Sophie walked home along the promenade instead of cutting through the side streets. Trevor's texts sat unanswered in her phone.
He wanted to see her. Wanted to spend a holiday weekend with her, meet the people in her summer, be part of it.
She should text him back. She didn't.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Brittany had been at the beach club for almost a week now, long enough to know how it all worked.
Mornings started slow. Members trickling in, claiming their usual spots, ordering the same drinks they'd ordered every day since June began. The lunch rush hit around noon and lasted until two. Then the lull, when the families with young kids packed up and the serious tanners settled in for the afternoon, and the pool deck went quiet except for the splash of someone diving in and the low murmur of conversation.
She'd gotten the hang of it. The rhythms of the desk, the names of the regulars, the smile that came automatically now when someone approached. The beach club paid well and tipped better, and most of the members were fine. Some were even nice. The ones who remembered her name, who asked how her summer was going, who said please and thank you without making it sound like a chore.
And then there were the others.
Mrs. Campbell arrived at eleven-thirty, which was earlier than usual. Brittany saw her coming from across the deck. Designer sunglasses, oversized hat, the stride of someone who expected the path to clear itself.
"Good morning," Brittany said as she approached. "How can I help you?"
"My cabana." Mrs. Campbell removed her sunglasses. "It's occupied."
Brittany checked the tablet. "I have you down for Cabana 4, starting at noon."
"I reserved it for eleven."
"The system shows noon. Let me just?—"
"I specifically requested eleven. I spoke with someone on the phone yesterday. Whoever it was clearly made an error." She sighed loudly, glancing around like she was looking for anyone more competent. "Is this your first week?"
"I've been here almost a week, yes, but?—"
"That explains it."
Brittany scanned the notes. Nothing about an eleven o'clock request. Cabana 4 had been booked from ten to twelve by another member, the Hardings, who were currently using it, their children's sand toys scattered across the deck.
"I apologize for the mix-up," Brittany said, keeping her voice even. "It looks like there may have been a miscommunication. Cabana 4 is currently in use, but it should be available at noon as scheduled. Can I offer you a chair on the deck while you wait, or perhaps?—"
"I don't want a chair on the deck." Mrs. Campbell's voice had risen. People were looking. "I want my cabana. The one I reserved. At eleven. This is ridiculous."
"I understand, and I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Unfortunately, the Hardings have the cabana until noon. I can check if any other cabanas are available?—"
"I don't want another cabana. I want Cabana 4. It's the only one with adequate shade at this hour, which is why I specifically requested it for eleven." She looked Brittany up and down. "I need to speak with someone who can actually help me."
The Harding children were staring now. So was the couple at the bar. So was Ryan, who'd paused mid-pour to watch the exchange.
Brittany felt the heat rising to her face. "Let me get the manager?—"
"Yes. Do that."
The manager appeared before Brittany could move. It was Pam, who'd been hovering near the pool and had probably heard the whole thing. She cut across the deck without hurrying, the way someone moves when they've done this before.
"Mrs. Campbell, always lovely to see you. What seems to be the issue?"
Mrs. Campbell repeated her complaint, this time with additional details about her phone call, her specific requests, her long-standing membership, her expectations of service. Pam nodded along, making sympathetic sounds, occasionally glancing at Brittany with an expression that was impossible to read.
"I completely understand," Pam said when she'd finished. "This is clearly our mistake, and I'm so sorry for the confusion. Brittany, could you ask the Hardings if they'd be willing to relocate to Cabana 7? It has excellent afternoon shade, and we can offer them complimentary drinks for the inconvenience."
Brittany stared at her. The Hardings had done nothing wrong. They'd booked their cabana through the proper channels and arrived on time. And now she was supposed to ask them to move because someone else had thrown a fit?
