She pulled into the driveway at the rental house and sat there, engine off.
Dan's text from this morning was still unanswered. Miss you. Hope the hike was nice. Call me when you get a chance?
She should call him. She should tell him she loved him, that she missed him too, that they were going to figure this out together.
But her mind kept returning to the trail. The pressure of his fingers through her sleeve. His voice when he'd said I'm here. You're here. Like it was the truest thing he'd ever admitted.
Inside the house, she could hear voices. Lily and Max arguing about something, Meredith calling from the kitchen, the familiar sounds of a vacation in progress.
She had to go in. She had to act like nothing had changed.
But she sat in the car another minute, watching the afternoon light shift across the dashboard, waiting for her breath to steady.
The dinner rush had finally broken.
Sophie wiped down menus at the hostess stand, her feet throbbing in the black flats she'd bought specifically for this job. The birthday party from the patio had left after two hours and three requests to speak to a manager. The couple who'd sent back their crab cakes had eventually found something they liked. Diane had nodded at her on the way to the back office. From Diane, that counted.
Through the front windows, the sky had gone that deep blue that came just before the streetlights kicked on.
She was stacking menus when Ethan came in from outside, bus tub balanced on his hip. He looked tired but focused, head down, getting it done.
"Hey," Sophie said.
"Hey." He paused long enough to shift the tub's weight. "Diane's looking for you. Maria called out, and she needs someone to help break down the patio."
"Got it. Thanks."
He nodded and kept moving toward the kitchen. They'd grown up together, more or less—beach weeks and holidays and the occasional birthday party when their moms coordinated. Not quite siblings, but close. The kind of close where you didn't have to talk unless something was actually happening.
Sophie found Diane in the back office. When she got to the patio, Jake was pulling tablecloths and draping them over the railing. He looked up when she stepped outside, and something in his expression changed—not the easy grin he used with customers. Less guarded. He'd changed shirts since the dinner rush—this one was softer, gray instead of black. She shouldn't have noticed that.
"Heard you got drafted," he said.
"I don't mind. The house is full of adults drinking wine on the deck, and I didn't feel like answering questions about my first week."
The patio was scattered with the debris of dinner service—tea lights burned to stubs, napkins that had blown off tables, a kid's crayon abandoned under a chair. Sophie collected candle holders while Jake worked through the tables. Her eyes kept drifting to his hands as he folded—quick, confident movements. She made herself look away.
"Question for you," Jake said without looking up.
"Depends."
"Why'd you take this job? You're here for the summer, right? Most people just want to be on the beach."
Sophie set a handful of candle holders on the nearest table. She'd asked herself the same thing during the worst of the rush.
"I needed something separate," she said. "Everyone in that house has their own stuff going on. My mom, her friends. And I just—" She wasn't sure how to finish.
"Wanted to be somewhere they weren't watching?"
"Yeah."
Jake wasn't like the tourist kids who came through—the ones whose parents belonged to the beach club, who treated Sea Isle like a photo opportunity. He belonged here.
Once, between tasks, his eyes drifted to her instead of the linen in his hands. When she glanced over, he went back to folding.
"My boyfriend thinks it's weird," she said. "That I wanted to work. He keeps asking why I don't just relax."
Something crossed Jake's face when she said "boyfriend." Quick, then gone.
