For a second, I glimpse the man who taught me how to surf.The one who used to play soccer with me on the beach.The one who always insisted that every proper family photograph should be followed by one with silly faces.My heart twists at the few precious memories from my childhood.
Would one dinner really be so bad?I do have to eat.“Maybe we can get takeout from Burger Shack,” I say.That’s Inner Shores’ rip-off of Burger King, only instead of a crown, kids get a paper kite that no one can seem to figure out how to fly.
“Faaaantastic.What time do you finish up here?”He squints down at his watch that I’m pretty sure doesn’t even work.
“I’ll be locking up at three.”Hopefully, that’ll give him enough time to sober up.
“Three it is,” he mutters, sinking onto the bench at the front of the building.
He can’t be serious.I can’t have him sitting there drunk for the next two hours—or worse, passing out where everyone can see him.“How about you wait for me in the car?”
Slowly, he nods.I run back inside to grab my keys, avoiding Ethan’s gaze.He’s stepped out of the line, letting Mr.and Mrs.Beeman from the hardware store go ahead of him.I grab one of our takeaway mugs and fill it from the sink before digging my keys out of my purse.
Back outside, I nearly pull my back out helping Rick to his feet.He shuffles across the gravel and practically falls into the front seat of my car.I close the door for him and run around to the driver’s side to start up the engine and lower the window.He’s already snoring, so I leave the water in the cupholder, turn off the ignition, and head back into Mugs.
Mrs.Beeman always orders the same thing—a non-fat vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso.I get to work making it in her favorite blue-and-white pinstriped mug, while her husband decides on a green tea.The two of them take seats by the window.
Ethan steps up to the counter, his face still caught in a frown.“He’s the guy who stood you up, isn’t he?”
I really wish he’d go back to talking about the storm.
“That’s him.”
My neighbor looks like he has a bunch of questions on the tip of his tongue, but the last thing I want is to dive into my very complicated family dynamic with someone who has one foot in this place and one foot out.
Serious conversations don’t belong in summer flings—or, spring flings, I guess.
So I slip on my best smile and say, “What can I get you?A coffee?”
He drags a hand down the back of his neck.“Just a Reuben, please.”
“To go?”
He glances out the door, then back to me.“I’ll have it here, actually.”
Really?He came in here all gung-ho, and now he has time to sit around?“Don’t you have to prep for the big storm?”
“It can wait.”
Is this regimented man putting off his storm prep just to keep an eye out for me?
My stomach does a little flip as I search the shelves for the perfect mug, passing over the poop emoji one for a cream ceramic mug with the cutest little pug on the front.Perfect.
Mrs.Nelson bumps my hip when I head back to the kitchen to give her Ethan’s order.“Oh, ho,” she singsongs.“Things must be heating up between you and the boy next door.”
I clip the ticket onto the line above the grill, hating that I can feel my cheeks turning red.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”We’re barely acquaintances.I tried to flirt with him, and he thought I was actually asking to borrow his hammer.
“You gave him the pug mug.That one is your favorite.”
Not true.“I gave him the first mug I reached for.”
Do I like that one?Of course.I like all the mugs customers have brought me through the years.Does it make me extra happy to see Ethan drinking from it?Maybe a little.
What can I say?Rick is in town.I need to find joy wherever I can.
“If you say so,” she hums, a sparkle in her eye as she drags out two pieces of rye bread.
