I can’t stop laughing. "Nope, I suggested that too. The weirdest part is that Beth is Irina’s sister." Ari hisses at the name. Last year wasn’t just hard on Olive, Ari was in it with her from the very beginning.
"How can that even be possible? We’ve been going to that diner for years." Bridget sips her drink, skeptical as ever.
Sam remains stoic, and Olive picks her fingernails.
"I did always think it was weird how the woman never aged. I mean, give me your skincare routine, lady." Ari makes herself laugh.
"None of that matters." I run a hand through my hair and check my phone for the time. "We need to get back, and youallneed to remember this is a secret. If you see her today, don’t say anything. I’m handling it."
Nora returns, and our group begins clearing the table. When we exit the coffee shop to head back to Mom’s tent, my sisters slide up next to me, one on each side.
"Maxie-pad," Bridget coos, using the nickname I’ve learned to love but obviously hate.
"You like this girl, huh?" Nora elbows me gently.
I keep walking, not answering them. I’m starting to, but they don’t need to know that before she does.
"Max, I need three rolls for Mr. House. Extra sauce," my mom calls from the other end of the line.
We’ve been working non-stop for about an hour, I’m sweating in a way that feels unsanitary, and the line of people waitingdoesn’t seem to be getting any shorter. Mabel has received all sorts of comments, some begging for the recipe, and some wondering when she’ll step aside and let someone new win the title. The answer is never—she lives for this shit.
I haven’t spotted Sadie or her sister Mal, but that’s not saying much since I’ve barely moved two feet from this assembly line.
Sam hands me a basket and holds the buttered top-split rolls open for me. Carefully spooning the lobster mixture into each, I grab it and hand it off to the gentleman who ordered it at the same time that Beau, Olive’s boss and the owner of Black Kettle Bindery, approaches with a… stroller?
My sister-in-law's voice rings out from a few feet down. "Hi Mr. Pickles. I can’t believe your dad is finally using the Christmas gift I bought him."
Beau’s cheeks turn rosy, but his eyes narrow at his employee. "He has a very busy schedule, Olivia. We’ve been over this."
She laughs, taking his order and leaning over the table to pet the unamused black cat. Sam and I quickly prepare a roll for Beau and a side of plain lobster meat for Mr. Pickles—my brother rolling his eyes the entire time.
As I go to hand him their meals, he smiles at me mischievously. "Hello, Maxim." I shake my head. He knows that’s not my name. "Are you free this week? I have several boxes being delivered on Tuesday."
"It’s Max… Maxwell if we’re being official." I smile at him. "And yes, I should be free. I’m planning a beach day at some point, but nothing is set in stone."
He nods. "Be there Tuesday at seven. Not a minute later." He walks away, not waiting for a response, and my mother's suddenly high-pitched voice coasts across the space.
"Oh, hello, Sadie. Is this your family?" She knows her family already, but leave it to Mabel to make a big show of things.
My eyes dart to the other end of the line where my mom, sisters, and Olive are gathered around, practically vibrating with excitement.
They’re so embarrassing.
Even so, I listen for her response.
"Yes, good to see you, Mrs. O’Reilly. You probably remember my mom Dee Dee, and this is Mal, my sister. Can we please have eight lobster rolls, four juice boxes, and four sodas?"
Bridget scribbles down the order, passing the slip to Sam as Olive and Nora grab the drinks.
"Wow, where are the kids? I bet they’ve grown since the last time I saw them. How long’s it been?"
Mallory chimes in, "a few months, I think. Poppy isn’t keen on wearing clothing, so we don’t make it out of the house very often."
That makes my mom double over in laughter, while I don’t miss the dirty look Sadie gives her sister.I wonder what that’s about?
"Well, we’ll bring them a special treat to go with their meals. Max, why don’t you help Sadie carry the food over to their table so these ladies can go sit down?"
I nod, continuing to work on preparing the eight lobster rolls. My mom motions for Sam to grab the secret stash of cookies she made for us—a thank you that seems to be more for her favorite customers than the help. He grabs them, abandoning his post to take them to the girls.
