For AccioBourbon


Distractions were not something familiar in Emmett's life. Diversions, yes. Temporary dalliances… well, Emmett was mature enough to admit that he had them, and they always ended amicably. But distractions? He had about as much time for them as he did for diversions. None.

Anyone who visited Folly Beach and wandered into Emmett's surf shop most likely expected him to be a laid back stoner, a grown up Spicolli, Bill or Ted. His shaggy dark hair, peppered with glints of coppery red from all his time in the ocean, dark tan, and uniform of goofy t-shirts and cargo shorts did nothing to allay that stereotype. The tourists that flocked to this town tried to play the angle, thinking him too dumb to know or too laid-back to care.

They were all wrong.

Sometimes, Emmett would play along, letting his affable, easy-going nature shine through. The offending patron would back pedal, mollified into better behavior because he was such a nice guy. Other times, if he felt like someone deserved it, or if the patron in question was trying to manipulate the situation, he'd turn on the fast talk, the big business attitude, and internally laugh as the arrogant tourist scrambled to regroup. People didn't expect the brain or the disarming charm, both of which Emmett used to his fullest advantage. He'd learned firsthand in Boston that a baby face and southern accent killed credibility, and he'd turned it into a game, exploiting people's predispositions to make a point. Thousand dollar suits and silk ties or shorts and faded t-shirts, the game was played the same way, and he could never forget that.

Emmett poured blood, sweat and proverbial tears into his shop, going out of his way bring in top-notch equipment impossible to find on the East Coast. He'd developed business contacts in Hawaii and Australia, negotiating small batch deals with marquis equipment suppliers, making him a hit with tourists and locals alike. He was currently in the process of expanding, opening a second, much larger property on Sullivan's Island and expanding online. What had started as a plan for a single store at home was slowly growing into his own little kingdom. He felt helpless to stop it, the instinct to cultivate and build part of his nature.

"Always the entrepreneur," his cousin, Esme, had teased him. "Not that I should be surprised the way you always insisted on being the banker when we played Monopoly. You're like King Midas, you know that?"

Emmett didn't want to be King Midas, having found the fairy tale disturbing as a child. He'd been there, done that, building companies up and selling them off in the high flying world of Venture Capital. He was happy to build a solid base, open a few shops, and live out his life selling boards and surfing in his spare time. He had everything he could ever need. He didn't need to wish for more, and run the risk of turning everything into gold, but ending up alone.

But this week - this week was different. Emmett found himself distracted, unable to focus on the tasks at hand. Instead of focusing on the blueprints and inventory lists that were spread out on the counter in front of him, he found himself thinking about crossword puzzles done in blue ink.

"You're a fucking pussy," he mumbled, shaking his head in a feeble attempt to purge the memory. He couldn't understand what it was about the blonde from the diner that he found so incredibly fascinating. She'd been a total bitch, staring him down like he was some common yokel, which he would readily admit only egged him on. Normally, he would have walked away, but instead he'd decided to put her in her place, cracking out some errant bit of useless knowledge to show the blonde that she didn't know everything. With his parting shot, she should have been purged from his mind; she would have been, but he made the mistake of glancing up at the diner before backing out of the lot, and he caught her looking. The bitch face was gone, and her big blue eyes were wide, sparkling with curiosity, intelligence and something else. Pure mischief. In a heartbeat she went from some arrogant bitch to a woman he wanted to know more about. Most people would say it was the way she looked, all Barbie doll curves and manufactured beauty, but Emmett would say it was the look. That glint in her eye that said she wanted to give him a wedgie and then tell him he was being a persnickety curmudgeon or some other pretentious put down. He'd seen it before. It was the same wicked sparkle that Esme would get before putting her husband Carlisle in his place, or the look his cousin Alice would get before she gave him a wet willy. It was passion.

"Somebody's distracted," Esme had teased when she dropped by the shop on Friday night. She was helping with the design and merchandising of the new store, and had taken to stopping by unannounced with status updates and pictures. She'd placed a stack of photos on top of the blueprints; shots of wall mural in its half completed state and the giant wooden shelves that would hold surfboards for easy access. When Emmett didn't jump on the pictures, he'd opened himself up for commentary. Is that what I've become, all business? Emmett wondered.

"Not distracted, just a lot going on," Emmett muttered, hoping not to draw attention to his obviously odd behavior.

"Bullshit," she said sweetly. "You are usually all over me for details. Not that I am complaining, it's nice to see you 'Chillin out dude,'" she over enunciated on the dude, drawing it out just like Sean Penn had in Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

"Es, you're family and I love you, but God you are annoying," He cuffed her shoulder gently. Esme knew him too well though, and would not be deferred.

"No, I'm just one of the few that calls your bluffs, big man." She leaned against the opposite side of the counter, tracing the edge of one of the blueprints. "What's on your mind?"

"What isn't these days?"

"Don't go all introverted and philosophical on me, it's not your style. What's eating at you, Bear that is bordering on being grizzly? Normally you'd be all over me asking questions." She pushed the sleeve of his t-shirt up as she enunciated his nickname, revealing the small bright blue bear tattoo on his upper bicep. "I can make you dance you know…Mississippi River, so big and wide, blonde haired woman on the other-"

"Es, stop," Emmett shook her off. He wasn't sure what had flustered him more, his cousin's attention and teasing or her strangely appropriate choice in Grateful Dead songs. There was no way in hell he was going to admit a fledgling fixation with a summer chick who had a chip on her shoulder. Not to Esme, not to Alice, not to anyone. Not even to himself. "I just have a lot on my mind. Doesn't mean I'm not sitting on top of the world…" he sang back to her.

"Fine, you play that way," she said with a wink. "But you know, if you stay in this funk, I'm bringing out the big guns. And by the way, your singing stinks." She always threatened him with 'the big guns,' her arsenal of divorced clients happily spending their alimony checks while on the lookout for husband number two (or three). Emmett knew she was only joking, but there were times where he wondered if that would end up being his only option.

They bantered for a while longer, talking about the store as well as other projects Esme had taken on. She'd established quite a name for herself in the area, and more and more of the rental companies were asking her to consult on their high-end house redesigns up and down the Carolina coast. One of the older beach houses at the south end of the island had been reopened after years of disuse, a big old wooden monstrosity, and Esme had been called in to consult on bringing the kitchen and living area into the 21st century. Emmett knew he should focus on the pictures his cousin had spread out on the counter in front of him, but he couldn't get his mind off the cold blonde at the diner, and how much he wanted to know the woman that lurked below that cold façade.

Pussy. Emmett chided himself. You are curious about the challenge. Get your head out of your ass.

It rained the next morning, a hard, pelting gale that made it impossible to surf. Emmett toyed with staying in bed, maybe catching up one of the multiple books stacked on the nightstand, but after a few pages he threw the book to the side, unable to concentrate. The shop would be slow, all the day trippers scared away by the weather; it would allow him to take his time and catch up on sleep. Instead he found himself climbing out of bed and throwing on his typical uniform and a baseball hat to hide the bed head. Ashley Avenue was empty as he drove south to the diner, the streets free of parked cars and brightly dressed pedestrians.

The rain pelted him as Emmett ran from his car to the front door, cold drops striking his neck and sliding down beneath the collar of his T-shirt. There was no rush today. He could take his time, eat here, and enjoy some time catching up with friends.

And maybe the crossword puzzle girl would be back in the far booth, chewing on the end of a Micro Sharpie as the world spun on around her.


Yes, that was a Grateful Dead dancing bear tattoo. Could it be more apropos? Lightstardusting didn't think so!

See you tomorrow, in the mean time, if you need some more details – the song Esme was singing is The Grateful Dead's Sitting on Top of the World. Might be worth taking a listen…