My ride-along today shouldhelp with that.
If someone told me two weeks ago I’d be stuck on a small boat with Grayson for an entire morning, I would have thought I’d been arrested and this was my prison sentence. But I’ve actually been looking forward to the ride-along all weekend. And no matter what I tell myself, it isn’t just because it’s a content goldmine, but because the thought of Grayson is no longer accompanied by loathing.
Now it comes with something lighter and more energizing than hatred, and the memory of his steady reassurance as I gasped for breath.
Hero worship, maybe?
I get ready quickly, not wanting to be late. Grayson might owe me this, but anyone can see how long and hard he works every day. The last thing I want is to get in the way of his productivity, which is why I leave extra early, giving myself plenty of time to stop at a coffee shop I discovered my first week here. They serve nothing but the basics, but everything feels like a warm hug, and the staff are always smiling.
The bell jingles as I step into the homey space—right in front of an elderly woman who’s too busy looking at the tray of drinks in her shaky hands to notice me.
I try to step back, but it’s too late. Moth balls assault my nostrils as the woman trips into me. I catch her but miss the drinks, and they hit the floor, ice clattering on the wood as dark liquid runs everywhere.
The shop freezes, then everyone jolts into action.
“Eliza! Nancy! Are you alright?” It’s Joy, Grayson’s bookkeeper, bustling toward us with two other customers and a barista.
“I’m okay. Are you?” I ask the woman, Nancy.
Her arms are fragile in my hands as I set her back on her feet. “I am so sorry.Sosorry. Oh, what a mess.”
Her face is completely distraught, like she’s just run over a deer, rather than spilled a few drinks.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” I reassure her. “Everyone is fine. It’s just coffee.”
“But look at this mess!” A wavering hand motions to the coffee that’s currently being mopped up. “And your shoes!”
“It’s almost cleaned up already. And my shoes are brown. You can’t even notice the drops.”
“Nancy, dear, just calm down.” Joy thankfully steps in, because Nancy seems on the verge of losing it, and I’m not entirely sure what to do. “Here, let’s take a seat while they make you some new drinks.”
As Joy guides her to a table, I grab more paper towels and help on the floor. Two minutes later, it’s like the accident never happened. Nancy’s given two new coffees, and the weathered wood floors are dry.
“Let’s walk you to your car,” Joy tells her.
Nancy’s hands are visibly trembling as she apologizesagain.
“I’ll help,” I offer.
Joy carries her drinks to her car, parked in the handicapped space, as I give her my arm and walk her to the driver’s door.
Joy bustles over. “I’ve got it from here. Thank you, dear,” she says with a grateful smile.
As I step away, I hear Nancy say, “Now that is a lovely girl.”
“She works on the farm—withGrayson.”
“What a wonderful young man! So handsome, too.”
“Wouldn’t they be…”
I remove myself from the vicinity and pull out my phone to check the time—and realize I’m about to be late to my ride-along.
Swearing under my breath, I forget about coffee and hop in my car, pushing the pace to the farm and wishing I had Grayson’s number so I could give him a heads up. It’s buried somewhere in my hiring paperwork, and I never thought to add it to my phone.
Two minutes past nine, I whip into the lot. I shove the car in park and hurry to the docks, where Amanda’s carrying two buckets off a boat. Grayson’s nowhere to be seen.
“Hey!” I call out to her. “Is Grayson still here?”
