3

Beth

Maybe I was a little too harsh on Milo last week.

Ugh. Why can't I get that stupid thought out of my head? It's been buzzing around my subconscious like a swarm of flies around roadkill.

Okay. That's a disturbing image. Sorry.

I've recently branched out from my usual sweet romcoms and read three dystopian romances back-to-back. They're clearly affecting me.

Much like a certain grumpy goalie I can't seem to get out of my head after he—or okay, we—bumped into each other on the street.

What can I say? I was thrown off-balance, both figuratively and literally, and I may have rebooted into Snarky Beth mode a little too fast. A little too…aggressively.

I mean, I insulted his manhood, made jokes about his smile scaring children away, and insinuated he was a dummy.

He proved me wrong on that one, and I will never look at the term cul de sac the same way again.

In fact, he kind of proved me wrong on all counts.

Not that his expression wasn't a bit…unusual when he tried to smile, but maybe he was nervous?

And not that I can verify my dig about his, uh, manhood, but when I served it to him, he didn't cower or back down.

Importantly, he also didn't get mean or cruel.

He simply volleyed back in a smart, funny, and genuine way.

Maybe a genuine way.

I'm not that kind of guy. That's not what I'm looking for.

Look, I'll give him props for saying the right thing. He even sounded like he meant it. So why couldn't I believe him?

Because guys have said one thing to my face, then another thing behind my back before.

And that's a special type of pain.

That's betrayal.

And yeah, maybe I haven't entirely gotten over the way Liam and Dylan treated me. Maybe I've built up a sky-high wall around my heart to protect myself from getting hurt. But until I really know a guy, I'm not giving him my trust ever again.

I've been fooled twice, I am not going to be fooled a third time.

If that means I come across a little…harsh, then tough. So be it.

I scratch my arm, not liking how that makes me feel. I may be snarky and sarcastic, but I'm never outright mean.

Unless it's to Willow Wilkins.

She made my senior year at Comfort Bay High a nightmare, mocking me about my weight relentlessly, so she deserves all the stink eye I throw at her.

But I do owe Milo an apology.

It's the right thing to do. So if our paths happen to cross tonight, then I'll quickly slip one in, and we can move on.

I scan the ballroom.

Not that I'm purposely on the lookout for him. I'm just taking in the scene at Fraser's historical romance-themed party.

I've hung out with the girls, which was nice since I've hardly seen them all summer.

I had a memorable meeting with Evie's boss who, like me, came dressed as Marie Antoinette. Unlike me, the majority of her cleavage was pushed up and spilling out the top of her corset. But hey, if you've got it, flaunt it. And believe me, she had plenty of it.

Then Fraser took to the stage to reveal the real reason for throwing this party. I may have shed a tear or two at his beautiful proposal to Evie.

Amiel and I joined the lineup, and we've just finished congratulating the newly engaged couple, which means…operation ATGG (Avoid The Grumpy Goalie) can recommence.

"You know, for a person who says she's trying to dodge a certain someone, you seem overly concerned in trying to find him," Amiel observes, bringing her champagne flute to her mouth in an attempt to hide her wry grin.

I ignore the underlying point she's making and take in the newest member of the Fast-Talking Five, and the person who, in a short space of time, has become my closest friend.

I don't make friends easily.

Since meeting Evie and Hannah in high school when my family moved to Comfort Bay, and Summer joining our posse a year after we graduated, I haven't made any new friends. Being a military kid and moving all the time meant I never developed friend-making skills. What was the point of getting close to anyone if we were bound to move anyway?

Not to mention, my personality is something of an acquired taste.

Characters in books make complete sense to me. I can see their strengths as well as their faults. Even when I don't agree with their actions, I at least understand their underlying motivation.

Humans in real life confuse me.

I'm a perpetual disappointment to my mother, but the apple of my dad's eye. I've got two twin sisters, Schapelle and Tenley, who are five years older than me. Schapelle and I click because we're both huge book nerds, but Tenley and I don't have much in common. My youngest sister Allie and I fight like cats and dogs even though we love each other like crazy.

And men?

Do not even get me started on men. They're not just from another planet, they're from another universe.

But with Amiel, it was friendship love at first sight.

She comes across as a little shy and reserved at first, but when you get to know her, she's witty, smart, super loyal, has the best taste in books, and makes the most wickedly delicious, salted caramel cupcakes I've ever had. They're so good, they've become my go-to when I feel like indulging occasionally.

She looks stunning tonight, a Greek goddess draped in a white toga-style dress with gold accents and accessorized with golden sandals, a leafy crown, a few pieces of chic jewelry, and a plastic apple in her hair. She's bronzed her skin and is positively glowing.

She lifts a brow, waiting for a response.

"I'm trying to find Milo so that I can avoid him," I explain, my eyes raking over all the people dressed in elaborate historical costumes, with one Flintstones-inspired exception.

"Okay. Whatever you say." Her grin grows into a smile. "I think I just saw him step outside."

"You know what," I say, casually setting my drink on a nearby table. "Think I need some fresh air. And while I'm outside, breathing in all the fresh air, I'll make sure he's there. So that I can avoid him, of course."

"Whatever you say."

A small giggle escapes her, which I ignore, and make my way to the doors that lead out to the terrace.

Amiel was right. Milo is there, leaning against the railing, facing away from me, with those impressively wide shoulders lit up by a streak of moonlight.

From what I've been able to gather from the quick glances I stole his way during the evening so far—all to keep my distance from him, obviously—he's come as a Renaissance poet. An unconventional choice, but I like it. It's unexpected.

His costume is a burgundy velvet doublet, a ruffled collar, a beret that hides his man bun—bonus points for that—and ivory-white tights.

Very tight ivory-white tights.

So tight that even from the other side of the ballroom I could clearly make out his massive quads.

Can't say I've ever really been impressed by a guy's thighs before.

Until tonight.

So yeah, I can admit Milo is an attractive guy…if you go for that whole well-built, muscular, pro athlete vibe, which I definitely do not. I've never watched a hockey match—or is it game?—in my life, and I have no intention of starting anytime soon.

I've tried to push him out of my mind since that karaoke night, but he keeps finding his way back in. It's strange because not only is Milo not my type, but no guy has really caught my eye since things ended with Liam and that was over four years ago. I've only been interested in boyfriends of the book boyfriend variety since.

Not that I'm interested in Milo. He's just suddenly on my mind.

Hannah's recent news that he's been house hunting in town isn't helping. That explains why I've been running into him—and trying to avoid him—on my early morning walks, and why my old bully, now Comfort Bay's star realtor Willow Wilkins, recognized him on the street.

Which makes me wonder why?

Why would a super-rich and famous athlete want to settle down in a small town he has no ties to?

Maybe I'll ask after my apology.

I take a few steps toward him.

He's standing in the far corner, away from everyone, and as I get nearer, I notice he's on his phone.

I stop walking when I start catching snippets of his conversation.

"That's not good enough…Uh-huh…Uh-huh…No. I don't care. Do your damn job. That's why I pay you the big bucks, Gary…Not my problem. Get it sorted. Now!"

I inch back a few steps.

He ends the call without saying goodbye, and I don't know what to do. Should I keep backing away and pretend I never overheard anything and then continue ignoring him, or should I go up to him, get my apology out of the way as fast as I can, and then continue ignoring him?

Before I can make up my mind, Milo spins around. His brow furrows as he marches toward me.

My throat suddenly goes very dry, but I manage to eke out a, "Hey, Mil?—"

"I'm sorry, but no, Beth," he cuts me off gruffly. "I'm not in the mood for a round of verbal sparring right now."

My throat suddenly rehydrates, and I regain my full voice, "Nice to see you, too, jerk."

"Whatever," he mutters before storming inside.

I stand there in disbelief.

I can't believe I came out to apologize to him for being rude. He doesn't deserve my apology. Not when he's Mr. Rudey McRudeyson himself.

"Not in the mood, my butt," I angrily grumble to myself as I stomp back indoors, rage surging through me.

"Whoa. What happened?" Amiel asks the second she sees me. "Why do you have steam coming out of your ears?"

"Take a wild guess."

"Milo?"

"Yeah. Milo. We talked. Or rather, I tried to talk to him but he's a stuck up you-know-what and brushed past me with a pathetic, 'I'm not in the mood for a round of verbal sparring.'"

I reach for my drink and down a hefty gulp as I wait for Amiel to respond.

I would have accepted any of the following replies from her:

Oh, I'm so sorry he said that to you, or…

You were right all along, Beth, he really is a grump, or…

Let's find his car and cover it in cake.

But instead, that wry grin is back on her face.

I tap my fingers against my forearm. "What?"

"I can't believe you're not seeing it."

"Seeing what?"

"Uh, hello. What trope are you and Milo currently playing out?"

"No. No no. No, no, no. Do not even go there."

"Oh, I'm going there. Just like we went there with Hannah earlier this summer about Culver and her going from friends to lovers."

"That was different."

"How was that different?"

"It wasn't me," I mutter, taking another gulp.

Amiel giggles. "True. But the only actual difference between your situation and Hannah's is simply the trope involved. Hers with Culver is friends to lovers. Yours with Milo is enemies to lovers."

I fold my arms across my chest. Or try to. This darn corset is so tight that even basic movements are a struggle. "Mark my words, Amiel. I will never be that man's lover."

"But—"

"But nothing. Trust me, I am well aware of how this trope plays out. But Milo Payne is exactly that—a pain. And I will not be falling in love with him. I've crossed paths with him exactly three times. The first time, I brushed him off at karaoke because I refused to be another one of his easy wins. The second time he barreled into me and almost killed me." A slight exaggeration, but who's got time for fact checking? "And now he's validated my low-key online snooping. He's rude and entitled all because he's some big hotshot hockey star." I take a breath. I'm all riled up, and I hate that he has such an effect on me. "Are you ready to go? I know you have an early start tomorrow."

"Sure." Amiel keeps her eyes on me for a moment, and I can tell she's thinking things. Thankfully, she keeps her thoughts to herself. "Let's say goodbye to the girls."

We try to find our friends but Hannah—along with Culver—is MIA, and Evie and Fraser are still dealing with well-wishers. We manage to locate Summer hanging out with Evie's sisters, Harper and Laney, so we pull her in for a quick hug and to tell her we're leaving.

Five minutes later, we're in my car.

I'm still fuming.

And hating this tight, restrictive outfit more than ever. Thankfully, it's only a ten-minute drive to Amiel's place on the outskirts of Comfort Bay, so I'll survive. But once I get home, I am ripping it off me and swearing off corsets for life. My heart goes out to the poor women who had to wear them daily.

"Thanks again for the ride," Amiel says.

I smile at her. "Don't mention it."

She's confided in me a little about what brought her to Comfort Bay, and by the sounds of it, that ex of hers is a real piece of work. I know she's struggling financially, so a fifty buck Uber ride is an expense she could do without at the moment. It's also why she's working all the shifts she can get at the bakery.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

"Hot and bothered," I reply, referring to my outfit. The smile rising on her lips suggests she took it to mean something else. Or rather, someone else. "Don't start with me."

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"Your smile says it all."

"Fine. I'm looking out the window so you can't see my smile."

As I continue driving, I regret not taking off my rococo heels and wearing a pair of flats like I did on the way to the party. The shoes are restrictive and slippery, and I don't think it's safe for me to be driving while wearing them.

Unfortunately, there's construction on the side of the road, so the second lane is closed and there's nowhere for me to pull over. At least it's not busy out, and I'm only doing thirty miles an hour.

With one hand firmly on the steering wheel and my eyes glued straight ahead of me, I lean down and try to unfasten the strap on my right shoe at least. The stupid thing is stuck, so I have to fiddle with it.

I attempt to loosen it.

Once. Nothing.

Twice. Ooh, it budges a little.

Thrice. Nope. I lose it.

Darn. I was so close to getting it off.

I glance down for a nanosecond to see what the problem is, and I manage to detach it.

My celebration is short-lived because as soon as I look up, red tail lights fill the windscreen. I slam on the brakes, but it's too late. I nudge the bumper bar of the car stopped in front of me.

"Are you okay?" I ask Amiel.

"Yeah. Fine. Sorry, I should have been looking."

"No. I should have been looking. I'm the one driving. This is my fault."

"What do we do now?" Amiel asks, glancing at me nervously.

Before I can answer, the driver's side door of the car in front of us opens.

A man gets out.

A man wearing a beret and with broad shoulders I'd recognize anywhere.

Oh no.

I slink down in my seat.

Of all the people in the world I could have rear-ended, why did it have to be him?