“There was no brush.”
“I know. She just needed to see that it was okay.”
“Yeah.” Anna turned back to the cheese. “It’s okay.”
Her phone rang a few minutes later. She wiped her hands on her apron and checked the screen. Rick. Their uncle rarely called unless something involved numbers, paperwork, or both.
“Hi, Uncle Rick.”
“Anna. How are things at the Shack?”
“Good. Really good. We’re about to open.”
“Excellent. Listen, I’ve been looking at the books from last quarter. You’ve added menu items, you’ve got three adults drawing salaries now, the revenue from summer needs to be accounted for properly?—”
“Rick, we’re managing fine.”
“I’m sure you are. But ‘fine’ and ‘sustainable’ are different things.” A pause. She could hear him tapping a pen against something hard. Rick always tapped pens. “I’m sending someone to do a proper audit. A consultant I’ve worked with. He’s good. Thorough.”
Anna leaned against the counter and looked out at the ocean. The morning was perfect. The Shack was humming. Everything was exactly as it should be.
“When?”
“Next week. His name is Michael Torres. He’ll need access to everything.”
“Everything—”
“Books, receipts, payroll, the scholarship accounts. All of it.”
Anna hung up and stood for a moment, staring at the kitchen she’d just gotten comfortable running. Outside, the bread delivery truck pulled up to the curb.
Six minutes late.
CHAPTER TWO
The shirt situation had gotten out of hand.
Tyler stood in front of the bathroom mirror holding two options—the blue linen he wore to photography client meetings and a grey henley that Stella had once described as “sort of fine”—and he had been standing there long enough that the coffee he’d set on the dresser was no longer worth drinking.
“The blue one,” Stella said from the doorway.
He hadn’t heard her get up. She was leaning against the doorframe in her Sydney FC shirt and bare feet, arms crossed, studying him with the calm scientific interest she usually reserved for subjects she was about to photograph.
“I haven’t asked for your opinion.”
“You’ve been standing there for eleven minutes. You’ve asked for someone’s opinion.” She pushed off the doorframe and dropped onto the edge of his bed, tucking one foot under her. “Blue. The grey makes you look like you’re going to a dentist appointment.”
“The grey is casual. Casual is good for a second date.”
“Casual is good. That grey is sad.” She held out her hand. He gave her the henley. She examined it, turned it over, handed it back. “Wear the blue.”
Tyler put the grey back in the closet and reached for the blue linen.
“So,” she said.
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
