1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

My head is in Struggle City while my body is back in Palisade Shores. Questions without answers bump off each other like the bocci balls across the street at the beach.

Should I rename the bridal boutique now that it's mine? Should I prove to people here that I'm not the Snob, Snot, Snoot, or whatever it was they used to call me behind my back? Should I get some chocolate?

The answer to that last one is always yes.

Valerina's Bridal Boutique doesn't open until eleven, so I have plenty of time to grab a pound of chocolate to help me survive the day. Oh, and by the way, I am not Valerina.

But I did move back to my small, coastal hometown when she left me her shop and set sail around the world at sixty-five years young. That's a quote.

My aunt is quite the spunky character. Filling her open-toed ballroom dance high heels is a tall order. But I do my best to hold my head high while I walk along the Promenade, one of the names for our main street. The official title is El Camino , and it's a place I left on a wing and a prayer, hoping that my family's history would help and not hinder.

And that everyone would forget about the embarrassment that resulted in me leaving in the first place.

So far, I've only received a warm welcome, probably under threat that Aunt Valerina would crush them with her samba dancing shoes if they held my parents' mistakes against me.

Drawing a deep breath of sea-fresh air breezing across Golden Sands Beach, I remind myself there are far worse places to be than a small town with lots of delicious restaurants, a thriving beachfront area with a weekly entertainment showcase during the summer, and my very own business.

Er, Aunt Valerina's bridal shop.

When I reach the corner candy store: Sweethearts Fine Chocolates and Confections, the shade on the wooden door with glass panels is drawn. The sign reads closed . Apparently, they don't classify chocolate as a breakfast essential and keep the same hours as my aunt, which means I'll have to wait for my chocolate fix.

Down the street, Pinky's Squeeze bustles with activity as the morning crowd gets their coffees, teas, smoothies, and more.

That's when I remember the "and more" part includes ice cream...chocolate ice cream. Pinky has a policy that you can add a scoop of ice cream to any beverage for a small upcharge. The logic is you put cream in your coffee, so why not ice cream? Makes sense. Solid business strategy if you ask me. Not that I know much about that. I'm the new owner of the bridal shop and have no idea what I'm doing, hence the desperate need for chocolate.

In my opinion, chocolate and wedding gowns go together like well a bride and groom. However, there is the tiny issue of all that white fabric and chocolate-stained fingers. I'll have to think this through or keep my stash in the back room.

While I wait in line at Pinky's, two women who're definitely from a swanky part of Los Angeles, north of us, given their designer purses, shoes, and stylish sunglasses, stand casually aloof like this local staple with its neon sign, pink countertops, and lively flair is beneath them.

A little sigh escapes because I was once just like that.

As the line creeps forward, they debate the ice cream in coffee specialty.

"How can they get away with serving ice cream this early in the morning?" one says.

"All the influencers are posting about Pinky's and the original coffee float," the second says as if that explains it.

When they get to the front of the line, the first one asks, "What exactly is a coffee float?"

From behind the counter, Shelly answers, "It's like a root beer float, but with coffee instead of soda. We can do that too though."

The style maven clicks her tongue. "I'll stick with a giganta half-caf, half-decaf, oat milk latte, topped with fat-free foam, and with a dash of sugar-free caramel."

All that free dom sounds like she's dominated by a fixation on looking a certain way. She must listen to the influencers on that topic, too. I certainly used to but muted their voices when I had bigger problems on my hands than following the latest trends.

Shelly's sunny smile falters. "We don't have that, um, exact type of beverage here."

I can't help but interject. "The coffee float is a real treat. Don't knock it until you try it. Plus, people drink mochas and all kinds of chocolate-infused coffee beverages in the morning such as hot chocolate, so don't judge."

Please don't judge. I've faced enough of that for a lifetime, including hearing the gavel drop in my parents' illegal finance scheme case when our family lost everything.

With a top-to-bottom survey of me, the two socialites turn dismissively back to the counter. They each order a coffee float which feels like a small victory, then add two regular green teas. They'll snap photos of themselves with the floats, post them to social media, and then toss them in the trash. I know the routine well and it carves into that hollow inside that's always been there, and growing by the day.

Shelly says, "Coming right up." Then she mutters, "With a side of humble pie."

I cannot deny that I was once exactly like these women, out of touch, rude, and spoiled. Then I went from riches to rags, er, wedding gowns in satin, dupioni, lace, and other fine fabrics when I inherited the boutique.

My old group of friends moved on or didn't want anything to do with me, but Shelly is relatively new to town. She doesn't know the sordid Fletcher family story. We've become friends, bonding over books and beach life.

However, she doesn't greet me with her usual enthusiasm.

"Don't let them get you down."

She shrugs. "It's not that."

I peer from side to side. "Is it Petunia?" That's the code name we made up for her crush: Dune Kent, the grumpiest guy in the county.

Her cheeks tinge pink and she nods.

"How long until your morning break?"

"Ninety seconds."

"I'm going to order a coffee float with ice cream, please."

"What flavor?"

"I'm a chocovert, so there is only one option."

Shelly cracks a smile. "Is that like being an extrovert for chocolate?"

"You got it. If you want to make it a double and join me, we can chat." I've been a sounding board for the slowly burning relationship between her and Dune.

Biting her lip, Shelly nods and then puts together our beverages.

As for me, my romantic life has been on hold since high school. Sure, I've been on a few dates but never clicked with anyone in a meaningful way. Still waiting for the one, ahem, and lamenting Mr. High School Heartbreaker, who ditched me like everyone else.

After Shelly sets the timer on her watch and with beverages in hand, we wander over to Golden Sands Beach. A few surfers are out in the lineup and kids already splash in the shallows.

"This place is such a treasure. I'm so glad Pinky convinced me to move here," Shelly says.

"Rumor has it, my great, great, great plus a few more grandfathers back struck gold in the creek near this beach and that's what started our family's empire. Oh, how the mighty fall."

"Are you talking about the Fletchers, one of the founding families of Palisade Shores?"

I nod slowly as we near Sand Dollar Strand, where the mansion that I grew up in sits atop the bluff. Someone must've bought it because instead of my mother having the gardeners fill the planters with begonias and million bells, sculpted topiaries stand like guards who're protecting something behind them.

"Yep, the Fletchers. The rumors you've heard are probably true. My parents hid their ill-gotten wealth in plain sight, including a private helicopter, monthly trips to exotic places, twelve luxury cars, hosting an outrageous sweet sixteen for me, which made it onto a reality show, and a graduation party that rivaled a wedding with its lavishness and expense. And that's exactly where it all ended. But we don't have to talk about this. Tell me what's going on with Petunia."

Shelly's lips quirk because our code name will never not be funny, but then the corners of her lips drop as she shrugs. "Not much, and that's the problem. He spends half the day surfing and the other half working. But maybe I need to take my mind off it. Tell me about your graduation party. I didn't get one of those."

I hesitantly describe the decadence and then add, "Above the live band, federal agents knocked on the door, interrupting the festivities, and seized the contents of our home, arrested my parents, and left me on the street. Granted, Sand Dollar Strand is one of the nicest neighborhoods in the country and my friends took me in that night, but my welcome soon expired when I could no longer keep up with their lifestyle."

"Yeesh," Shelly says.

"The big idea was to go to an Ivy League, become someone important, and live the metropolitan life, but my college fund evaporated into my parents' debt."

"I'm still paying off mine and work at a coffee joint. I hate to say it, but unless you want to become a professional like a doctor or lawyer, degrees are overrated. That's what Pinky says, anyway."

"Thank goodness for aunties. Mine—Valerina—was like a guardian angel. My mother was largely absent from my life, but Aunt Valerina taught me how to sew, bake, and change a tire. After everything that happened with my parents, she helped me game plan."

Shelly laughs. "I call Pinky my fairy godmother. Well, she is my godmother, not technically my aunt, but that's how I've always thought of her."

"What did you study in college?"

"Don't laugh. Puppet arts. Turned out my ex was the one who had me by the strings."

I wince and will let her tell that story when she's ready. "I went to beauty school and learned to do hair and makeup. I managed to support myself in Los Angeles while also doing seamstress work on the side, but when rent and the cost of living broke, my clients started doing their own hair and life swept over me like one of those waves."

We pause and watch the surf for a long moment.

Shelly tugs on her long hair. "Not going to lie. I've watched a few DIY videos."

I wave my hands, warning her against playing with hair chemistry. "If you need a trim or anything done, just come to me."

"Thanks. So, your aunt left you the shop?"

I nod. "She retired, so that and her house, too. Meanwhile, she's on an around-the-world cruise, which was her big bucket list item. My grandparents on my father's side were the wealthy ones. Mom always said she married up. Her side of the family came here from Brazil and Aunt Valerina plans to move back to her hometown outside Sao Paulo when she's done traveling."

"Petunia loves traveling to surf breaks all over the world. He mentioned one there called Corals."

"Have you ever surfed?"

"Sunny said he'd teach me," Shelly says, referring to Dune's brother. "How about you?"

I snort and gesture over my shoulder toward the mansion. "I lounged in the infinity pool. The sand between my toes and the sun on my skin was always too itchy and sweaty, but—" I look around as the beachgoers fill in with smiles, laughter, surf, and a day of easygoing fun. "During my senior year of high school, I started to rethink that. The scent of sunscreen is underrated."

Shelly laughs and nods, somehow knowing exactly what I mean.

As we circle back the way we came, she taps her coffee float cup against mine. "Cheers to the salt life. I'm glad you're back. Everyone here is super nice, but it's hard being away from friends. If you ever need help at the boutique or to talk about the Petunias in your life, I'm here."

"Thanks, but all I have are weeds in my garden." My laughter dies as we near the bridal boutique because a man of medium height wearing an impeccably tailored suit gets out of a black Bentley right in front of the shop. I recognize the type from my old world. Likely, he's in business finance, arrogant and condescending.

"This will be about as fun as a bucket of cold water being dumped over my head." I take my last sip of coffee.

Shelly, ever sunny, points out the bright side. "Looks like you have a Henry Cavill lookalike as your first customer of the day."

"If he's helping to dress shop, he's engaged."

Shelly's watch beeps. With a wave, she hurries down the sidewalk back to Pinky's.

She's not wrong about Mr. All-Business being attractive with his chiseled jaw dusted with stubble, intense blue eyes, strong brow, and impeccably trimmed brown hair with a curl at the top. A little glow grows inside.

As I get closer, the only problem is I do recognize him and it's not the Hollywood actor. My stomach tightens and twists.

Mr. High School Heartbreaker stands on the sidewalk outside Valerina's.

My mouth goes dry and I consider walking in the other direction. However, the sore spot in my chest isn't a good enough reason to abandon my aunt's store.

He extends his hand to a woman who emerges from the sleek vehicle and guides her toward the sidewalk. She lowers her sunglasses, peering at the boutique with its two arched windows displaying gowns that frame the door. The exterior is a modern matte not-quite black with clean white lettering on the sign and lots of pink embellishments.

Aunt Valerina kept it classy.

Neither one of my customers smiles, but one rises on my face like I'm a lovesick thirteen-year-old all over again because that's when I fell for Finn Barton.

Unfortunately, it was his family who ruined mine.