Jane immediately notices her mistake, because she quickly follows with:
Jane: Oh shit! Wrong chat lolol
Jane: Love and miss you ellie bear!!
I should return the words. Heart her message at the very least. But I can’t bring myself to do that when Kyle’s initials are in a little circle near the group chat name. It’s the chat our friend group has used for years, until a few weeks ago when it went radio silent.
Apparently they’ve formed a new one.
Without me.
I don’t know why that makes the bag of rocks in my belly heavier. Iknowthey’re all still hanging out. I met Jane and Sami through Kyle, and while they’re my closest friends in the city, they were close withhimfirst, starting in college. Sami’s boyfriend is his roommate. I’m living two hours away.
Of course they’d have a chat without me.
But talking that through in my head doesn’t make me feel better.
The rest of my drive to the boat consists of me trying to shove that text thread from my mind and running through the work tasks I’ll do tonight. The first posts I’ve made are exceeding expectations, and Suzanne doesn’t need me to write any cover letters today, but there’s nothing better for me to do than bury myself in work.
That plan hits a snag when I step on the rickety boat, head to the cooler to grab a snack, and meet a puddle of water and a few remaining scraps of food. The freezing morning swims have turned me into a horse, and I’m going through food faster than usual. There isn’t enough here for a satisfying meal, and I can’t handle another major disappointment today.
I’m trying to limit them, if that’s even possible.
A quick restaurant search shows just one open nearby—a spot called Dyl’s Den. It comes with a picture of a stacked burger, and my decision’s made. The boat has relegated me to sandwiches, salads, and whatever I can put in the marina office’s microwave, and my taste buds are now salivating at the thought of a fresh, hot, greasy meal.
I grab my laptop, and ten minutes later, I’m pulling into a busy parking lot tucked into the woods.
Dyl’s Den looks exactly how I thought it would. It’s a modest, older building with wood shingles, the kind of small-town spot that’s well-loved but not dingy. A hum of voices emanates as I approach the entrance, the low notes of a blues tune emerging when I hit the landing.
Crossing the threshold is like stepping into a warm hug.
Inside, it’s all tavern-style wood, sturdy round tables, and nineties-coastal décor. An oak bar dominates the rightwall, most of its stools taken by people who look like they came straight from work. My gaze roams over the back corner, where a pool table and dart boards are being used by groups.
This isn’t a place where wealthy tourists make reservations for their summer vacation. It’s a local’s spot.
That thought is the only warning I have before a figure by the pool table shifts and I’m graced with Grayson Gold’s obnoxiously strong profile.
Fuck. My. Life.
I just wanted a burger.
I picture the half-eaten tub of hummus and single tortilla wrap left in my cooler, trying to convince myself it’ll hit the spot, and then mentally slap myself. When did I become the person who lets a man run my life?
I came here to eat a hot meal while I work. I’m not going to turn tail and run because of one infuriating person, no matter how uncomfortable he makes me.
Especially because my presence here might just ruin his night, too.
And he seems to be having a good one so far. The scowl I’ve gotten to know so well is replaced by happy smile lines as he sips a beer and chats with a younger man beside him. I recognize the kid’s shaggy blonde hair from the oyster farm. When that recognition locks into place, I realize I know some of the others from the farm.
Knowbeing an exaggeration, unless you count self-consciously smiling and mumbling “hi” as they skirt away as a sign of acquaintanceship.
My discomfort grows.
“Welcome to Dyl’s! Take any open table,” a woman chirps. I jump, spinning to find a middle-aged waitress, hands filled with trays. “Menus are already out. I’ll be with you in two.” Even in her rush, she spares me a kind smile.
See? You’re welcome here.
“Thank you,” I say, but she’s already rushing across the room.
