Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(17)

“Sorry, honey,” he said gently. “Y’all are on your own. I’ve got plans.”

Vanessa’s face fell as Pete suggested they go to a movie together, and Hillary, who may or may not have been intentionally included in his invitation, enthusiastically agreed.





Chapter 5


In mid-June, the sun didn’t set over the Pamlico Sound until almost 8:30pm, which meant that Laire had a beautiful, golden ride to Buxton that evening.

There are moments, she mused as the wind swept her hair back and the spray of salt water landed on her skin, when the whole world feels perfect. And right now, right here—zooming north toward Buxton, where she was about to accept a lucrative summer job and meet up with a young man who made her heart quiver like Jell-O—she was determined to savor such a moment.

Not that her conversation with her father had been chocolates and cherries.

When she’d first asked to use his boat, he told her yes, and for a moment, she almost thought she’d get away with borrowing it without accounting for her destination. But then, as he popped open a beer and sat down in his chair, he casually asked where she was planning to go.

She shot a worried look at Kyrstin, who had sat down on the footrest by their father and reminded him of his initial objections to her working on Ocracoke. He listened, nodding his head, before turning his eyes and asking Laire if she wanted to work with her sister over at the Ocracoke Bistro.

“What if I did?” asked Laire.

“Can’t say I’d love it, with all them tourists playing grabass with the local girls, but you’d have your big sister here to look out for you, and Bernard Mathers has been a fair boss to Kyrs. I guess . . .” He rubbed the scruff on his chin. “I don’t love it to pieces, Laire, but if you want to make a little extra money this summer, I won’t stand in your way.”

He took a long sip of beer. “But come think of it, why d’ya need the Stingray? Can’t you get a ride over to Ocracoke with Kyrs and Remy?”

About to tell her father that she had no intention of working on Ocracoke, Kyrstin interrupted her. “The problem is that Bernie needs Laire on the six-to-midnight shift. And my hours is switchin’ to eight to two.”

“Huh. Why’s that?”

“Well, I was sort of offered a promotion,” said Kyrstin, her attention fixed totally on her father.

Laire nudged her sister in the back with her knee. What are you doing? What about Buxton?

Kyrstin leaned forward, ignoring Laire. “I’m goin’ to do some bartendin’, and Laire’s goin’ to take over my shift.”

Their father’s eyes widened, and he set his beer down on the table. “Bartendin’?”

Kyrstin nodded. “Pays better, Daddy. Way more tips.”

“Slingin’ drinks?”

Laire finally understood what was happening here and why Kyrstin had been so quick to “help” Laire: she had her own agenda. She needed an excuse to take a different position at the Ocracoke Bistro, and Laire getting a job there was a good reason.

“Don’t like the thought of one of my gals behind a bar.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Kyrstin asked defensively.

“Seems base.”

“You’re old-fashioned. My tips’ll be double.”

Their father shook his head, looking troubled. “Nothin’ wrong with bein’ old-fashioned, gal. You think this is a good example for your little sister?”

“Hard work and honest money?” said Kyrstin, raising her chin. “Yes, sir, I believe it is a good example.”

“All this talk about money. You need money? Seems like Remy is doin’ fine. Thought maybe you’d quit waitressin’ when you settled down, not work more hours.”

Kyrstin placed her hand on her father’s knee. “Daddy? You know the old Carver house?’

The Carver house was a centuries-old mansion close to the harbor on Corey Island. It had been a sea captain’s house in the 1800s, then an inn, then a restaurant, but for a good fifteen years, it had been uninhabited, battered by the elements, and given only minimal care by a local real estate office.

“Course,” said their father, wrinkling his eyebrows. “What of it?”

“We’re buyin’ it,” said Kyrstin. “Me and Remy. We’re goin’ to renovate it and reopen it as a bed-and-breakfast.”

“A what?”

“An inn.”

“For who? Ain’t nobody on Corey need an inn.”

“For tourists, Daddy.”

“Tourists on Corey?” he humphed. “Leave that to the Ocracoke folks. Don’t need tourists here.”

“It’s what me and Remy want. Our own business.”

And that was the moment Laire knew that she couldn’t say another word and would need to be a complicit vehicle in her sister’s small deception. They all had dreams, it seemed, and this one belonged to Kyrstin. Laire would do whatever she had to do to ensure it came true for her.

Her father’s eyes shifted to her. “What do you think of all this?”

“I really want the waitressin’ job,” said Laire.

“I mean, about the Carver house.”

“Chateau le Poisson,” said Kyrstin quietly, her cheeks coloring. “Means Fish House . . . in French.”