prologue: kenna
“This week on the Lit Lovers’podcast, we’re talking about all things summer. Summer romances … beach reads … summer stock theater!”
I’m listening to my friends’ podcast while I take photos of a fluffy Pomeranian stray that’s just been groomed. I take the beauty shots for the shelter’s website. Today, like most days, I’m doing the pictures in the Celestial Pets boutique owned by my best friend, Georgia. But I’m alone in the colorful shop today because, for the first time in years, Georgia has taken a few days off.
This mutt has a delightful underbite and shining, bug-like eyes. I suspect there’s some chihuahua in the mix. She’s standing on a carpeted platform, in front of the star-and-constellation-themed photo wall, panting placidly and staring regally at me. She seems unperturbed by the gleaming, bejeweled tiara that is balanced precariously on her head and the cloud-like, white-tulle tutu that she is practically engulfed in. Her pink tongue is dangling out of her mouth, just slightly off center. Her expression seems to say, “Well? Are you going to get on with it?”
As I lift my battered, old camera back up to my eye, the battery dies. Again. I pop in my only spare, an off-brand one that barely holds half a charge.
“We’ll have to make this quick, your highness,” I tell the dog. She wags her tail expectantly, and I am prepared to pounce in order to catch the tiara, but somehow she manages to keep it on herself. She lifts her furry chin and resumes her regal pose.
“To the manor born!” I laugh. I snap a few more shots.
“We’re all pretty excited about the celebrities coming to Ephron for the summer stock theater season,” says Alexis. “I cannot believe Lorelei Dupont and Rafe Barzilay will be here in town! I wonder if Rafe likes to shop local? I wouldn’t mind bumping into him in the produce aisle.”
Alexis always likes to lay it on thick, gushing about sexy celebrities. But then again, haven’t I thought the same on occasion? Who hasn’t had a fantasy or seven about the chiseled, Israeli actor who plays the title character in theTitanium Mansuperhero trilogy?
“Heispretty hot,” I explain to the dog. “He’s got that amazing, long, dark hair and those dark, mysterious eyes. He’s gorgeous. He’s perfect. Nobody messes with Titanium Man.” Even thinking about him right now makes me feel a little swoony. Oof. What if I did run into him at the supermarket? I probably wouldn’t be able to speak.
The dog gives me a look that’s dripping with pity. “Don’t you judge,” I say to her. “If you ever met Rafe Barzilay, you’d be drooling all over him, too.”
She sniffs and turns to chew on her butt. Now the tiara does fall off. I catch it with my free hand and wait a moment for her to settle before placing the decoration back on her head.
“I have to say, things really are changing here in Ephron,” says Chelsea, another one of thepodcast hosts. “Do you think it’s becoming just like one of those small towns that romance novels are set in?”
“You’re too much with the rose-colored glasses, sis,” groans Jackson, Chelsea’s cynical brother who is the main host and founder of the podcast. “You’re only saying that because you’re so in lurve with the theater owner, Dean Riley.”
Chelsea might have a point about the romance novel effect. In the last year, three of my local friends have managed to meet their “perfect” mates and fall in love. I, meanwhile, have remained single.
I pause the podcast.
I’m so sick of third-wheeling it. Why am I still alone? I don’t know why I resist so hard when people try to set me up with “nice” guys. How many times have Georgia and her boyfriend tried to fix me up with Jackson? Men like him look down their noses at me. Maybe if I hadn’t moved in with Cody right out of high school I would have gone to college. But I didn’t go to college. Instead, I wasted five years of my life on a toxic, stoner loser.
And now I still live at home with my uncles, who are the closest thing to parents that I have.
I’m a lowly barista who takes photos of dogs. It’s not so glamorous, but it’s better than being with a gaslighter. Cody’s limited life skills include packing bongs, setting up “sick” gaming systems, doing dirtbike donuts, and making me doubt myself.
I’m glad I got out when I did, but I wish I had those years back. It doesn’t feel like I’ve moved on. My friends are all getting married. Georgia is having a baby. A child! She’s going to be a parent, and I’m still living like a teenager. I’m being lapped.
The bootleg spare battery dies before I even have a chance to review my shots.
“Crap.” I set the camera back into my backpack. “I guess we’ll just have to hang out together for a while, Princess Von Floofy,” I christen the canine. She just looks like a princess.
Since no one’s coming for the dog just yet, and there aren’t any customers in the shop, there’s not much else to do besides chill.
I take the costume off the mutt and scoop her up, carrying her to the back of the shop where a worn and faded wingback armchair has always had pride of place near the counter.Mychair. Georgia and I both call it that because I spend all my spare time hanging here.
Except, my chair isn’t here. It’s missing. In its place is a brand-new bassinet. Still wrapped in plastic and only partially assembled. What the hell? Where is my chair? Peeking into the back room, I locate it … shoved behind a clothing rack.
“Let’s go for a ride, Princess.” I plop the dog onto the chair and slide it back out into the shop.
I’m so tired. Princess makes room for me on the seat and snuggles right into me. I close my eyes. I worked a double shift yesterday and opened the diner this morning.
I am just starting to drift off when my phone bursts into song. “Mama Mia”by Abba. It’s the ringtone I have set for my uncles, who are presently on their annual trip to the Greek Islands.
I swipe my uncle Nick’s face on the screen to accept the FaceTime call. It’s only been a week, but I miss him and Stavros being at the diner every day when I clock in for my shifts.
“Kenna!” Nick is sitting outside, on their rental’s patio, which during the daytime has spectacular views of the Mediterranean. His salt-and-pepper, hipster mustache and beard are perfectly groomed, as usual. But his nose and forehead look a little sunburned. He’s wearing a blue, linen, button-down shirt, and his smile is more relaxed than I’ve seen it in ages. Vacation smile. He looks a little drunk, and very happy. “How’s my girl?”
