the last stool while he leaned his elbows on the bar from the inside, “but it’s also got great wine and beer lists. Milestones isn’t serving Revel Cider or Bellwoods Jelly King—those are perfect summer taps.”

  “You must have looked at the website, which I have to admit is a little embarrassing. That’s definitely rough.”

  “I could help with that. I know a little about web design. I actually studied graphic design in college.”

  “So how come you’re managing restaurants?”

  “I got a job as a designer out of college, but for a bank. I hated it. I’d worked in bars and restaurants since high school. I always thought of it as a way to pay for my studies, as a temporary phase. But at some point, sitting there in my lightless cubicle arguing with executives about which shade of green best conveyed fiscal responsibility, I thought, Why am I doing this? This is making me unhappy. I like the restaurant world.”

  “What do you like about it?”

  “The buzz of a busy night. The feeling of a roomful of customers who start out happy and the challenge of keeping them that way. The camaraderie among the staff. The hours—I think all my formative years spent in the industry turned me into a permanent night owl.”

  “I agree. Don’t you find—” The bells on the door, which he had trained himself to hear even over the din of a busy night, drew his attention.

  It was Maya. With Holden.

  Maybe he had thought about her so much that he’d finally manifested her.

  Except manifesting someone with your thoughts was not a thing.

  They approached the bar, and he watched Carter, who was in the middle of serving someone else, acknowledge them. He turned to Brie. “Will you excuse me for a moment? I’ll be right back.”

  The director and her muse had their heads together and didn’t hear his approach. “Hey,” he said. “What can I get you?” The question was directed at the muse. He was already grabbing Maya’s wine.

  “White Claw?” Holden said.

  For God’s sake. He snorted.

  “What?” Holden said.

  Law just shook his head, and Maya rolled her eyes at him as he filled her glass.

  “What are you guys up to?” he asked, glancing at a sheaf of paper on the bar.

  “Running lines,” Maya said. She seemed a little stressed.

  He’d been wondering if she wanted to call a truce and watch the Crystal Palace first match of the season, which was coming up, but he wasn’t about to ask her in front of Holden. In fact, he wasn’t about to ask her at all. She was the one who initiated truces. Because truces were about her using him for his app and his big TV.

  “I’ll leave you to it.” He made his way back to Brie. “Let me ask you a question. What are your thoughts on White Claw?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Yuck.”

  “Right, but people keep asking for it. Should I not stock it because I don’t approve? Is that snobbery? I’ve always wanted this place to be good but not snooty, you know?”

  “Well, I think what I would do in your place is stock it, but also make my own version. Infuse some vodkas yourself. You could do lemon, but make it really lemony. Maybe add something like basil. Then do a berry one. Don’t you guys have a raspberry festival?”

  Wow. That was a great idea. He leaned in.

  “Make up batches of vodka,” she went on, “in big mason jars you keep visible. You can label them with the number of days the vodka has been infusing and create an assembly line of batches. That will pique people’s interest. You can get jars with spigots at the bottom, so to serve, you fill a glass with a shot, add soda, garnish, and voilà, homemade White Claw.”

  “That is genius,” he said, delighted with this idea.

  “You can’t actually call it Homemade White Claw, though—that’s copyright infringement. But you could call it something kind of funny that everyone will get. The town mascot is a mermaid, right?” Wow, she had really done her research. “Maybe White Fin?” she mused. “White Tail? That needs work, but so
mething along those lines. And it doesn’t have to be expensive. No need to use top-shelf vodka for something like this, and that way you can keep the price down on the finished drink.”

  Well, this was a no-brainer. “Look, I’m going to level with you. I kind of think your talents will be wasted on this place, but if you want it, the job is yours.”

  “Who is that over there with Benjamin?” Maya asked Carter when he came to check on them. Carter looked over to where Benjamin was huddled with a woman Maya didn’t know. He was leaning way over the bar, his attention riveted. Every once in a while he would smile and shake his head as she talked, like he couldn’t quite believe the amazing and delightful things coming out of her mouth.

  Sheesh, you disappear for a couple weeks and everything changes.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have stayed away. She just felt so weird after their dinner in Bayshore, like he felt sorry for her. She could handle pretty much anything from Benjamin except pity. So it had been easy to just “be too busy” to pop into the bar like usual. It wasn’t even that much of a lie. She was busy willing Holden into remembering his lines.

  “No idea,” Carter said.

  If the woman was a customer Benjamin had been casually chatting with, why had he gone directly back to her after he’d come over and served them?

  And one more question: Why was she so pretty? Her blond hair was twisted into a perfect chignon, and her delicate features were lightly made up—that was the kind of makeup men always thought was “natural” but actually took an hour.

  She looked like a Banana Republic model, basically.

  “How’s the play coming?” Pearl appeared on her other side, pulling out a stool.

  “Do you know who that is over there with Benjamin?” If anyone would know, it would be Pearl.

  She followed Maya’s gaze. “Nope.” She turned her attention to Maya. “Why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  Pearl got out her phone. “We haven’t done Tinder for a while.” Maya and Pearl, who were both all talk and no action on Tinder, occasionally swapped phones and swiped for each other. It always made for some interesting DMs after Pearl had had possession of her phone.

  Maya started to say she couldn’t right now, as she was working on lines with Holden, but what the heck. Maybe there was a boy Banana Republic model just waiting for her to swipe right.

  “You’re on Tinder?” Holden asked.

  Maya initially thought he was asking Pearl, as everyone always thought it was funny that such an old woman was on Tinder—everyone was ageist, basically. But he seemed to be directing the question to her.

  “Yeah,” she said as Carter appeared to take Pearl’s order, which was, as always, a White Russian.

  “Can we get another round, too?” Maya asked as she got out her phone, opened Tinder, and slid it toward Pearl. And heck, she was going to tell Pearl the secret Wi-Fi password.

  She leaned over to whisper in her ear, but suddenly Benjamin was there, pushing Carter out of the way. “I have this.” He refilled Maya’s wineglass. He looked at Pearl. “White Russian?” And Holden. “And another White Claw?”

  She wanted so badly to ask him who the mystery woman was, but she reminded herself that she didn’t care and picked up Pearl’s phone.

  “You want to order a pizza?” Holden asked when Benjamin was back with the drinks.

  “No,” Maya said, answering Holden but making eye contact with Benjamin. “I don’t eat the pizza here.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next Friday, Rohan appeared at the bar just after Jake and Sawyer arrived for their Friday-night hangout. Everyone greeted each other, and when Law asked, “What can I get you?” Rohan sighed and said, “I don’t know, something wet and alcoholic.”

  “Tough day?” Sawyer asked.

  “I’ve been helping my dad at the store, and I meant to order a hundred gardenias to arrive today. Turns out I ordered a thousand.”

  Nora and Eve arrived at the bar. “Hey,” Eve said, “we’re not crashing bromance night. We’ve got a table. We’re just grabbing drinks.”

  Law was about to take their order when he was distracted by a Spice Girl asking him what he really wanted. He whipped his head up. The familiar opening strains of that stupid song blasting from the jukebox had a Pavlovian effect on him.

  It was Maya.

  With Holden.

  Law had a band playing tonight but they were on a break, and Maya and Holden were bent over the jukebox, perusing the offerings.

  Which was fine.

  That’s what it was there for.

  All of a sudden, she looked up and right at him, almost like she’d felt his attention.

  And then came the glare.

  Okay, they were back to the glaring. Which was…strangely disappointing.

  “Wow,” Rohan said, “you guys still hate each other, eh? You seemed cool on the boat the other day.”

  It felt wrong to agree: Yes, I hate your sister. But it also felt too exposing to tell the truth: It’s more like a complex mixture of attraction and annoyance.

  “Yeah, I still don’t get that.” Nora turned to Law. “I know you say there’s no particular origin for the feud, but it’s hard to believe there isn’t something.”

  Law shrugged. “We just get on each other’s nerves. There’s no real cause.”

  “Oh, no, there is,” Rohan said.

  “There is?” Law exclaimed, and he was not a person who exclaimed.

  All faces swung toward Rohan, who said, “Yeah, you ruined her first play.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You didn’t know that?” Eve said, a quizzical look on her face.

  “No?” He looked at Sawyer for backup.

  Sawyer just shrugged. “I thought everyone knew that.”

  “I didn’t, if it’s any consolation,” Nora said.

  “Excuse me?” Law said again, because it was all he could think to say.

  “I just thought it was well established and you didn’t want to talk about it because it was kind of a dick move,” Sawyer said.

  “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

  “She was fifteen,” Rohan said, taking pity on him. “She was directing Romeo and Juliet out on the town green. Sadie Saunders was playing Juliet. Or she was supposed to be playing Juliet, but you guys skipped town.”

  Oh.

  Oh my God.

  Law remembered that weekend well. He had randomly won tickets to a concert in Toronto. It had been one of those radio station promos where they put you up in a hotel. He hadn’t taken over the bar yet, so he’d had more time for fun back then, and he and Sadie had been in the flush of…what? New infatuation? Nah, more like new lust. Sadie was fun, but he’d never been bowled over by love or anything, and he was pretty sure the same had been true for her. But she’d been a year older than he was, and a lot cooler. So their little fling that summer had been a blast. But if he really scraped back into the recesses of his brain, he did sort of remember arguing with her about a play she’d agreed to be in on a lark. Having to work pretty hard to convince her to come to Toronto. The details were vague but coming back to him. Oh, wait, Sadie had been flattered, he remembered because the director—that would be Maya—had told her she had the classical beauty needed to play Juliet.

  “I had concert tickets,” he said, like he was up before a judge.

  “Wait,” Nora said. “You dated Sadie?”

  “A long time ago. Casually.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to qualify the past. Yeah, he had dated Sadie. What was the big deal? Everyone liked Sadie. Having dated her would only reflect well on him.

  “Yes,” Rohan said. “And they took off the day of the play, so Maya had to cancel it. She’d made the sets and costumes herself and all that. That was her first play, so it was still all kind of homespun. She was inspired by the Leonardo DiCaprio movie version, so she’d painted a big backdrop of that Mexico City Jesus statue.”

  Well, shit. “She di
dn’t have understudies?” Law remembered a production of The Tempest when Prospero broke his ankle during the dress rehearsal and Alan Hemming had to fill in. Maya had been worked up because the high school teacher had been all of thirty if he was a day, and Prospero was supposed to be wise and old.

  “She does now,” Rohan said. “She’s never done a play since without understudies. In fact, she memorizes the entirety of every play she directs but isn’t in so in theory she can step in and play any role.”

  “She’s blown me off more than once because of play memorizing,” Nora said. “I always kind of thought it was overkill, but I get it now.”

  Oh God. How many hours had Maya sat at his bar, memorizing lines? He’d always thought she’d been working on the roles she’d been playing. But she’d been memorizing entire plays?

  “Yeah,” Rohan said to Nora. “She was really affected by that first disastrous show. She’d been planning to film it as part of her college application package.”

  This just kept getting worse. Law never would have tried to lure Sadie away that weekend if he’d thought— But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He hadn’t thought. He suddenly remembered arguing with Sadie in the car about whether Romeo and Juliet was a stupid story or a romantic one.

  It was like finding out your favorite superhero had an origin story you had somehow missed. He’d always thought he and Maya fought because…they just did. He barely remembered a time when Maya wasn’t sniping at him.

  But think: she’d been away at college for four years.

  Had she sniped at him before that?

  It was hard to say. She’d been a kid. She hadn’t really registered for him.

  Until she turned nineteen and came into his bar and started snarking at him. Sting Day. A day he had imbued with origin-story mythology, but apparently he’d gotten it all wrong. Holy shit.

  He looked over at her, but she wasn’t paying any attention to him. She was bopping around with Holden.

  “Oh my gosh, is Holden teaching Maya the ‘Petal Power’ choreography?” Nora exclaimed. “I gotta get my big pregnant ass in on this.” She grabbed Eve. “Come on. We can come back for drinks later.”