Another chuckle as he grabs a bottle of water. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
“Are you—” I swallow the final handful. “Are you sure?”
“Yep. Totally sure.” He nods, then hands me the water before turning to grab a new one.
“Thanks,” I mutter, cracking open the top and taking a long drink. I didn’t realize how dry my mouth was until just now. “Andsorry. I had no idea they were your crackers. I thought it was like a communal thing.”
“I guess it is now.”
Then he winks and I feel ... nothing.
Not that Iwantto feel anything—I’m certainly not interested in starting something with anyone, especially since this stint in Port Harbor is temporary—but aren’t you supposed to get butterflies when a cute guy winks at you?
“So, first day, huh?” I nod. “Did you just get here?”
“Huh? Oh, no. I’ve been here since eight.”
“Eight?” He wrinkles his nose. “But we don’t open until one.”
Then why the hell did Ezra have me come in at eight? Is this some sort of game he’s playing? And furthermore, how long am I even working today? We didn’t discuss any of this.
I shrug. “Don’t ask me. Talk to the boss.”
“Noah isn’t here today.”
“Theotherboss.”
“Ah,” he says, nodding. “You mean Grump Ass.”
I laugh—it’s loud and quick and thoroughly embarrassing. “Sorry. I just ... you call him Grump Ass?”
“Yeah, but don’t say that too loud. We—me and the others who work here—have this theory that if you say his name three times, he’ll appear.”
“Like Beetlejuice?”
“More like Bloody Mary.”
“Is he really that scary?”
Warner weighs his answer for a moment before saying, “Nah. Ezra is a good guy. Really. He’s just a bit ...”
“Of an ass?”
His impossibly bright blue eyes sparkle as he laughs. “Yeah, that. But you get used to his grouchiness quickly and learn when to avoid him. And honestly, it’s not that hard to do. He doesn’t come out of his office very often. Out of the two of them, Noah is the one you’ll seemore, and while he can be a bit cantankerous, too, he’s much easier to deal with.”
Huh. I don’t recall Noah being testy, but I suppose a lot can change when you haven’t seen someone in years.
“So, Summer,” he says, and I notice he does that a lot—starts a sentence withSo.It’s kind of endearing, almost like he’s nervous. “Are you new in Port Harbor?”
I laugh. “Hardly. I grew up here.”
He looks surprised by this. “No way?”
“Yep. I, uh, my father is ...” I trail off. I don’t know why I always get cagey when I talk about him. It’s not like I’m not proud of him and what he does for this community. I am. But every time I mention that my father is the sheriff, people have two reactions: They clam up and start acting weird or ask if I can get them out of a ticket or something.
I guess that’s what I’m doing here with Ezra as well. I’m getting him out of trouble. Myself too.
“My father is Sheriff Turner,” I finally say.
