Welcomed by the sweet scent of pastries and coffee, it takes me the length of five people in line to choose from their display of drool-worthy food. The smell of this food alone is going to makemefat.
“What can I get for you?” a young girl asks. She’s dressed in all white and wearing a Boston Red Sox cap. Very New-England, I take it. “All of our specials are on the board.” She points above her head with a pen, while holding her focus on my face and probably the people lining upbehindme.
“I’ll have a cheese Danish with a large coffee, please.” She’s quick to put my order together—I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone move so fast in a bakery, but I have heard a rumor about this area. Apparently,everyone is always in a rush. It’s to my benefit this morning, though, so no complaints because I’m already drooling from hunger. Like, there’s actual drool bubbling up in the corner of my lips just from the smell of thisplace.
If I didn’t skip dinner last night, I probably wouldn’t be drooling, but I was in such a rush to get here. That was obviously my firstmistake.
“You’re not the first one to drool in this place,” a man behind me jokes. Knowing someone actually saw me in the act of licking my lips and wiping the back of my hand under my lip, a rush of heat fills my cheeks with embarrassment as I wonder why, at this age, I can’t control mydrooling.
I turn around to face the fairly tall man. He’s decked out in a wetsuit, leaving little to the imagination, which is a lot to imagine. Feeling like I should look away ... now ... I glance past him and out the front door where I see a Jeep Wrangler with a surfboard attached to the top rigs. People surf here? I’ve never met someone who surfs. I thought surfers only existed inCalifornia.
“You surf?”Iask.
He flips his hair back, and it feels like slow motion as each piece of hair falls perfectly into place. With a hint of a smile stretching across his lips, he responds with, “Nah, I just like wearing wetsuits.” That are soaking wet? The idea of it soundsmiserable.
“Oh, why?” I concede, sort of wondering if he’s serious. That Jeep could belong to someone else, and I’ve heard the water here is freezing until midsummer. Maybe it’s necessary to wear a wetsuit to avoidhypothermia.
“I’m kidding, eh.” Again, with the hair flip. He does have flippable hair. It’s nice, and blond mixed with even lighter highlights. Maybe he’s from California. That would explain the piercing turquoise eyes too—says every Southern California stereotype of a surfer. Although, I bet surfers from out there don’t have the odd accent I just heard. “My buddies and I drive down for the summer from Canada to go surfing. It’s our tenthyearhere.”
“Wow, I had no idea people surfed here.” There’s a good reason to plant my butt in the sand every weekend. Which, I will bedoing.
“Have you ever surfed?”heasks.
I can’t help the laughter erupting from my throat. “Surf? I just came from Indiana, the middle of nowhere, and I don’t even know how to swim. I’m only here for the summer, though,” I lower my voice as I’m suddenly aware of how loud and embarrassing my confession sounds in this smallbakery.
“No way,” he says, matching the softness of my voice. “That’s dangerous.” He pauses briefly, looking at me with bewilderment. “The part about not knowing how to swim.” So, I’ve gone from embarrassed to mortified in a matter of seconds. Note to self: Do not tell anyone else Ican’tswim.
“Well, I’m not going surfing anytime soon.” I grin like an idiot while twirling my short hair around the back of my ear. And I’m turning back for the counter, hoping my Danish is ready and waitingforme.
“Hey,” the guy says. His hand touches my elbow, and it catches me off guard, so I instinctually jerk my arm away. “Sorry, didn’t mean toscareyou.”
I turn back toward him, backing up a bit since he’s decided to make physical contact. Maybe it’s a weird reaction, but seeing as I’ve avoided men for the past year, it took me by surprise. “It’sokay.”
“You should really learn how to swim if you’re going to be around the water for the summer. We get riptides sometimes, and they can suck you right in if you’re notcareful.”
Oh, my God. This is seriously embarrassing. I don’t even knowthisguy.
“I’ll just stay away from the water,” I reply with a little snappiness that he doesn’t quitedeserve.
“Julia,” the woman behind the counter calls. She’s holding up a small paper bag and a coffee. I take my breakfast as quickly as I can and turn for the exit. “And Sterling, your order is ready too.”Sterling. Huh. It figures that he would have a sexy name like that. He didn’t even order his food—that means he’s probably a regular. I suddenly feel like such anoddballhere.
“It was nice to meet you, Julia.” I look over my shoulder just as I’m stepping my foot outside, waving my brown bag at who I now know to beSterling.
I slide into my car and press my hands against my hot face, wishing my palms were anything but clammy. Ugh, I need to start work today with a clear mind, not a hot surferinmind.
Grabbing my phone from the cup holder, I open my GPS and retrieve the saved address I entered right before I left home. Twenty-five minutes? Yikes! I thought it was right down the road. I eyeball the clock on the dash, seeing that I’ll be arriving right on time, which is not what I wanted, not when one of my negative qualities was obsessively arriving too early and leaving later than necessary from work. That’s what I get forkissingbutt.
I’ll pick up some time on the highway. It’ll be fine. If I’m five minutes early, I’m still early. I pull an illegal U-turn and head down the street, driving over the crosswalk I didn’t see until I heard someone yelling for me to slow down. Shit. My face is getting hotter by the second, and I’m going to look like a blotchy hot mess when Iarrive.
The small highway is clear for as far as I can see, and I’m crossing my fingers that it stays this way. I should have stayed at the hotel last night like I planned. That would have prevented all of this. I’ve counted three town lines in my fifteen-minute drive, and I’m seeing signs for Kennebunkport. The GPS still says I’m ten minutes away, though. Freaking GPS. How fast do you expect me to go? I’m pretty sure I’ve been doing fifty in a thirty for the past ten minutes, and you couldn’t give me a break at all? Screw you, Siri, and yourdamnmap!
And of course, there are traffic lights. There were no lights in the town I was just in, but now there are lights here, like every hundred-freaking feet. Why? Why? My God. The green numbers on the dash are taunting me as they slowly tick away with each red light I’m invited tostopat.
My heart pounds as I look down at the map, seeing I’m going to be one minute late. I don’t do late. I don’t necessarily do early like I may have mentioned, but I’m never late. Untiltoday.
I grab my coffee cup from the cup holder as the GPS hollers at me to take my next right in thirty feet. Seriously, Siri? What the fuck? I swerve to the right, losing my tight grip on my coffee cup, and yup . . . there is burning hot coffee running down my goddamn leg now. FUCK.That’shot!
No, no, no. Now it looks like I peed my pants. Why? Why does this keep happening to me? I place the coffee cup that’s now half empty back down into the cup holder and look back at the GPS, showing ten more turns to go before I arrive at my destination in one mile.Really?
