As if on cue, Brooke Kessler appears, her blonde ponytail swinging as she weaves through the crowd. She's carrying a box of those cool mini hockey sticks she sells at The Vault, and there's a smear of face paint on her cheek.
"Whitfield!" she calls out, her voice bright. "You're a goddamn miracle worker. I've moved more merch in the last hour than I did at the arena all of last week."
"Just doing my job," I say, but I can't help the smile that breaks through.
Brooke sets the box down, dusting off her hands. "Seriously though. The energy out here isinsane. I've had three marriage proposals, two job offers, and one very persistent grandmother who wants to set me up with her grandson."
"Did you take the grandmother up on it?" Darcy asks, grinning.
"Absolutely not. But the grandfather washot." Brooke's eyes sparkle as she waggles her brows.
"Ewwww!"
We all laugh, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy it. The camaraderie. The sense of accomplishment. The knowledge that I'm actuallygoodat this.
But then my mind drifts to a pair of stormy blue eyes that bore into me a few hours ago.
My brain is still buzzing from the morning's media training disaster, from the confrontation with Declan, from the way his eyes had looked when I said that night meant nothing.
Because it did mean nothing.
Right?
"You know what we need?" Brooke says, breaking through my thoughts. "Coffee. I'm running on fumes."
"And kinky thoughts about old men?" Darcy raises an eyebrow.
"Hey. Don't knock it till you've tried it," Brooke says, completely unbothered. "There's something about a man who knows exactly what he wants and isn't afraid to take it. Age is just a number."
"Or a retirement plan," I mutter, and Rose chokes on her water.
"I'm heading to Goldie's." Brooke nods, already turning. "Josie, you in? I need a second opinion on something."
I hesitate, glancing at the crowd. "I should probably—"
"Stay here and micromanage?" Darcy cuts in, shooing me away. "Go. You've earned a break. I'll hold down the fort."
"Seriously, go," Rose adds. "If anything explodes, I'll text you."
I look between them, then shrug. "Fine. But if I miss the taco-eating contest, I'm holding you both personally responsible."
Brooke and I head down the boardwalk, and the peace and quiet while waiting in the line at Goldie's is a nice change from the chaos outside.
The converted surf shack is quieter now, the lunch rush having faded into the lazy afternoon lull. We grab a table by the window while Kai gets to work on our drinks.
"So," Brooke says, kicking her long legs up on a nearby chair. "How are youreallyholding up? Looks like you've been working hard this week."
I take a sip, letting the warmth settle in my chest. "Honestly? This week has been... a lot."
"Understatement of the century." She shakes her head. "I've been here for a year, and I still don't know if I've fully adjusted to the Beachside pace."
"Tell me about it. I came here for a fresh start, and instead I got...this."
I wave a hand towards the open window.
The boardwalk is a riot of color and sound. String lights crisscross overhead, a busker is playing an acoustic cover of some pop song near the pier, and the smell of Mexican food drifts all the way up from the hockey festival.
I look down the boardwalk toward The Yard in the distance, where the temporary rink is already buzzing.
