Kat and I don’t have one of those. It was maybe the second week of kindergarten, and I was on the swings because it was my favorite playground activity (still is). A small blond girl walked up and sat on the empty swing beside me.
“I’m Kat,” she said. “Want to be my friend?”
“Sure,” I replied.
That was that, literally. She’s been my person ever since, and we’ve replayed a similar conversation more times than I can count.
“Wanna race to the water?”
“Sure.”
“Wanna sneak into that new horror movie?”
“Sure.”
“Wanna get a job at Pearl’s next summer?”
“Sure.”
Kat’s always been the instigator, and I’ve always been along for the ride.
I pause and snap a picture of two empty swings next to the kids playing and send it to Kat. I expect a quick reply, or even a reaction to the photo, but by the time I arrive at Pearl’s, nothing has come through.
Maybe she already left for practice.
I’m a little early but wanted to give myself plenty of time to help set tables and taste the special before customers start arriving at eleven. I run through the mental list I made during training:
Wear comfortable shoes
Smile!
Greet a new table within ninety seconds
If someone orders a lobster roll with butter, just let it go
If you get a pissy table, stay calm but get them out as soon as possible
Guard your pens with your life
Pearl’s is casual, but it serves such good seafood that it’s where all the locals go, even in the offseason. It’s the kind of place that’s allT-shirts and cutoff shorts and old fisherman’s nets hanging in the dining room. Pearl’s doesn’t give a damn about white tablecloths or which fork you should use, but Chef Ray’s fried calamari and seared tuna are so amazing, you just might shed a tear when you take that first bite.
It’s where we go for my birthday dinner every year. And my dad’s. My mom’s, too.
If we’re being completely honest, when Kat first suggested we work here, the prospect of free food might have tempted me more than the tips.
My first stop is the small office where Trish said we could store our stuff. I tuck my purse into a cubby and send Kat one last text sayinghere I go!before sliding my phone in there too. I turn to walk out and almost collide with someone. Someone tall and muscle-y.
It’s Myles Ford.
“Oh, s-sorry,” I stammer, my cheeks heating as I look up at his face. I send up a futile prayer that he won’t notice my blush as butterflies fill my belly. We’re sporting the same Pearl’s T-shirt, the red one with a cartoon clam from two summers ago. Wearing one of their themed shirts is the only uniform requirement, which made it easy for me because I already had four in my closet. Red’s a good color on him—not like there’s one that wouldn’t be.
I’m glad he’s here, but I’m kind of not. It’s equal parts thrilling and terrifying that we might hang out a little bit as coworkers. I’m absolutely that person who could spill a glass of water or bowl of clam chowder all over some VIP customer and make a fool of myself in front of him.
I am glad I spritzed on that perfume, though.
“No worries.” He dazzles me with a smile and reaches past me—oh my God, hello, delicious spicy-guy smell—to set his phone and keys in a cubby beside mine. “First shift?”
Wow, his eyes are so blue.Breathe. “Yeah, yours too?”
