Page 22 of The Last Thing You Said

He takes a step back, his hands in the air. “Whoa, sorry. I rang the bell. You didn’t answer, but the door was open, and I could see you out on the deck.” He grins.

“So why didn’t you come out to the deck, then? You had to snoop around?”

“I wasn’t snooping around, Lucy. This is a great picture of you. Who are the others?” He steps around so he’s standing next to me to look at the photo again. He taps the glass. “This guy must be your brother—looks just like you. Who’s the other one? Your boyfriend?”

I step away from him, set the photo back in its place on the mantel, and swallow hard.

“No.” I turn back around to face him. “He’s not my boyfriend, not that it’s any of your business.”

Simon doesn’t react the way I expect him to: He laughs. Then he says, “Lucy, I’m sorry. I guess I should have found a less intrusive way to find out if you have a boyfriend. My reasons for asking are purely selfish, of course.”

My anger dissolves in an instant. My cheeks go red, and I tuck my chin. When I look up again seconds later, Simon is grinning at me.

“So,” he says, “what should we do today? I’m dying of boredom over there and you’re finally home. Any chance you could show me around town?”

I look down at my filthy clothes and take a surreptitious sniff—sweat and the pungent pine of floor cleaner. I’m fairly certain there’s a streak of dirt across one cheek. My phone chimes as I reach up a hand to rub away the dirt.

“Hold that thought,” I say, grateful for the chance to step away and think about my answer as that queasy nervous feeling swirls through me again.

The text is from Daniel. Jeannie’s home with a sick kid. Please can you work 3–6 until Rosemary comes in?

I glance at the time. It’s 1:15 now. By the time I shower and change, it will be almost two, and then I’ll need to walk to town. Hannah’s in Texas with her mother for the book tour, Dad’s at work, and it’s doubtful that anyone from the Full Loon would be able to get away to pick me up.

“That was my uncle,” I tell him. “I help out at our family restaurant, and they need me to come in. Could you give me a ride to town, and I’ll show you around another time?”

He frowns. “How late do you have to work?”

“Until six.”

“Okay, six is another time. I’ll drive you to work and meet you there when your shift is over.”

He smiles at me, quick and wide and genuine. Sparks ignite in my chest. I blush and stare at the Captain America symbol on his heather gray T-shirt.

“Thanks,” I mutter to the white star on his shirt. “I’ll be in the driveway at 2:30.”

The minute I walk in the door, Mom gets on my case for being an hour late.

“What are you talking about?” I ask. “Daniel asked me to work from three to six.”

“No,” Mom says, “two to six.”

I open the message and shove my phone in her direction. She glances down and passes it back.

“Well, get your apron on and take over the front tables.”

“You’re welcome,” I mutter under my breath.

Later, my shift almost over, Clare catches me as I walk past. “Thanks for coming in on your day off, Lucy. We would have been in the weeds without you.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I’m glad somebody around here appreciates my help.”

Clare’s a hostess here and Daniel’s girlfriend. They live together in an apartment above the Goldilocks hair salon, where she also works part time.

“Give your poor mom some slack, Luce. It’s been a hard couple of months since Rita left. I’m working longer days, too, but I can’t do much more, not with my hours at the salon.”

“So replace Rita already.”

“You know better than anybody how hard that can be. You’ve seen the parade of waitstaff we’ve had come through here the last five years. Your mom wants someone dependable, who’s in it for the long haul. That takes time.”