The shake machine made a sound like a washing machine on a death spin.
“Not now, please.” Jo slapped the side of it with the flat of her hand.
“Oh, my gosh,” one of the young women said, her eyes widening. “Is that dying? I hope we can get our shakes.”
“Come on,” she muttered. “Not tonight.”
She’d sent a server home early because he had a debilitating migraine, leaving Jo to run the counter alone.
The shake machine shuddered, whined, and then went silent.
Jo closed her eyes. Beside the two young women, three tables had ordered milkshakes. It was the busiest night of the week, and her signature Queen’s Blend coffee shakes with vanilla bean ice cream and dark chocolate bits were now off the menu.
“Excuse me.” A voice from the other side of the counter cut in. “That sounds like the drive coupling.”
Jo glanced back at a tall, muscular guy about her age with sun-bleached hair. He grinned at her. She couldn’t quite place him, but he looked familiar. He wore a faded T-shirt with a whale shark on it and looked like he’d just come off the beach, same as half the people on Crown Island.
“You’ve been in here before, haven’t you?” Jo asked.
“A few times. I’m a friend of Sailor’s.” He stuck out his hand. “Rocky Bay.”
She was surprised. “Wow, you’ve changed. I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you for a minute. Junie mentioned you were here.”
He ran a hand over his short cut. “It’s probably the hair. Finally had to cut it.”
It was much more than that. He’d bulked up and looked older. Like a man, not the lanky kid she’d met a few years before.
“Sounds like the drive coupling,” Rocky repeated, gesturing at the machine. “It’s a little rubber piece that connects the motor to the blade assembly. They strip out all the time on those older models.” He craned his neck to look at it. “My uncle Mitch has the same commercial model at Java Beach. I’ve fixed it several times.”
“Then come back and take a look. She’s all yours.”
Jo didn’t normally let people behind her counter, but now that she knew Rocky wasn’t a total stranger, she was glad to let him fix the shake machine if he could.
Hank and his wife were nearly out of patience.
As Rocky rounded the corner, he said, “I grew up around my uncle’s restaurant. I’ve fixed clanky shake machines, clogged ice makers, and industrial dishwashers.” He ticked them on his fingers. “Also, outboard motors, though that’s more of a hobby. Unless you’re dead in the water.”
“Which I’m about to be.” She nodded toward a drawer. “Tools are in there, and there’s more in the back if you need them.”
Jo returned her attention to the two young women. “I’m afraid those shakes will be delayed. Can I get you something else to drink?”
They were staring at Rocky. “No, we’re happy to wait now,” one of them said, while her friend nudged her in the ribs with a grin.
Jo hurried to take Hank’s order.
Rocky started working behind the counter like he belonged there, found the tools he needed, and had the base plate off the machine in under a minute. Jo watched him work while she poured drinks and rang up checks, glancing over whenever she had a second.
“I’m meeting Sailor here,” Rocky said, his hand inside the machine. “Figured I’d come early for the music.”
“You’ve known him a while?”
“We met while surfing a while back. I’m not in his league, but he doesn’t hold it against me.” He pulled out a small rubber disc and held it up. “Here’s your problem. Stripped clean. Do you have a spare?”
“Maybe. Check the supply closet. Go through the kitchen and ask the crew.”
He reemerged with the replacement part, and within a few minutes the shake machine hummed back to life, smooth and steady.
A cheer went up from the counter crowd, and the two young women giggled and fanned themselves.
