Page 23 of Oh, Puck!
She pushes off the wall and walks toward me. “Declan Morrison was a complete ass to you in that meeting.”
The bluntness is so refreshing it almost makes me laugh.
“Thank you! He was, wasn’t he?!”
“I'm glad I ran into you, actually. I wanted to make sure you didn't take it too personally," Darcy offers.
I think for a second. I mean, Ihavetaken it personally.
But is the sting of being dismissed like that… is it because he was an asshole? Or is it because a few nights ago, he made me feel like more of awomanthan I ever have before?
"I'm okay." I assure Darcy with a nod.
"Good. Because he’s a complete ass to everyone when he’s uncomfortable.” She stops in front of me, assessing me with those intelligent eyes. “Come on. I’m taking you to brunch.”
"Brunch?" A frown splits my face. “I should probably—”
“Unpack? Sulk in your office? Cry in the parking lot because this is turning out harder than you expected?” She raises an eyebrow and winks. “Come with me, eat something indulgent, and let me tell you how to survive this place.”
She doesn’t wait for an answer. She just turns and starts walking.
Of course, I follow.
Darcy’s car is a sleek black convertible that smells like she's drowned the seats in expensive perfume. She drives with one hand on the wheel, completely relaxed, while the other hand rests casually on the gearshift as we leave the parking lot.
“So,” she says, glancing at me, my hair blowing in the breeze. “First morning. How bad was it, on a scale of one to ‘I need to change my identity and move to Fiji’?”
I exhale, letting my head fall back against the headrest. “Well the captain just called me ‘woman.’ Like I was a category. Not a person.”
Darcy doesn’t flinch as she rounds a sharp turn and plants her foot on the gas. “Yeah. That tracks.”
“You’re not surprised?”
“I mean, he’s not usuallythatovertly irritable. I think Declan's a decent guy. They all are.” She pauses, and my brain fills in the blank: So…it's me?“But Declan Morrison is allergic to change. You walked in and threatened his entire comfort zone. Of course he lashed out.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“No,” she agrees, turning the car onto the oceanfront road. “It doesn’t. But it does make it predictable.”
We pull up to a converted surf shack with a hand-painted sign that readsGoldie’s Coffeein cheerful, looping letters. String lights are draped from the eaves, and the windows are packed with lush green plants.
The smell hits me as it wafts over the open rooftop of Darcy's vehicle. Rich, dark roast coffee, and something sweet baking.
“Oh,” I breathe. “So this is the place they were talking about.”
"Oh yeah." Darcy smirks. “Everyone talks about Goldie’s. You’ll see why.”
Walking inside is like stepping into a hug. Rustic wooden tables and mismatched chairs are scattered all around, and a giant chalkboard menu takes up one whole wall, listing things like honey lattes and sea-salt cookies.
My shoulders, which have been knotted up near my ears since the conference room, finally start to loosen.
A guy behind the counter with sun-bleached hair and a sleeve of tattoos greets Darcy with a nod. “The usual, Darce?”
“Thanks, Kai. And whatever she wants,” Darcy says, jerking a thumb at me. “She’s new. Be gentle.”
I order the honey latte and the avocado toast on sourdough, because it feels like the most California thing I could possibly do. Darcy gets a cappuccino and a cookie the size of her face and we take our tray to the oceanview patio.
The breeze is cool, carrying the salt spray and the distant cries of gulls. The boardwalk stretches out beside us, a carousel spinning lazily in the distance, its cheerful music just audible over the crash of waves.
