Storm Shells (The Wishes Series #3)

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  Décaries have a long history of overachieving. When you’re born into money, you tend to spend the rest of your life trying to prove that you deserve it. Both Ryan and my father would’ve been independently wealthy without their inheritances. Following in their footsteps had always been the plan – only now, the plan sucked. I’d lost things along the way that no amount of money or success could replace. And I got the distinct feeling that it was all downhill from here.

  “I’m going to organise a social get-together with Judge Lassiter,” said my father, brainstorming. “Perhaps dinner.”

  “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it,” I muttered, toying with my food again.

  He slammed his hand on the table. It was his version of a cease and desist order. “You will be there too,” he declared. “I’d like to prove that you’re not a complete ingrate.”

  I wasn’t conforming when I agreed to attend. I just couldn’t be bothered arguing. I left straight after dinner, making no excuse for my early departure. I was close to saying something I would regret, and as much as my father deserved it, my mother did not.

  * * *

  The last thing I was expecting was to find Trieste on my doorstep when I got home. As I got out of the elevator, she jumped to her feet.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked. I expected to hear something terrible. She’d never shown up at my apartment before.

  “Where have you been?” she asked. “I’ve been waiting here for over an hour.”

  I twisted the key in the lock. “Dinner at my parents’ house.” The door opened and I ushered her in ahead of me.

  “I was worried about you,” she said, flustered. “I thought you’d be home. You’re always home. You have no life.”

  I couldn’t deny it. It was true.

  “Why are you really here, Trieste?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about something.” I pointed her in the direction of the couch. Conversations with Trieste were notoriously long. I was probably going to need to be seated to hear it.

  She sat, picked up a cushion and gripped it to her chest. “It’s about Felix.”

  I groaned, flopping on the couch opposite her. “What about him?”

  “I’m having trouble talking to him,” she revealed. “We don’t seem to have a whole lot in common.”

  “Don’t you have a girl friend you can discuss this with?” I asked, desperate for an out.

  “Not really. Besides, a boy’s point of view might be more relevant in a situation like this.”

  As far as I knew, there was no situation. Felix wasn’t into Trieste, which was fine by me because he was a douchebag of epic proportions. I just didn’t want to be the one to tell her.

  “Look,” I began. “If he’s not interested, he’s not interesting. Let it go.”

  “I like him.”

  I swiped both hands down my face, groaning. “Trieste, you’re impossible.”

  “Adam, you’re a terrible friend,” she shot back. “You’re supposed to be encouraging and supportive.”

  Did she know me at all?

  “What about hobbies? Find some common ground,” I suggested.

  “Do you think it’ll work?”

  No. I didn’t think it would work. Even if Felix did see the light, it would be a recipe for disaster. Two people with nothing in common had absolutely no hope of holding it together. I’d been there.

  “Sure.” I lied like I meant it.

  She tossed the cushion aside and leaned back, thinking hard. “He likes liqueurs – the fancy ones. He talks about that a lot.”

  “And you like liqueurs?” I quizzed sceptically. “That’s your common interest?”

  She straightened up the ears on her beanie. “No. I don’t know anything about them,” she admitted. “I did try some champagne at my cousin’s wedding once, though.”

  I smiled at her naivety. “Great. What else have you got to work with?” A relationship based on a mutual love of alcohol didn’t seem exactly spellbinding.

  “Nothing. Let’s stick with the liqueur angle. I’m a quick learner.” She sat forward in the seat. “You could teach me all about them. That way, I’ll have something to talk to him about.”

  I was shaking my head in protest before she’d even finished laying out her plan. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  She widened her eyes. “Truly?”

  I stared at her for a long moment. “No,” I conceded, “but close.”

  * * *

  I had no idea why Trieste always seemed to get the better of me. I gave in to her stupid suggestion and raided Ryan’s liquor cabinet.

  I drew the line at letting her taste test the whole collection. I picked four of his best bottles and told her to make do. I lined up some shot glasses on the coffee table and poured a miniscule amount of cognac into one of the glasses. Trieste was hard to cope with sober. I didn’t want to see her smashed.

  “What is it?” she asked, holding up the glass. “I like the colour. It looks like caramel.”

  “Grand Opus Cognac,” I replied, double-checking the label.

  She brought the glass to her lips and took a small sip.

  “It’s strong,” she choked.

  “They’re all strong,” I told her. “That’s the point.”

  After half an hour and a dozen or so sips, she’d picked her favourite – Revolution Brandy, because she liked the colour. The taste seemed to be wasted on her. She described it as being warm.

  It was then that I realised Trieste was a lightweight. The girl who usually talked a mile a minute was now three sheets to the wind, slurring her words and constantly pulling at the ears on her beanie. Despite her protests, I insisted she stay the night and sleep it off.

  It was a momentous occasion. Trieste Kincaid became the first woman in history to actually sleep in Ryan’s bed.

  * * *

  She was gone the next morning. I found a note sitting on the pile of sheets she’d stripped from Ryan’s bed.

  Unbelievably, the girl jabbered as much in print as she did in speech.

  These are top quality sheets. If you wash them using an extra rinse cycle, you’ll remove all of the detergent residue. See you at Billet-doux this afternoon. Don’t be late.

  Love,

  Trieste Kincaid.

  Trieste was special. That’s the only word to describe a girl who leaves a note like that and signs her full name.

  I hadn’t had any intention of going to Billet-doux that day but followed her orders and turned up anyway – on time, which impressed her no end.

  “You came,” she beamed, rushing me at the door.

  “Didn’t you think I would?”

  “I wasn’t sure. I read somewhere that alcohol can act as a depressant. I was worried that you would wake up even grumpier than usual. I left the number for the suicide hotline on your fridge just in case.”

  I dipped my head to mutter my reply. “Thank you for your concern, but I didn’t actually drink anything.”

  She widened her eyes. “Really? I was drinking alone? That’s so sad.”

  Trieste sounded so appalled that I couldn’t help laughing. “I’ve heard that alcohol can act as a depressant,” I told her, leaning down to speak quietly.

  * * *

  I didn’t think Trieste would remember much of the liqueur lesson from the night before, but getting wasted hadn’t dented her memory at all. Not only had she remembered, she must’ve left my apartment, gone to the nearest liquor store and researched some more.

  I stood just out of sight and listened as Trieste gave Felix her best spiel. He didn’t exactly seem enamoured. He continued polishing glasses and nodding every time she paused to take a breath. Maybe I should’ve reminded her that less is more. When she started rattling off the alcohol content of everything on the top shelf of the bar, I was ready to run over and shut her down myself. Then I remembered that Felix was shady, and I didn’t want him to be enamoured by her in any way, shape or form.

  * * *

&n
bsp; It turned out to be a busy night at Billet-doux. I ended up staying until the end of dinner service, doing nothing more important than being present. After I’d secured the night’s takings in the safe, I made my way back to front of house, preparing to leave.

  When I heard voices coming from the staff cloakroom as I passed, I stopped to listen – perhaps because it was Felix talking.

  “She’s been all over me for weeks,” I heard him say.

  I recognised the guy he was talking to as one of the kitchen staff. “What are you going to do about it?” he asked.

  “Give her what she wants,” replied Felix, like the smarmy douche that he was.

  “She’s weird, dude.”

  “Weird but willing,” said Felix, making kitchen guy chuckle.

  The rat I’d always smelled where Felix was concerned was now beginning to stink. Kitchen guy continued laughing as Felix tore Trieste to shreds.

  I hung behind the partially open door until I couldn’t take it any more. Once he mentioned his plan of getting her into bed, I drew the line.

  I pushed the door all the way open, making them both jump.

  “Hey, Adam.”

  I swear I saw his almost-moustache twitch.

  Kitchen guy bolted past me as quickly as he could without running.

  “We were just talking about Trieste,” volunteered Felix. “I’ve asked her out on a date.”

  He’d made it sound so innocent, as if he’d suddenly seen the light and realised how great she was. I wanted to smack him.

  I pointed toward the door. “And now you can go out there and tell her that you’ve changed your mind,” I ordered.

  He shook his head. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “A few reasons. Firstly, date rape is illegal. That’s the plan, right? Get her smashed and get her back to your place?” He didn’t answer me so I continued. “Secondly, I think you like working here. If you want to keep working here, you’re going to cancel and you’re going to leave Trieste alone.”

  The idiot actually thought about it for a second before calling my bluff.

  “You can’t fire me.”

  “You want to try me?”

  After a long moment of deliberation, he pushed past and skulked out to front of house.

  Trieste was on the far side of the room, straightening tables, too far away for me to hear the conversation. I saw her nodding as he broke it to her.

  Trieste was a tall girl. She seemed to shrink before my very eyes as her shoulders slumped. She looked devastated.

  If I was a good friend I would’ve gone out there to comfort her, but somewhere along the line I’d lost the ability to deal with anyone I cared about – and I truly did care for Trieste. She’d seen me through some pretty dark days lately. A good friend would’ve returned the favour.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t a good friend. I was the kind of friend who snuck out the kitchen door so he didn’t have to deal with her.

  June 26

  Charli

  It took a couple of weeks for Ryan to pull together his wine deal, and as much as he insisted he got a bargain, it still cost him plenty. Apart from dealing nonstop with Meredith Tate, he’d also taken Lily out for dinner in the hope of getting a better deal. Hearing the gruesome details over breakfast the next morning was the highlight of my week.

  “It was excruciating, Charli,” he complained. “I endured an hour long car ride to Hobart with the girl. She never shut up. By the time we got there, I practically had nothing to live for.”

  I was laughing so hard it became soundless. “I did warn you.”

  He shoved the last piece of toast into his mouth. “No amount of prior warning could’ve prepared me for that.”

  “Are you going to see her again?” I asked, trying to compose myself.

  Ryan took his plate to the sink. “Not if I live to be a hundred.”

  The only sure-fire way of not seeing Lily again was to get out of town, but his initial plan of buying me out and getting back to New York as soon as possible seemed to have gone awry. I liked having Ryan around so I never questioned why. He’d hardly mentioned Billet-doux lately, let alone presented me with his buyout offer. I never questioned that either.

  I began clearing the table. “Do you have plans today?”

  I had to ask. Thanks to his bromance with Alex, his social schedule was busy. They were constantly chopping wood, pulling cars apart in the shed or surfing. To clarify, Alex surfed. Ryan fluffed around in the low-breaking waves trying to find his balance on a mini-mal board that Alex had been storing in the shed for a hundred years.

  Having fun was a concept that eluded Ryan most of the time. The uptight, suit-wearing New Yorker had crossed over to the dark side by becoming a laid-back country hick, if only temporarily.

  “I have nothing planned. Why? Do you have something in mind?”

  I finally felt ready to make a start on the nursery. Alex and Gabrielle had offered to help me clear out the spare room and paint plenty of times, but like all things important, I’d been putting it off.

  “Will you help me paint the baby’s room?”

  Judging by his expression, the mere suggestion had caused him pain. “You should probably know, I’ve never painted a wall in my life.”

  “That’s because you’ve always paid someone to do it. You’d never chopped wood or worked on cars until you got here either,” I reminded.

  He smiled brightly, proud of his boondock accomplishments. “I suppose not.”

  * * *

  Ryan’s promise of ignoring Flynn only held until he saw him. As we were leaving to head to the hardware store, Flynn appeared on his front porch. He glanced at us but kept walking to his car.

  It was the big mouth New Yorker who spoke first. “Hello, Officer Davis.”

  “Ryan, shut up,” I hissed.

  Flynn changed course. “Hello. How are you?”

  “Fine.” Ryan glanced back at me.

  Flynn turned his attention to me. “How are you, Charli? You look lovely.”

  “Doesn’t she?” gushed Ryan. “Her husband is a lucky man.”

  The look of fury I directed at him was wasted. His back was turned.

  Thankfully, Flynn took the high road. He made polite excuses and left quickly.

  “Why did you do that?” I hissed, as soon as he was out of earshot.

  “No reason.”

  “Get in the car, Ryan,” I told him.

  * * *

  The aisles of Norm’s hardware store seemed narrower than I remembered, perhaps because I was wider. Ryan followed me to the back, righting a broom as I knocked it over and shifting a display of gardening gloves out of my way.

  “You’re like a human bulldozer,” he muttered.

  I pointed at the paint selection chart on the back wall. “Shut up and pick a colour.”

  Ryan pretended to study the chart. “Don’t you already have something in mind?”

  “Yes, purple.”

  He clapped his hands. “Purple it is. Choose your tint and let’s get out of here.” Something about my expression as I glanced at him made him groan out loud. “It’s not that simple is it? You’re going to give me a big crock of fairy stories, aren’t you?”

  I shook my head. “Not if you choose the right colour.”

  Ryan turned his attention to the chart. “Well, I like that one.” He pointed at a deep purple square. “It’s the same colour as five-hundred-dollar poker chips.”

  It was truly a horrible shade, and far too dark for a nursery.

  I dismissed his idea instantly. “How about lilac?” I suggested. “Lilac represents the purest form of love. The sincere kind, where nothing is expected in return.”

  “It’s not bad,” he conceded, “but very boring and pastel. How about something a bit brighter and more lively?” He pointed out another poker chip purple.

  I scrunched up my nose. “Nothing about violet is lively.”

  “Why not? It’s bright.”

  “It symbo
lises meekness and humility. Violets are shy flowers. They hide under their leaves.”

  He looked across at me, frowning. “You are so full of baloney.”

  “It’s the truth, Ryan,” I insisted. “Where do you think the term ‘shrinking violet’ comes from? I don’t want my kid to be a shrinking violet.”

  “I sincerely doubt that’s a possibility, Charli,” he retorted. “She has you for a mother.”

  * * *

  I didn’t feel up to making small talk with Norm while he mixed my paint. We decided to take a walk down the main street while we waited. As expected, Ryan was unimpressed by Pipers Cove’s shopping hub.

  “At least each store is exclusive,” he teased.

  “Not quite. We have two beauty salons.” I pointed down the street toward Jasmine’s salon.

  Ryan read the sparkly sign. “I take it that is the best one?”

  I muffled my laugh with my hand, unwilling to draw the attention of the sparkly Barbie lurking inside. As we passed, I peeked through the front window and spotted Wade at the counter. He saw me too. I probably could’ve gotten away with a quick wave, but I was in the mood for tormenting Ryan. I grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him inside.

  “Hi, Wade,” I beamed. “Are you manning the salon today?”

  “Just for a minute. Jasmine stepped out to get some lunch.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  Ryan cleared his throat, either prompting me to introduce him or hurry up and get him out of there.

  “Who’s your friend?” asked Wade, making the call for me.

  I patted Ryan’s arm. “Oh, he’s not my friend. He’s my brother-in-law. This is Ryan.”

  “Oh, right, the wine bloke. You’re Lily’s new flame.”

  “No,” snapped Ryan. “That flame was extinguished early, Wayne.”

  “Wade,” he corrected. “I think you’d better set things straight with Lil. I don’t think you’ve distinguished anything.”

  I made a polite excuse to leave and nudged Ryan toward the door.

  “Wait,” called Wade, stepping out from behind the counter. “Aren’t you going to buy something, Charli? You’re the first customer we’ve had all day.”

  At a loss, I glanced around the salon. “Ah, I don’t think I need anything.”