He takes a few quiet sips, swallowing thoughtfully.“A pergola with a surfboard roof.I remember.”
And I thought I couldn’t like him more.“That’s right.My dad is at the hardware store as we speak, grabbing everything he needs to complete the project.”
His brows shoot up.“Your dad is doing the work?”
“Yep.Believe me, I’m as shocked as you are, but it’s true.I’m also getting picnic tables, so people can kick off their shoes while they’re enjoying the best coffee on the island.”Man, I’d kill for a beachfront lot, but that’s not going to happen unless I win the lottery.Which won’t happen unless I start playing the lottery.
Ethan drags the napkin stuck between his plate and thigh, cleaning his hands.“It sounds like a really great plan.”
“Thanks.”I think so too.
As if on cue, my dad’s truck whips into the parking lot, bypassing all the empty spaces to stop nearly on top of us.A second truck follows, pulling up just behind him.My dad climbs out with a grin on his face, hisQuick Fixhat slightly askew as he walks around to the bed of the truck, where two picnic tables have been stacked and tied down with ratchet straps.
“Hey, Clo.”He bobs his head in greeting.
I push off the chair, crossing the gravel to meet him, my heart so full it feels as if it’s about to burst.“Where did you get these tables?”
“The old diner.Talked Verna Tillman into parting with them for real cheap, too.”He slaps the graying wooden bench seat.“They might not look like much now, but a little elbow grease and TLC and they’ll be good as new.”
“They’re great.Thanks, Dad.”
He jerks his chin toward where Ethan is standing with his arms crossed.“Care to use those muscles of yours for good?”he calls.
I give his arm a playful whap.“Don’t bother customers while they’re having lunch.I can help you.”I’m stronger than I look.
Ethan stomps toward Rick, his jaw tight, insisting he doesn’t mind.He helps Rick heft the tables from the backs of the two trucks.
Now I have an actual picnic area.
It’ll be too hot in the summer as-is, but once my pergola is finished, it’s going to be perfect.
The crunch of gravel beneath tires cuts my celebration time before it can even begin.Two minivans pull in next to Old Tom’s truck.
Looks like break time is over.“I should get back to work.”
I grab Ethan’s plate and empty mug.He trails behind me with the chairs, throwing glances at my dad from over his shoulder.
I tell him to leave the chairs in the kitchen.“Thanks for your help.I’ll see you…” Do I say later?Do I say tomorrow?Do I say nothing at all and leave it like that?
“Tonight,” he finishes with a spark in his eyes.
“Tonight,” I agree with a bob of my head and a jittery warmth in my stomach.
After work,I head in the direction of home, passing up Willow’s invite for dinner and drinks at the Sand Dollar.There’s no food in my house, so I swing by the Italian place on the way and order the largest pizza they have.I’m sweaty and need a shower, but instead of going inside, I carry the takeout straight to Ethan’s.
He answers on my second knock, looking like dessert in a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
He nods down at the cardboard box.“Is that for us?”
I love that he asked if it’s for us, not just for him.“Sure is.You hungry?”
“Ravenous.”His phone lets out a shrill ring from where it sits on the counter.He rushes over, but it’s not a call.I peek over his shoulder.It’s an alarm that he has literally labeled “Eat dinner.”
“You need an alarm to remind you to eat?”
“Sometimes I get busy and forget.”With a shrug, he throws open the box.“What kind of pizza is this?”
“A quarter Hawaiian and three-quarters meat lovers with extra jalapeños.”
