6
Brynn
The guy behind the counter places his hand over his heart as if my words have physically wounded him.
“I thought we shared something special last night.”
With the mention of last night, I get a flashback.
The late-night visitor who looked so familiar.
The mystery cake.
“You’re that Uber Eats guy,” I say.
He smiles widely as he gives a slight bow. “Some days I am. But today, I’m nondescript male, wiping down counter.” He taps his Pop’s uniform name tag. “But to make things easier, why don’t you call me ‘Sheldon.’ ”
He points at the two empty stools at the counter. “Have a seat. Take a load off. You must be tired. I was starting to get worried about you guys.” He pulls a pad from his apron pocket. “Can I get you something to drink? A Coke? Or, I know! One of Pop’s famous milkshakes? Cherry chip?”
I shake my head. Although I thought it was a good idea a few minutes ago, the thought of ice cream suddenly makes me queasy.
I do take up Sheldon’s offer of a seat and sink down onto one of the counter stools, suddenly feeling the effects of a night spent on a lawn chair. Josh stays fixed in his spot next to the door. His eyebrows scrunch in a serious way as he stares intently at Sheldon.
“What did you mean when you said you were expecting us?” I ask Sheldon, leaning forward over the counter. “Do you know how we got here?”
Sheldon finishes wiping the spot in front of me, ignoring my questions and whistling a tune I can’t quite place before tossing the rag into the sink. Then, in a single fluid motion, he hops over the counter and sits on the stool beside me. He slumps his shoulders, props his elbows on the counter, and rests his head in his palms, green eyes fixated on me.
“Haven’t you always felt like that last Carson’s Cove season left you unsatisfied?” he asks. “Like, there were all these storylines left half-baked: Spencer taking off to LA before Sloan had the chance to say those three little words and Sloan never winning the crown in the Ms. Lobsterfest pageant. Would you agree it lacked that gratifying, feel-good Carson’s Cove ending we’ve all come to love?”
His words pluck at a sensitive spot in my chest. “Yes. Of course I would.”
Sheldon leans forward so close that I can smell a faint hint of something sweet on his breath. “Well…I’ve brought you here to help me make it right.” He holds out his arms. “This is our chance to fix everything. To bring to life the perfect ending that never happened.”
A tiny ripple stirs in the bottom of my stomach. It works its way up to my lungs until I shiver involuntarily.
Sheldon’s gaze holds mine, and I find myself almost willing him to go on.
“At first, I thought I’d just pluck everyone back into the lives they abandoned,” he continues. “But then I realized that wouldn’t work. It would be an absolute disaster to go through all of this effort to make Carson’s Cove happen again, only to end up with the wrong ending a second time. Do you know what the definition of insanity is, Brynn?”
I open my mouth, but Sheldon doesn’t wait for an answer.
“It is doing the same thing twice and expecting a different outcome.”
With that, he leans back, giving me a moment to let his words sink in fully.
“So then I thought a little more and figured out the problem. I don’t think Sloan was fully committed to the idea that she and Spencer should be together.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Sheldon holds a finger to my lips. “Wait. Hear me out. She could have told him at the gazebo that she loved him. She could have gotten in her car to follow him to the airport. That’s two examples right there, and I’m completely ignoring the countless other times she was alone with Spencer and never once even hinted at how she felt.”
I want to argue back that her feelings were complex. There was history and hormones involved, not to mention over a decade of friendship to consider. But Sheldon has gotten to his feet and started to pace.
“If I don’t have full commitment from Sloan, then my whole plan falls apart. So I thought, what do you do when you’ve got a damaged limb?”
I stare, not so certain I want to hear the answer.
He wheels around to face me. “You cut it off.”
There is no expression on his face. No acknowledgment whatsoever that what he just said is downright creepy, if not morbid—especially if it’s referencing bodies and not trees.
I almost ask him to clarify, but he resumes his pacing, this time shaking a single finger in the air.
“But then I had an epiphany. I couldn’t just cut Sloan out. What I needed was a replacement. Obviously, you can’t have a Carson’s Cove revival without Sloan Edwards.”
I find myself nodding. “I mean, there really wouldn’t be a point.”
Sheldon stops and slaps the counter so hard that the salt and pepper shakers clink. “Exactly! I needed someone who wanted this as badly as I did. Someone who watched five hundred and seventy-four hours of Carson’s Cove reruns on Netflix. Someone who would wish from the deepest depths of their soul for things to work out right. Who could finally give Sloan the ending she deserves.” He leers above me, making no effort to hide the way his gaze makes a slow assessment of my body from the top of my head to my toes.
I know that Josh and I are the only other people in the diner, but I still look over my shoulder to be sure he’s talking to me. Sloan is sweet and kind and very blond. Aside from my dark, curly hair, I also lack that innocence, that glass-half-full, sunny-side-up attitude that makes Sloan so beloved.
“You want me to play Sloan Edwards,” I clarify.
Sheldon picks up one of my curls, as if his thoughts are now following the path carved out by mine.
“No, Brynn.” He shakes his head, smiling. “I want you to be Sloan Edwards.”
Those tendrils of excitement that filled my lungs only moments ago now twist and contort into double knots.
I sneak a glance at Josh. His face is impossible to read, but he takes a step closer as if he too understands that something feels off here.
“What do you mean when you say be?” I turn back to Sheldon, who smiles as if he has fully anticipated this question.
“You, my friend, are no longer Brynn Smothers. From this point on, you are Sloan Edwards, Carson’s Cove’s beloved girl next door. I’ve got your story all worked out. It’s been fifteen years since you left the island, never returning home after a summer abroad in Paris. Choosing busy and crowded Boston”—he spits out the word—“and your budding design career over your childhood home.” He frowns briefly, then shakes his head, the smile returning to his face. “Anyway, the point is, you’ve come back. Perhaps because you’re feeling a little lost. Perhaps because the real world didn’t live up to all its promises? Perhaps because your heart still belongs to the boy next door?”
All of a sudden, I’m struck by a very different thought. Spencer Woods. Certified teen dream. The object of my teenage fantasies. Does that mean he’s here too?
“What about the boy next door?” I ask Sheldon. “Spencer is back too?”
Sheldon shoots a quick glance at Josh before returning his eyes to me, smiling. “You are going to love this one. Spencer Woods has just returned from LA to take a job as head of the drama department at Carson’s Cove High School. Apparently, he too had some unfinished business on the island calling him home.” He winks.
Josh, who has been notably silent until now, clears his throat. “I’m still not following. Are you making a new television show? Or is this just a reunion of all the cast members?”
Sheldon throws his head back and laughs. “You’re really not getting it, my friend?” He makes a show of wiping a nonexistent tear from his cheek. “I’ve brought the whole thing back to life—with a few minor adjustments. But overall, it’s the Carson’s Cove of its glory days. You wished it into existence, Brynn, and I made it happen.”
His statement shifts the conversation. Up until now, I’ve been a passive participant. A victim, even, of whatever is going on. But claiming I caused this situation? No. That’s not right.
I force myself to think about precisely what happened last night. My memories are a little jumbled. There was cake. I was sad. I was definitely working through some wine-fueled emotions.
“I think you’re a bit mixed up,” I tell him. “I did make a wish last night, but I did not wish for this.”
Sheldon leans in again, so close that our faces are almost touching. He runs a finger down the ridge of my nose and bops the tip.
“Ahhhhh, but you did. You wished for a life free of plot twists. You wished for infallible friendships and a cinnamon roll next door. I believe you even used the term happily ever after. That’s Carson’s Cove in a nutshell, isn’t it?”
I shake my head. “Yes, but—”
“But what?” Sheldon’s jovial expression melts into something else. His mouth hardens into a firm line. “I worked very hard to make this happen. Why aren’t you happy?” He stands. Spreading his arms wide, he turns in a slow, smooth circle. “I’m giving you the chance of a lifetime here. To see Spencer and Sloan together at last. To see Sloan with the Ms. Lobsterfest crown placed upon her deserving head. To have all of the loose ends wrapped up into a perfect bow. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yes, but—”
He holds a finger to my lips. “No buts. No excuses. I need you both to play your parts. Everything must go exactly according to my plans.”
“Why does that sound like a threat?” Josh finally moves. Stepping forward, he seems to grow even taller than his usual six feet and two inches as he places himself between Sheldon and me, calling out the notable difference between Josh’s broadness and Sheldon’s lankier limbs.
Sheldon retreats, scrambling back over the counter and putting a barrier between them. “No threats here, my man. More like strong suggestions and a reminder that I am the one who brought you here and, therefore, the only one with the ability to send you home.”
Josh grips the counter with both hands and leans across it. “Then prove it. Send us home.”
“I will.” Sheldon leans forward as well, suddenly bolder. “Just as soon as you give me the ending I want.”
The shift in Sheldon’s position brings him directly under an overhead light. Whether it’s the new dark shadows under his eyes or something else, his features once again strike a familiar chord. “Who are you?”
My question garners Sheldon’s attention. He takes a long side step away from Josh to stand across from me. “I’m just a guy, standing in front of a girl, asking her to give Carson’s Cove the ending it deserves.”
All of a sudden, it clicks. Sheldon’s face. Why I know it. Why it took me so long to place him.
“No. You’re not just a guy.”
It takes me a few more seconds to piece the final bit together.
“I knew you looked familiar,” I say to Sheldon. “I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure out why, but I couldn’t place it until now. You’re the Extra Extra.”
“The what?” Josh looks from me to Sheldon.
“He’s in over fifty episodes,” I explain.
“Fifty-four,” Sheldon corrects.
“He’s a legend in the fan forums,” I continue. “ ‘Extra’ because he’s a nameless character. The second ‘Extra’ because he always seems to stick out. The point is, he’s played at least ten different characters. Most don’t have any lines, and he’s never named in the credits. It’s like one of those internet mysteries. People are always watching reruns and spotting him in new scenes.”
Josh shakes his head. “Okay, fine. He’s part of the show.” He turns back to Sheldon. “But how did you do this? And why am I here? I don’t even watch the show.”
Sheldon responds with an exaggerated shrug. “You were a bit of a glitch, if I’m being perfectly honest. My best guess is that Brynn’s wish was so powerful that it sucked you in here along with her. It’s a minor complication. One I’m willing to work with, especially since the original Fletcher was a handsome and clueless bartender, and you…Well, let’s just say that with a big-enough sock, the shoe fits. What is important is that you are here. And we can finally make things turn out exactly as they were supposed to.”
Josh moves as if he’s going to jump over the counter. “You can’t just uproot our lives. We have—”
There’s a loud ding sound, followed by an “Order up!” from the kitchen.
“Excuse me.” Sheldon holds up his finger. “Duty calls.”
He disappears through a white swinging door before we can object. A minute later, the door opens again, but the man that walks through is much older. Although he’s dressed in the same uniform, he has two puffs of white hair above his ears and the deepest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Well, if it isn’t Fletcher Scott and Sloan Edwards,” he says in a Morgan Freeman–esque voice. “My gosh. It feels like it’s been fifteen years.”
The real Pop holds out his arms for a hug. I’m momentarily paralyzed at the sight of a face I’ve seen easily a hundred times before but never once in the flesh. He has a few more wrinkles around his eyes, and his arms are a little thinner than I remember. Still, I fold into them gladly, feeling like I am being reunited with an old friend.
“It’s the darndest thing.” His deep voice reverberates through my chest. “I had the urge to make a cherry chip milkshake this morning. Haven’t made one in years. It’s almost as if I knew you’d be back. Welcome home, Sloan.”
The comfort of his arms melts away all of the uneasiness from before until I pull away and remember I still have so many more unanswered questions.
“Um, Pop.” I choose my words carefully, still uncertain about how all of this works. “That guy who was out here before, Sheldon. Could you ask him to come back out?”
Pop’s eyebrows knit together. “I’m not sure I know who you’re talking about, honey. There’s no one around here named Sheldon.”
My stomach plummets.
“The young guy,” I clarify, as if it will help, even though I suspect I already know Pop’s answer. “Blond hair. Pop’s uniform.”
Pop shakes his head.
“I’m the only one working this morning, Sloan.”
He doesn’t seem weirded out at all.
“Hey, Pop?” I consider the best way to phrase my question. “What were you up to, uh…yesterday morning?”
He scratches his head. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure.”
“What about the day before that? Or even the week before that? Can you tell me anything that happened between…uh, I don’t know…May 2010 and today?”
He stares at me blankly. “I don’t know what to tell you. I think I probably was just here.”
Last question. “And what’s the date? And the year, if you don’t mind?”
He holds a palm up to my forehead. “It’s the tenth of June, 2024. Are you feeling okay?”
I feel like I’m going to heave.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just a little tired. Maybe we should save that shake for another time.”
My eyes flick to Josh, who is staring right back at me. He doesn’t say a word, but I know exactly what he’s thinking.
What the H-E-double-hockey-sticks have we gotten ourselves into?