The Fourth of July weekend turns Beachside Burgers into a madhouse. The place is packed wall to wall—families wearing matching patriotic shirts, sunburned tourists with sandy feet, kids with damp swimsuits beneath their clothes. The fryer hisses with fresh batches of fries and onion rings, while the grill radiates enough heat to turn the kitchen into a furnace.
I’m elbow-deep in soapy dishwater, scrubbing ketchup-crusted plates, when Jim’s voice booms over the noise.
“Burke!”
I glance up, hot water dripping down my forearms. “Yeah?”
He leans around the corner, apron streaked with grease. “Your friend’s here. Table six.”
“My friend?” I echo, face scrunched with confusion.
Jim jerks his head toward the dining room before disappearing back into the chaos.
Curious, I peel off my gloves and push through the swinging doors.
The restaurant is packed. A line of customers snakes behind the hostess stand. Waitresses putter around frantically, weaving through the crowd while balancing overflowing trays of greasy food.
I scan the tables, eyes snagging immediately on one figure.
Hunter.
He’s sitting at table six, somehow managing to look completely unbothered in the middle of the mayhem. His laptop is open in front of him, screen glowing, while he forks through a bowl of salad.His dark hair falls into his face as he types, the corners of his mouth tight with concentration.
He’s a burst of pastel in a sea of red, white, and blue—drowning in an oversized pink T-shirt that swallows his frame, khaki shorts loose around his thighs. My chest does this stupid stutter thing as I cross the floor.
“Hey,” I say simply.
His head lifts, eyes flashing wide before softening. “Oh. Hi. Didn’t know you were working today.”
“Yeah, well, it’s one of the busiest weekends of the year. All hands on deck.”
“No kidding. The crowd at the beach last night was insane.” He fiddles with his fork as his eyes dart between mine, like he’s searching for answers in them. “Speaking of last night… do you have any regrets?”
My stomach twists when I think about last night—kissing him on the sidewalk in public. Honestly, I don’t know what came over me. It was like an unseen force was pulling me toward him. It was a reckless spur-of-the-moment act of courage.
I don’t regret it.
“No,” I tell him with a soft smile. “Last night was great.”
A crack of relief slips through his tension. “Cool.”
Behind me, the kitchen explodes with more clattering dishes and shouted orders.
“I should get back to work,” I mutter, thumbing over my shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the beach, okay?”
“Yeah. Sounds good.”
He looks at me hesitantly, like he’s not sure if he should give me an awkward fist-bump or a stiff hug to say goodbye. Instead, I lean down and kiss him—a quick press of lips, nothing scandalous. Still enough to send a fizz of electricity through me.
Hunter blinks, cheeks flushed.
“Enjoy eating your nasty salad,” I tease as I pull away.
I feel his eyes on me as I walk back into the kitchen. At the sink, Jim nudges my hip and gives me a knowing look.
“Wow,” he drawls, smirking. “You guys are pretty close friends, huh?”
I clear my throat, staring at the soapy water to avoid his gaze. “You saw that?”
