Twenty minutes later, the waitress swung once more by my table, where I’d almost finished a hot chocolate. “Can I get you anything else?”
“I’m sure he’ll be here any second.” After the waitress smiled sympathetically and left, I checked my phone again, all too aware no other single parties filled the tables surrounding me. No text, and I didn’t want to text first. He’d askedmeto meet. He’d picked the time and place. And now what, he was standing me up? Was this the Nantucket equivalent to asking a girl to prom and ghosting?
Whatever. People ran late and forgot to text. I’d wait ten more minutes.
I stilled my vibrating foot. Noah’s surprisingly good-natured attitude regarding the sad elephant (now safely tucked in bed alongside my stuffed horse) made me hope he wasn’t still on the help-or-hinder, I-rule-this-island kick. This conversation would be fine. Besides, hecouldn’tactuallykeep me from doing anything. He was a teenage boy; he didn’t have any power.
Right?
He’d said he wanted to talk about a truce. What did a truce mean?
At 10:26, he breezed in. He wore a fitted oxford shirt, his curls carefully styled (at least, I hoped he’d styled them; if he woke up with them so perfectly done I’d be forced to shave his head out of sheer envy and possibly keep his locks. Note to self: that thought got bizarre fast, best never to share it with anyone).
He dropped into the chair across from me. “Hi.”
“You made it.”
“Ah, the passive-aggressive equivalent of ‘You’re late.’”
I crossed my arms. “All right. You’re late.”
“Had to help an old lady cross the street.”
“Liar. What was this, some weird power play?”
He raised his brows. “Work went long.”
“You work?” I sounded more surprised than I meant to.
“What, you think I lounge around all day?”
“Kind of. Also, it’s very early for work to be finished. Unless you’re a fisherman.”
“I help out my dad. He wanted me to finish pulling a report for him.”
“Oh.” I liked the idea of helping out the family business. “That’s sweet.”
“Is it, though?” His voice had an edge.
The waitress appeared, beaming at Noah. She apparently shared my relief in not being stood up. “What’ll you have?”
Noah ordered a breakfast burrito and a coffee, and I ordered buttermilk pancakes with berries. Once the waitress walked away, Noah took a swig of my hot chocolate and pulled a face. “Not coffee.”
“I’d be sympathetic except you literally stole my drink.”
He did not look repentant. “Okay, Abigail Schoenberg. What’s your deal?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know anything about you.”
“I don’t know anything about you, either.”
“Except you do, don’t you? You showed up on Nantucket, in my house, prying into my grandparents’ lives.”
“That’s your grandparents, not you. And this is very aggressive for a truce.”
The edge came back to his smile. “Think of it as pre-truce. Who are you?”
